Jordan Patterson’s Songs From a Valley Girl is a rapid, wide-ranging follow-up. The five-song EP—the Los Angeles singer’s debut on Secretly Canadian—comes just nine months after her debut album, The Hermit, and spans a few subgenres of turn-of-the-millenium radio pop. Another singer—especially one so early in her career—might find herself getting lost in the cracks between, say, The Hermit’s standout “Racecar,” with its limber rap influence, and the EP’s waltz-like opening track “QDS.”
But once the microphone’s on, everything Jordan Patterson does is in character, and the strength of that idea gives her the freedom to explore a broad spectrum of sounds. (Even her stage banter, which I heard when she came to Brooklyn last year, is delivered in a range between girlish titter and sputtering gasp.) Patterson is developing her voice into a persona out of Old Hollywood myth—one particular “oh gosh” on “QDS” is a dead ringer for the transatlantic accent of Jackie Onassis. On Songs From a Valley Girl, Patterson dips into everything from voice-note emo to woodland folk, proving that she can sound like Alanis Morissette, Billie Holiday, or an elf and still always like herself.
No score yet, be the first to add.
Lyrical consistency helps tie these songs together—licking wounds from thwarted romantic connection, written as dramatically as young love in Los Angeles must feel. On the refrain of “QDS,” she sings, “As I roam the valley, I wonder will true love ever find me.” “I don’t think we’ll last forever,” she admits on one track. “Do you wanna be just my friend,” she asks on another, “or more than?”
Patterson is among a clog of recent artists circulating between New York and Los Angeles mining the sounds of the ’90s and ’00s, but her voice sets her apart. The most striking triumph here comes on “Last,” an absolute rocket with some hallmarks of an acoustic emo throwback. The production has the restraint to use these references with subtlety—instead of a straight Dashboard rip, there’s counterpoint from what sounds like an oboe. Through Patterson’s direction, the music still looks forward, into the future, with curiosity.
“Just My Friend,” for example, is like the smoothie that resulted from a few adult contemporary touchpoints thrown into a blender: John Mayer in his 20s on the guitar, Norah Jones on the keys, perhaps Macy Gray’s voice most of all. Even if those sounds weren’t your bag the first time around, you’ll want to try them with Patterson at the helm—even the sleepiest textures are hard to doze through while she’s gasping and shrieking.
Her voice is also the engine on closer “Win You.” While the song is anchored with lump-in-the-throat hooks, her addition of chants and giggles take the already stirring track to the point of sounding a bit unhinged. Compared to the computer-synthesized vocals that are only growing more and more popular, Patterson’s unique, often startling performances feel like a welcome respite—a reminder that bold, human choices are not to be feared. They, in fact, might just be the future.
