16 April 30 - MAy 6, 2026 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents when writing songs, he wasn’t hearing songs for that newer group. “I’m sure in the back of my mind some- where I thought, ‘Goddamnit, it’s hard to re- invent yourself,’” he says. “But when I was writing, the things I kept writing kept sound- ing like Toadies songs to me, and I thought, ‘I wonder if the guys want to kick it around a little bit.’” In March 2006, the band per- formed a reunion show to a massive crowd at the annual Greenville Avenue St. Patrick’s Pa- rade in Dallas, followed by another concert at the same event in 2007 and a short tour. The band was back together. TOADIES TRADITIONS Recognizing what is and is not a Toadies song isn’t something only Lewis can do. Un- like many other bands that cashed sizable checks and had big hits in the post-grunge era of ’90s rock radio, the Toadies’ sound is distinctive. There’s a definite signature, legi- ble to anyone who has at least heard “Pos- sum Kingdom” or one of the group’s other fan favorites, such as “Tyler” or “Away.” Similar to the Pixies or hard-rock pio- neers Led Zeppelin, Lewis’ band skillfully deploys the quiet-loud-quiet dynamic, shift- ing from melodic and almost serene to fero- cious and downright spine-chilling in a flash of swampy tones and churning riffs. Lewis’ immediately identifiable voice can do the whisper-to-wail thing too, and does so with the best of them still. The band’s affinity for bare-bones production, which lets the rough edges of the instruments and arrangements shine, has kept their songs from sounding like outdated, oily slick Clinton-era relics; instead, they sound new and real no matter when they’re played. Scroll through TikTok, and you’ll see a range of Toadies-related clips that help prove the group’s formula has been an indelible one. Some videos express shock and awe at how the powerful voice behind such violent anthems now has gray hair and glasses, or you might see silly, dramatic reenactments of “Tyler,” in which the video’s star acts out the song’s menacing, break-and-enter narrative. Even more than three decades later, the Toadies’ trademarks are strong. “I’ve never wanted to be a one-trick pony, writing ‘Possum Kingdom’ over and over again,” Lewis says. “... But by the same to- ken, when I write, I just have a certain thing I want to hear. I want just a few effects ped- als. I want six strings in normal tuning, and I want to see what I can do with only that. That’s what I’ve always done, and I want to see how far I can run with those very few in- gredients.” Sinister storylines or themes in Lewis’ lyrics are also a part of the band’s repertoire. So too is politically motivated stage banter, not that the twain shall ever meet. If the Toadies were to ever release songs with overt political messaging, it would be new, and somehow, probably shock even some long-time fans, not that it should. Speaking out against Republican politicians or en- couraging fans to vote is something Lewis has never shied away from. While Lewis says writing political songs is of at least some interest to him, it’s just not a muscle he’s ever worked enough to know how effective it is. But as he gets older, he has even fewer problems speaking his mind, regardless of the reception his remarks might receive. “In Amarillo one night, we had one song left at this big outdoor festival type show,” Lewis says. “So I took the moment to say ‘I believe in women’s rights, I believe in trans rights, and I believe you should be able to love who you love, so that’s why I vote Dem- ocrat,’ and the whole crowd just turned on a dime, thousands of people just hating my guts as we played that last song.” Lewis may not soon morph into a politi- cally minded protest singer, but as evi- denced by some of the standout songs on the new record, it’s clear he isn’t opposed to tak- ing his songwriting into new directions. The Charmer, recorded in Chicago with legendary producer and engineer Steve Al- bini (Nirvana, Pixies), shortly before he died on May 7, 2024, is the first Toadies studio al- bum since 2017’s excellent The Lower Side of Uptown. One doesn’t have to wait long on the new effort to see at least some symmetry with the past, as the opening number, “Ashe’s Theme,” a riff-heavy instrumental track, might just remind some of “Mexican Hairless,” the surf-punk-inspired instru- mental opening track from Rubberneck. Like many of The Charmer’s songs, the instrumental took shape during the pan- demic. As business was slow at The Loop and the thought of touring was still a long way off in 2020, Lewis kept himself occu- pied by watching movies, with Evil Dead 2 and the Ash vs. Evil Dead TV series being his personal favorites. He was also working on riffs that would end up on his band’s next re- cord, too. “Ashe’s