When the then 18-year-old Lindsey Jordan, better known as Snail Mail, released her emotionally charged debut album “Lush” three years ago, it was quickly agreed across disciplines that this was at least a medium-sized pop phenomenon – and a songwriter who not only delivered disturbingly mature songs, not only for her age. Material that others (if anything) can manage on the second or third plate. “I know myself and I’ll never love anyone else”, she sang at the time, for example, which is an impressively convincing prognosis for someone who is not even allowed to buy beer in their home country.
Jordan had just graduated from high school at the time. Suddenly something that was almost dying out was keeping them alive: the indie rock label. “Indie” as a description of a genre, an aesthetic, a look at music and lyrics has finally become a kind of synonym for what feels like every form of modern rock music that is not exactly punk or metal. Which makes the whole thing about as meaningful as the label “sustainable” in the supermarket. Snail Mail, however, took the indie as seriously as maybe Phoebe Bridgers did in her generation, Japanese Breakfast or Waxahatchee – so really very serious. So much for the question of which gender makes the most relevant rock.
“After the withdrawal I felt very small”
The fact that Waxahatchee front woman Katie Crutchfield became an avowed fan of Snail Mail is almost a side note – after all, the two share a decisive experience. Similar to Crutchfield, Lindsey Jordan was looking for help in a rehab clinic (since then there have been separate sub-pages on Reddit that unsuccessfully deal with the question of why; the most common answer: “Don’t give a shit!”). The whole thing happened between album one and two, so of course you can hear the processing on “Valentine”. And here too: Of course there were always musicians who had to detoxify or find themselves for other reasons and poured that into songs. But you have rarely heard the story from someone in their early twenties – even if she is now allowed to buy beer.
Already on her first album Jordan asked: “Is there any better feeling than coming clean?” Was probably meant differently at the time, but of course there is a subtle ambiguity here – being brutally honest and going through serious therapy, that certainly has overlaps.
In any case: The questions have largely given way to clear statements on album number two. “Post rehab, I’ve been feeling so small”, she sings in “Ben Franklin”, which of course is also the finest irony. “Small” doesn’t sound like anything here. Instead, 45 days of rehab resulted in a song that grooves and thumps properly – and is then carried on and on by a wonderful guitar riff.
Which is very good. Also on album length. While the already very nice debut perhaps stuck to a nineties-based idea of what indie rock should sound like, the bittersweet catchy tunes on “Valentine” are now arranged right down to the furthest corners. The guitars are less scrappy and more precise, are used in a more targeted manner and are sometimes supplemented by fine synth pads or surprisingly cliché-free strings. The drums even dare to be danceable here and there. Her singing, which used to be so introverted, breaks out more often, dares to voice her head, scratches, suffers, breaks. Again and again she finds new secret paths through the typical indie formulas and with surprising dangling movements gives the listener the feeling as if every outro, no matter how short, could be the starting idea for another track. In other words: On “Valentine” the teenager, terrified of early success, goes far beyond himself. An album like a heartwarming coming-of-age film.
With the – a matter of honor – matching love story. Because next to the dark side of the limelight (“Those parasitic cameras, don’t they stop to stare at you”) and the restlessness of tour life (“Even with a job that keeps me moving, most days I just wanna lie down”) a broken love is sung about. In retrospect. “I’m older now, believe me”, says the title track, just before the brutal chorus kicks in – and you would believe everything in Jordan.