Snail Mail’s shame monster

One simple spiral can represent the gamut of a life, a symbolic fixation of all the things we’ll never know and a visual rendering of the mystifying cycle of existence. It is in this poignant and charming figure that Snail Mail’s Lindsey Jordan displays enigmatic earnestness and tender terror in her latest release, Ricochet.

Snail Mail’s third album comes five years after 2021’s Valentine. Then, she wrung out her heart, twisting twinkles of synth with her signature lean on the haunches of heartbreak. Valentine came to light on the heels of Snail Mail’s widely acclaimed Lush in 2018, launching Jordan into the music industry and into the arms of a new sound. Ricochet offers another insight into Jordan’s world, exploring something deeper than heartache – a philosophical longing to hold something for longer than a lifetime.

“It’s the mortal coil, you know?” Jordan explains, referencing the spiraling shell on Ricochet’s cover. The photo was taken by Jordan’s girlfriend, Etta Friedman of Momma. Jordan presented her own image on her previous two albums, and wanted a change for this latest. In the midst of a lush sonic soundscape, Ricochet is characterized by her deepest fixations on the mysteries of being alive. “Tractor Beam” kicks off as a light-hearted play on the otherworldly. “Light on Your Feet” is the heartbeat of a melancholic romantic. “Reverie” bluntly depicts the ills of fame and money. “Cruise” disassociates from reality, and “Agony Freak” appears as a swamp-like, albeit somewhat campy, monster.

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This is the kind of poetic playfulness that rests at the core of Ricochet. Jordan took the leap into songwriting while still on tour for Valentine. Intent on playing daily, she kept a guitar in the bus to write on the road, slowly compiling a balanced mix of instrumental tracks. Allowing the music to breathe, giving a year to focus solely on vocals and lyrics, Jordan opted for a different process this time around, approaching the album with cohesive intention. “I do feel like making the lyrics all at the same time made it the most connected album,” she adds. “This time, I was able to make [the] process a little less awful… nothing got discarded because everything got so much space to breathe and change.”

Once the songs were collected, Jordan wanted to work with a peer, Aron Kobajashi Ritch. They agreed to work out of Mitch Easter of R.E.M.’s North Carolina-based studio, Fidelitorium Recordings – close to home, and with the comfort of a friend whose sound resonates with Jordan. “It was such a mutual experience to be like, ‘What do you think?’ and genuinely caring about the answer.” As a seasoned virtuoso in the industry, Jordan has seen the ins and outs of various forms of production. “I feel like I’ve wasted a lot of money on a lot of things. There were a lot of bells and whistles that ended up getting added to the equation. You’re on album two – time to go to this famous studio!” she says of Valentine, noting how production can so often feel like a mix of the same players in the same ol’ game. “I was just trying to flip it on its head a little bit.”

In returning to an air of simplicity, Jordan co-produced the album’s music videos alongside Elsie Richter, mixing a raw playfulness like that of her earlier work on “Thinning” with a cinematic nod to the highly produced singles of Valentine. “It was just a matter of my friend – who was a huge film fan – being like, ‘I think it would be cool not to need a big prop like a snake. Maybe just your vibe could be enough.’” Setting off in rural North Carolina, Jordan found the process strikingly different from the costly, sponsored productions of the previous album. “It definitely was extremely different,” Jordan explains. “I think that it’s been more meaningful to try to do it in a more chill way. To be like, ‘Let’s see what we can accomplish.’”

As it stands, Jordan has accomplished a lot. Coming to terms with her own Catholic upbringing, she has forced herself to sit with anxieties rooted in the not-knowing. “I get freaked out thinking about God and shit,” Jordan admits. “I definitely feel like there’s a lot of things about my personality and who I am that are the way that they are because I carry so much guilt and shame. I’m a shame monster.” Ricochet serves as a pensive admiration. It gawks at the gawdiness of the galaxy and stares agape at the agonizing reality that everything will some day slip away. It’s something that Jordan catches perfectly between delicate strings, heavenly brass, and clear, clean vocals that convey a soft poignancy. “A lot of the stuff I’m grappling with is the fact that I totally thought there was a heaven and a hell for so long. Getting to a point where I actually feel scared of the greater universe, and scared of losing the things I love… It’s genuinely only been the last five years [since I] actually believed we’d all meet up in heaven for a party afterwards.”

Where Jordan’s previous albums hammered hard on the pangs of romantic heartache and deep relational cuts, Ricochet is rooted in that enduring kind of love. It slows down, sitting in the trenches, wondering how to hold on where nothing lasts forever. And while it can be hard to crawl out of this – dare I say – spiral, Jordan has found some peace. “I think being seen and actually understood by people in my life – actually loved – has gotten me to a point of being more confident in the things about myself that I maybe would [have hated] before. Having close friends and a girlfriend that I love makes it easier to want to stand up for myself.”

As the sun goes down and the stars come out, Snail Mail builds an intricate lore. Drawing inspiration from psychological drama Synecdoche, New York; Laura Gilpin’s 1977 poem “The Two-Headed Calf” (Jordan even has a stuffed two-headed lamb, gifted to her by a friend), and a wide array of ‘90s alt-rock, Ricochet presents a new take on an ancient feeling. “My Maker” looks towards the heavens, reckoning with the age-old adage: “What if nothing matters?” To which Jordan answers, “Above us, it’s just sky.”

Even in a spiraling obsession, fearing death and what happens after, Jordan says, “I was trying really hard to also include elements of wonder and curiosity.” Ricochet leaves room to think and to feel, allowing for growth and confusion. In the depths of our conversation, after facing a bit of choppy internet connection and a few cute interruptions by her adorably fluffy white dog Pip, Jordan’s charm and dry wit save the day. Her honest nature is sweet and palpable. So while the sky may seem vast and looming, all is not lost. It’s just sky.