FOLLOWING HER unprecedented and turbulent burst into stardom as a teenager, Lindsey Jordan (aka Snail Mail) seems all grown up at the young age of 22. Her 2018 breakout debut album Lush chronicled her experiences of love and heartbreak as a teenager with spunky, guitar-led indie rock. Leading anthems from the album such as “Heat Wave” and “Pristine” immortalized Jordan as one of the most iconic female indie artists of the decade, among the likes of Mitski and Phoebe Bridgers.
After her debut album’s critical success, Jordan is showing no signs of slowing down as her production, lyricism, and singing prowess all progress in great strides on her sophomore album, Valentine.
In this new LP, she supplements her trademark melodic guitar playing with a wider array of accompanying instruments such as classical pianos, acoustic guitars, synths, and even verdant orchestral sections on certain tracks. Jordan’s new composition style is refreshingly dynamic as it skillfully contrasts electric and acoustic tones to create a more textured soundscape across the album.
Opening up the LP, the leading single and titular track “Valentine” begins with gentle synths on the verse before it returns to power pop rhythm guitars on the chorus. This tonal change creates a harsh rubber band effect between the mellow verses and the high-energy hooks. Although the instrumental stands out by itself, Jordan’s powerful and raspy singing is also a highlight on the track; even her voice has grown older and more complex in its tone.
Instead of shouting out that she’ll never love anyone else like on her debut album, Jordan resignedly sighs that “Everything we try is failing” with her love interest in “Forever (Sailing).” This new track cleverly samples 80s Swedish disco singer Madleen Kane’s “You And I,” but rewrites the lyrics to flip its original narrative of a happy relationship. Jordan has begun to accept the harsh reality of romance as she seems all too accustomed to the ugliness of heartbreak and the pain of unrequited love. This candidness and brutal honesty is a far cry from her lovestruck teenager’s perspective on Lush.
In “Madonna,” the third single for Valentine, Jordan compares her lover to the revered depiction of Mother Mary. This metaphor signifies both the songwriter’s toxic devotion to her partner, and the wide disconnect between the two of them as deity and worshiper. “I consecrate my life to kneeling at your altar / My second sin of seven being wanting more,” sings Jordan, following the song’s motifs of religious iconography with lyrics that are sharply visual and painfully poignant.
Another standout track on the LP is “Automate”—the second to the last track on the album that serves as a climactic surrender to unceremonious heartbreak. In an almost exhausted and desperate voice, she sings out, “One more drink ‘til I can feel you / And when the party’s empty / We can slow dance in my room.”
Throughout the track, Jordan simultaneously bargains and pines for her old lover while she also acknowledges how absurd it is that she still has feelings for this girl. These uneasy, almost hopeless lyrics are accompanied by a chaotic instrumental complete with slow-creeping acoustic tones, haunting piano embellishments, and the swelling of Jordan’s fuzzed out lead guitar.
So far, Valentine boasts a collection of well-written and thematically cohesive songs. However, the album also suffers from a tracklist that feels like it could have been ordered differently to improve its flow.
Barging in right after the electric titular opening track of the album is the comparably upbeat “Ben Franklin,” which is a jarring listen following the crescendo of the previous song. The last stretch of the album is noticeably more hush than the first half of the LP; the latter half would have been more enjoyable with livelier tracks speckled across it. While “Glory,” “Automate,” and “Mia” are all good tracks individually, these songs create a lull in the conclusion of the tracklist when played in succession.
Despite its shortcomings in the tracklist progression, Jordan’s latest album is still a powerful showcase of her growth as an artist and an individual; she is vulnerable as ever but has now taken off the rose-colored glasses she wore in Lush. Her new style of songwriting makes way for a darker and more down-to-earth ambience that paints Valentine in a faded, jaded pink instead of a passionate red.
Jordan writes with a newfound confidence and poise that has developed since her already stellar debut. This time around, though, she knows that there’s nothing pretty about heartbreak.