“I’ve been a huge hip-hop fan since I was 10—that’s all I listened to growing up,” Jenny Lewis says, as she looks back on the circuitous path that led to her current collaboration with Chicago MC David Cohn, who performs under the name Serengeti. “I actually started out writing raps and, after my mom’s boyfriend taught me how to play a couple of chords on the guitar, they became folk songs. And then I went to a Grateful Dead show.”

As she traces her musical evolution, the LA-based Lewis is calling from St. Augustine, Fla. She rode out the first part of the pandemic at home, before coming to Nashville in October and, ultimately, following the lines a little further South. “Despite all the negative press it’s been getting, Florida is so magical, especially when you’re a touring musician,” she admits. “It’s instant summertime.”

Lewis and Cohn first connected at PEOPLE, the Berlin musical gathering organized by Justin Vernon and The National’s Aaron Dessner, and now agree that it was “the last great event and the most fun we’ve ever had as adults.” Throughout the pandemic, they’ve released a series of tracks with producer Andrew Broder, which harken back to Lewis’ days as a member of the Sub Pop and Kill Rock Stars singles clubs. “This idea of releasing something just as you’re creating it is really interesting,” she says. “The album cycle is so long, arduous and exhausting. Making an album takes everything out of you.”

After being friends for a few years, at what point did you and Dave decide to start working together in a more formal capacity?

While we were in Berlin, we recorded one of Dave’s songs about Tom Selleck— who was supposed to play Indiana Jones—with Andrew. I didn’t know anything about Dave’s music, and I was just immediately taken with his lyrics. I’m always trying to stay away from these platitudes in my music. Sometimes you need to talk about love, but it’s about saying that in a way that hasn’t been said before.

After that, Dave asked me to send him some tracks to rap over but I was already demoing my new songs. And when I’m in that mindset, I’m not even listening to music. I’m just obsessed with bringing those ideas into the world. Then, 2020 happened and I thought, “What better time than now to connect, musically, with Dave and Andrew?” The ongoing dialogue really helped me get through the year. It gave me something to look forward to, and it gave me some deadlines. It gave me an excuse to call my friends.

I’ve spent this entire time alone, which has been really challenging and maddening, and also amazing. So that connection was a lifesaver. 

Also, Dave got a puppy, Bobby Rhubarb, in February. She looks exactly like an Owsley dancing bear.

How has the past year helped you creatively?

The last year has forced us all to live in this moment of fear, which has been really helpful for me in some ways, just in terms of refocusing on the day[-to-day—self-care, my health, disconnecting from social media. But without that light at the end of the tunnel, it was starting to get a little bleak.

With Dave, the lyrics weren’t really my job. Usually, I’m the lyricist. That’s my thing, and I’m obsessed with it. It takes me many revisions to finish a song—I work on it endlessly. But I needed a little time to process 2020. So, it was nice to just be responsible for the music and the vibe. I would make these beats on my phone, send them to Dave and he’d tell the story.

It’s interesting what art has resonated during the last year. The timing of Tiger King was miraculous. That’s exactly what we needed to watch at that moment. The new Fiona Apple album crystallized in the perfect moment, too.

You and Dave met at one of Justin Vernon’s events and you recently appeared on the new track “AUATC” with Justin, Bruce Springsteen and a number of others. Do you recall where you and Justin first crossed paths?

We met in Salt Lake City when I opened up for Bon Iver in 2008, and we just instantly got along. I didn’t see him for years—until they invited me to play his Eaux Claires festival. And that was when our friendship reignited. He shares what he has with his friends, and there’s always room to collaborate. Plus, he’s a great listener. At Eaux Claires, I played with Bon Prine, which was Bon Iver backing John Prine. I got to sing my favorite John Prine song, “Christmas in Prison,” with John side-stage watching. When Justin sent me that song this year, I just recorded it on my phone. When you meet your “people,” you create with them because we’re all compelled to create. The more you hang, the more you create.

You participated in an after-show tied to Fare Thee Well and performed with Phil Lesh at his club Terrapin Crossroads. What was your entry point into the Dead’s world?

I went to shows as a teenager— I’m a Dead fan because of Jerry, straight up. He’s my favorite guitar player. When I was 15, a friend invited me to see the Grateful Dead in Vegas. It was more of an event, something to do. I loved the environment and knew their records, but I didn’t understand musicianship on that level at the time. I started going really deep in my 30s—appreciating the whole thing on an improvisational level. You have to go through pop music and jazz, and then you arrive at the Grateful Dead. It’s just real music at a time when things are filtered out, auto-tuned and edited into oblivion.

I was also lucky enough to have Jason Crosby in my band— he was recommended to me by Griff [Dawes drummer Griffin Goldsmith] and I’ve learned so much from him. He’s played with Bob and Phil, and hearing his stories—and being close to that, musically—redirected me to the Dead. I become a bigger fan every year. When Jason invited me to play with Phil at Terrapin, I just thought to myself: “This is a place for the tribe to come and be themselves.” I always tell people who say that they don’t like the Dead: “Give it a shot when you are in your 30s or 40s and you’ll appreciate it.”

Have you written for yourself during the past year?

I wasn’t writing at all for myself until a couple of weeks ago when Beck put together this songwriters’ workshop. He invited a handful of people to write a song every day and share it with the group. We would get assignments like, “Write a song with 1-6-4-5 as the changes” or he’d say, “Write a song using only cliches.” I was a little afraid at first, especially to share with my peers. But in a week, I wrote my new record. So I want to say, “Thank you, Beck, for being the camp counselor.” I needed a structure and a schedule to have the faith that the songs would come through. Now, I have to figure out how to record them. I’m guessing I won’t do them on my phone this time.