Theme” is probably influenced more by Bruce Campbell’s cult-favorite hor- ror hero than it is by the band’s most famous album. Powered by an afternoon gummy, Lewis challenged himself to write a theme for the series. The Toadies have had several songs end up on movie soundtracks, such as The Cable Guy and The Crow: City of Angels, but Lewis had never tried writing television theme music, so he gave it a shot. It worked like a devilish charm. Elsewhere on the new album, “Come to Life” rips with a frenzied energy taken from the rock gods of the ’70s. “I Wanted To Be Everywhere” brings to mind the melodic yet troubling combination of “Tyler” without xeroxing it. “Walk a Line” bursts out of the speakers with a sweaty, bluesy, groove- driven bombast. The album’s closer, “In Bandages,” perhaps surprisingly, winds things down at a lower volume and slower tempo without losing any of the punch of the previous dozen songs. Similar to standout selections from the 2017 record – “Polly Jean” is an all-time Toadies treasure – or from 2012’s Play.Rock. Music or even 2008’s comeback album, No Deliverance, which have made their way onto the band’s concert setlists and into fans’ hearts, it’s not difficult to see that many of the new songs will find their way into the Toadies’ lexicon for many years. A NEW NORMAL For as much as Lewis likes to stay in his six- string sonic lane, the new record offers some fresh takes on the time-tested Toadies for- mula. There’s a pair of songs that diverge drastically enough from the rest of the band’s catalog that it would be reasonable to wonder if it were a different band, except for the unmistakable presence of Lewis’ voice. Just as Lewis says that political songwrit- ing isn’t a skill he’s ever developed, the same can be said for writing lyrics that explicitly dig into his own mental health and self-es- teem struggles — before now, that is. Al- though Lewis had given therapy a shot at various points over the years, talking too much about himself or his problems or his mental state in song had never been a moun- tain he was willing to climb. Taking medica- tion to address his mental illness, let alone having it properly diagnosed, was another thing he had never tried. All that changed as The Charmer began to take shape. In his younger days, Lewis was of the mind that people just wanted to rock and rage, not necessarily to feel and share when it came to music, a view he admits isn’t true now. But for many years, he com- bined that limiting view with his own emo- tional struggles to steer clear of getting too deep, instead expressing himself in song through a distinct “fictional separation,” as he calls it. The weirdest, most trying days of 2020 were rough enough on their own, regardless of anything a psychiatrist might’ve diag- nosed Lewis with at that point, but he’s quick to admit it could’ve been a lot worse. He thinks the difficulties he had been expe- riencing pre-2020 were somewhat waylaid by the pandemic’s extreme oddities. And unlike many married couples he had heard of during that year’s lengthy work-from- home period, he and Rachel grew even closer, something that strengthened him emotionally and perhaps helped cover up some pain that lived just under the surface. But as the world began to reopen and life for many crept back towards a more recog- nizable reality, an inexplicable, gloomy de- spair returned, and nothing could shake it. “I would walk around and have just really super dark thoughts,” Lewis says. “At least once a day, like scary dark thoughts that sometimes would last a brief time or some- times last all day. I started noticing that I would just go into this pit for a while, just kind of a lethargic pit, and then all of a sud- den, I’m Mr. Fucking Comedian, and I’m cracking jokes and being the life of the party, and eventually I was like ‘this is really weird.’” He started seeing a psychiatrist who could make a diagnosis and prescribe medi- cine. During one of his first visits, Lewis ex- plained that although he wasn’t seriously considering suicide, he had thought enough about it to both imagine how he might do it and also to think of some rather practical reasons why he wouldn’t. It would be too messy, he said, and he wouldn’t want to be found by a loved one like that. Logically, he knew he didn’t have any rea- son to feel or think like that. He would often list the things he was most thankful for: his wife, his daughter, his home, his successful career — things he calls “all the kick-ass trappings of making it as a person.” All too often, that wasn’t enough. “I had felt this way and felt all these things going back to when I was a kid,” he says recently over a Zoom call. “All that and a lot of imposter syndrome too.” Mike Brooks Even after three decades, the Toadies’ sonic trademarks are strong. Music from p15
