Snail Mail - Valentine Review

Snail Mail aka Lindsey Jordan is back with her sublime sophomore album Valentine, three years after her critically acclaimed debut cemented her as an indie-rock prodigy.

Snail Mail aka Lindsey Jordan is back with her sublime sophomore album Valentine, three years after her critically acclaimed debut cemented her as an indie-rock prodigy. On a personal note, I’d been looking forward to new music from Jordan for a long while, since discovering some of her older work that quickly became favourites of mine.

If you’re as eager to get Valentine in your ears as I was, hit play on the record and let’s take a deeper look at each track as we listen together.

The album opener is the eponymous ‘Valentine’, a lovelorn lament to a former partner. The track begins with sci-fi synths leading to a booming, guitar-driven chorus that was made for Jordan’s powerhouse vocals. Jordan pleads with the track’s subject, asking “why’d you wanna erase me?” and reminding them “you'll always know where to find me when you change your mind.” It’s a desperate and unrelenting feeling encapsulated in this song’s lyricism.

We’re then introduced to a new side of Jordan, who told Pitchfork that she “wanted to sonically and lyrically get out of [her] comfort zone” with ‘Ben Franklin’, the next track on the record. This one was built for head bopping, with a steady drumbeat, catchy melody, and a chorus that echoes King Princess’ signature sound on the lyric “sucker for the pain, huh, honey”. Whether Jordan was inspired by this artist or not is unclear, but I enjoyed this subtle similarity.  

‘Headlock’ brings back elements reminiscent of that undeniable ‘90s sound, appearing outwardly gentle with soft guitar. Lyrically, though, Jordan narrates a descent into darkness, of drowning in so much sadness over losing a lover that you’re willing to die to join them.

In a similar yet altogether less depressing vein, the dreamy ‘Light Blue’ recounts headfast and unwavering commitment, this time telling a gut wrenchingly romantic tale of all-encompassing young love. Jordan wears her heart on her sleeve, dulcet vocals over violin and fingerstyle guitar, on a song that was written for a girlfriend of hers when she was 19.

Now, we see Jordan dabble in sampling on ‘Forever (Sailing)’, taking Madleen Kane’s ‘You and I’ and creating a sensual, soulful cut, where rich instrumentals lead the way. It’s a sexy song and definitely a standout track for me. It’s jarring then that the next song deals with religious themes, albeit in a critical way. ‘Madonna’ explores the damaging effects of worship and putting someone on a pedestal - that love for an idealised version of a person isn’t real love. With interesting composition and pacing, ‘Madonna’ is one of its kind on this record.  

Life on tour has its perks, sure, but on ‘c et. al’, Jordan and her stripped back guitar hone in on the breakdown of a relationship as a result of the long days, sleepless nights, and endless hours on the road. In her depressive state, Jordan vows that she’d “leave it behind if you wanted me to.” After our brief acoustic interlude, ‘Glory’ reintroduces a gritty indie-rock sound reflective of Jordan’s anger, mostly at herself, for giving the subject of the song so much control over her. Thematically similar to ‘Madonna’, Jordan plays with the dichotomy of being owed and owned by someone - in an interview with Stereogum, she explained “this person is God but I also want to scream in their face.”

The penultimate track ‘Automate’ is the immediate aftermath of a breakup. The instrumentation feels at times urgent, languid in other parts, which reflects the emotional ups and downs of healing. Lyrically, ‘Automate’ examines the heartbreaking reality of being loyal to someone who only loves you conditionally.

Maintaining the theme of loss, ‘Mia’ is a love letter to an ex-girlfriend who Jordan has outgrown and needs to let go of for both of their sakes. As Jordan observes Mia with her new lover, she feels jealous and continues to yearn for what once was. Jordan’s pained vocals are complemented with orchestral elements, culminating in a fittingly sad ending to an album about the ecstasy and agony of love. It is called Valentine, after all.