By now the “break-up album” is a genre in itself. These albums have been smash successes, namely because they contextualize the human need to grieve lost relationships. Still, this form of album can often become overplayed, using the same musical tropes or lyrical structures to comment on the same idea. It’s when an artist brings a new sound to the traditional form, and reinvents the ideals of the genre, that one truly takes interest. That’s all true of Snail Mail’s most recent project, “Valentine.” Snail Mail combines the traditional breakup trope with a new indie-rock sound, making the sound engaging and innovative.
Lindsey Jordan has been writing indie-rock anthems since she was incredibly young. Jordan released her debut LP “Lush” (2018) when she was just 18 years old. The album became an underground classic, lifting her into the class of other up-and-coming female indie rockers like Soccer Mommy, Phoebe Bridgers and Japanese Breakfast. Though she started out alone, Jordan’s band “Snail Mail” now includes bassist Alex Bass and drummer Ray Brown. Jordan waited until she was 22 to release her follow-up LP, “Valentine,” presenting a more mature, complex sound.
The album’s opening single, “Valentine,” encapsulates the jarring sound of heartbreak. The song starts quietly, with Jordan singing solemnly about her desires to be alone with her former lover. The listener is lulled into complacency, with the simple underscoring minimizing just how dramatic her lyrics are. Soon after, however, the listener is shocked with writhing electric guitar as Jordan screams out her final plea to her ex-girlfriend: “Why’d you want to erase me, darling valentine?” Jordan moves even deeper into angry desperation as she continues her chorus, belting out, “You’ll always know where to find me, when you change your mind.” The lyrics are startling and filled with anguish, representing just how devastating the breakup was for Jordan. In sum, the song moves effortlessly from quiet sadness to abrasive outrage.
The second single, “Ben Franklin,” uses more of a synth-pop sound to investigate grief. This song is even more aggressive than “Valentine,” with Jordan accusing her ex-girlfriend of enjoying her pain. “Sucker for the pain, huh, honey?” Jordan questions menacingly, going on to sing, “You wanna leave a stain.” This open hostility towards her former lover is then closed off by a note of desperation, finishing the chorus by singing, “Like a relapse does when you really tried / And damn, this time, I really tried.” In her hurt accusations, Jordan investigates both deep anguish and immense sadness. These emotional lyrics, combined with the off-kilter synthesizer underlying, creates a disorienting and volatile track. The song grabs the listeners and doesn’t let them go until they’ve been rocked to their core.
After the two leading singles, the following eight songs continue to build a raw soundscape of emotion. Some convey the volatility of all-consuming relationships, such as the gentle pain of “Headlock,” in which Jordan admits that she believes herself to be nothing without her ex-girlfriend. This theme is likewise true of “Glory,” a fan favorite on the album, in which Jordan confesses that she struggles in allowing her relationships to control her. This pain reaches a peak as Jordan drills on, repeating “you owe me” over and over. The pronunciation of “you owe me” often blends into “you own me,” further emphasizing the blurry line between Jordan’s anger and sense of powerlessness.
This bitterness is juxtaposed with peaceful, melodic hymns of their relationship. A personal favorite of mine on the album is “Light Blue,” in which Jordan recounts the highs of their relationship over the backtracking of a simple acoustic guitar. In an album of heavy drums and pulsing guitars, the gentle songs allow the listener to better understand the sadness involved. The album holds a lot of rage, but it is in these quieter moments that the listener learns how truly hurt Jordan is. This is especially true of the final track, “Mia,” in which Jordan finally reconciles with her future. Jordan uses a light, breathy tone to accept that, though she will always love her ex-girlfriend, she must move on. The lyrics hit hard: “Mia, don’t cry / I love you forever / But I gotta grow up now / No, I can’t keep holding on to you anymore / Mia, I’m still yours.” After loud, raging highs, Jordan uses a melodic, airy low to truly accept her fate.
“Valentine” is a raw, emotionally turbulent album that drags its listener through the process of grieving a relationship. For this reason, it’s not for the faint of heart. Snail Mail does not provide any “happy songs,” or tracks that would allow the listener to take recess from the onslaught of devastation. Still, sometimes pain is needed for truly good music. A listener can empathize and even process their own lost relationships through Jordan’s lyrics. Music is perhaps most powerful when it does just that, allowing one to reckon with their own life.
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November 16, 2021 at 12:17PM
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Snail Mail's 'Valentine' captures the anguish of lost love - Tufts Daily
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