When “Dead End” ended her five-year hiatus, it could, on the surface, easily be stocked in her sprawling collection of torch songs. Both Lush and its gorgeous big sister Valentine have prepared us for their surrounding themes, fleshing out referential and quintessentially voguish music that once put her on the pedestal as indie rock’s new innovator. But listening to Ricochet in full reshapes the initial understanding of its first teaser. She’s heartbroken not because of love’s unfortunate slips, but the dawn of a grueling realisation of how fleeting everything in life seems to be. A once beloved friendship grows cold and distant; the gratitude in lifetime achievements somehow turns sour; death feels inexplicably so close.
“Life is a race / So much potential out there,” Jordan sings on “Nowhere”, her voice as crisp as ever. “Always gonna be someone to take your place.” Where there used to be a cutting-edge sensitivity to the ways she moves through each lyric and production element, Ricochet races to become the most digestible work of her career. “No one else decides the way we / Scurry around this hell,” she reveals in a one-note manner on the next track, “Hell”. The volcanic passion renowned in her previous records is replaced by disillusionment, which reduces her confidence and courage to push boundaries. These songs remain uncharacteristically conventional in structure and instrumentation as a disappointing result.
Jordan harks back to the soundtracks of 90s and 00s teen movies: a youthful melange of heavenly strings and grounded guitar crashes. It may be her way of escaping the internal crises that have plagued her since the downslope of the pandemic, though her knack for experimentation is heavily sacrificed. “Light on Our Feet” is levitating in its first seconds, then stays melodically stale as she taps into a forgotten romance. “Cruise” sounds like a sped-up reiteration of Vic Chestnutt without inheriting any of his eccentricity. The grumpy, snappy nature of “Agony Freak” could’ve powered its music more to externalise the persistent turmoil of losing sense of oneself. Ricochet is beautifully composed – just unremarkably so.
Why Valentine was such a magnificent follow-up is because every track knits its vulnerable expressions to the furthest seams. Even on the most traditional song “Mia”, you still hear emotion leaking from Jordan’s rasps and losses of breath. Ricochet is a record of equal pleasantness; it will bring joy to those who appreciate lush instrumentals and dismay to those who wish to witness growth in her idiosyncrasy. Even though the title track is her most sonically breathtaking yet, there’s still something missing that impedes it from reaching its fullest potential. She’s gotten out of her own mud on “Reverie”, however: “But you’re a lighthouse / In my cold, stormy life.” Whatever or whoever “you” is, let’s hope it can rekindle her lust for the peculiar sounds that made her music so fascinating in the first place.
