It’s been five years since Snail Mail’s last full- length record, Valentine, and in that time Lindsey Jordan has allowed life to accumulate rather than resolve. Five years of living, thinking, drifting, experiencing. Of life stuff – leaving New York and moving to rural North Carolina, falling in love, getting a dog, watching the stars, and learning how to sit with solitude. Of life shit – despondency, disillusionment. And all the in between: musing on existence, mortality, and meaning. Long a writer attuned to emotional aftershocks and realisations, Jordan now turns her gaze outward and upward. These thoughts have always animated Jordan’s introspective, luminous songwriting – but now they have deepened, developed and distorted.

Half a decade later, Jordan returns with Ricochet. The lens has shifted and matured, gently warped by experience, as Jordan gathers those intervening years into a record that feels both intimate and unguarded. Breaking the illusion of what she dubs ‘magical writing’, a renewed freedom emerged, guided by existential touchstones like Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York, and Laura Gilpin’s 1977 poem The Two-Headed Calf. The result is a record that allows uncertainty and ambiguity to shimmer. Fellow Baltimore, Maryland, musician Brendan Yates – the enigmatic frontman of Turnstile – has known Jordan since the early days, and the two share much more than just a hometown: an instinctive approach to songwriting that soars.

Lindsey Jordan: Yo. How are you?

Brendan Yates: What’s up, Lindsey. I’m good, just at home in Maryland, right now.
LJ: I’m in North Carolina.

BY: You’ve been there for a couple years, right?
LJ: Yeah, I’m on year two. It’s so sick and really quiet.

BY: Actually, on this last tour we were in Asheville, and I was like, “Man, the pace here is so different.” It felt so peaceful there.
LJ: Dude, Asheville is sick.

BY: So, new music…
LJ: Yeah, new music. I haven’t done this in so long, it feels crazy. What’s up with you? Have you just been touring like crazy?

BY: Yeah, I guess we were where you are like, six months ago or something. And since then, we put out an album [Never Enough] and we’ve been playing a lot. We didn’t really fully disappear, but in my head we did, because last year we only played a handful of shows. When’s the last time you played a show?
LJ: We did a tour with Dinosaur Jr. from August into September [2025]. But that’s been it. I love Never Enough, by the way, it’s so good.

BY: Thank you, dude.
LJ: It’s awesome. Have the shows been amazing?

BY: They have, it’s been so cool. We did a US tour, followed by a European tour. One thing that we’ve definitely taken away is just how many parents are there with their kids – that’s been so cool to see, generations of families connecting over music. Tell me about [Ricochet], I don’t remember the last time I saw you.
LJ: Dude, it’s been a minute. It took me, like, five years to write the record. I started right after the last one was done and I thought I was learning how to do my process faster. I was like, “OK, if I start immediately, I’ll get the next one out faster.” But it just didn’t end up happening like that at all. It’s been the same for me every single time I’ve had to make a record. It just takes me so long. I can’t start a new era until I’m, like, fully out of the other one. I’ve tried all kinds of different stuff. Like, when we were on tour together [in 2022], I was outside of the bus or in the hotel room, literally every single day trying to write a song. Once I was done with the touring cycle, I’d basically created seven fully-fledged, arranged, no drums or anything, but instrumentals with vocal melodies. Then I made four more, and then I did all the lyrics at the same time. It was helpful for me to agonise longer over instrumentals that I’d been looking at forever. That was strenuous – I was doing that for about a year straight. I didn’t go home for Christmas [in 2024], I was just writing lyrics. Then we made this record in Kernersville, North Carolina, which is only 30 minutes away from me. It’s just been… You know how it goes, it feels like the music industry is headed in some new direction. It’s been completely different since I last tried to be part of it, [I feel like I’m] entering a completely different field. That’s been weird. I wouldn’t call it a concept record at all, but it’s definitely the closest I’ve ever gotten to that, because I did it all at once.

“I want to try to head back to the pure place I started as a music fan.”

BY: Was there a moment in that when you kind of realised, “OK, this is what the album is going to be”?
LJ: Yeah, totally. The second song on the record, My Maker, I already had the chorus line that was, “Above us, it’s just sky.” And I was like, “I’m going to write that one as a thesis.” It kind worked to anchor all the other ones together. I was like, “OK, so this song is going to be straight up like, ‘I’m scared because I just do not believe in heaven anymore.’” I’m still trying to put together exactly how I’m going to talk about it. But I feel like it’s a diary. In that it’s about everywhere that I’m at with all that stuff. A lot of my music has been about break-ups and love and curiosity about what love will be like one day, and basically, just being in a long-term healthy relationship, I was like, I’ve got to find a way to be a different kind of songwriter. Do you struggle with that where you’re like, “OK, where are we going next?”

BY: Yeah, it sounds like you do the same where, I think the beautiful part about figuring that out is allowing yourself time to figure it out. It’s going to be five years since Valentine? You’re giving yourself life experience. I really try to allow time to figure out what has happened in the last couple years, and where I’m seeing things differently. Sometimes those things can be consistent and the same, because it’s those things that you carry with you throughout your whole life. And then there are things that are new, and that you maybe carried with you on the last album that you don’t anymore. It’s an interchanging thing. I think it’s really easy to get swept up into this idea that you put out an album, and then you tour, and then you have to get back in the studio and do another album. For some people, that’s their way of doing it. But at least for me, I feel like it’s important to follow whatever feels the most natural at any given moment, and not feel like you need to force a momentum that’s maybe projected onto you.
LJ: Totally. And it’s a crazy time for that, because I do feel like bands are disappearing and coming out more than ever. I was just talking to my girlfriend about this, it didn’t used to feel like you would put out a record and then wait a few years, and everybody would forget about you in the same way that it happens right now. The attention span market is short. And it’s super important to me – as you were saying – to actually live life, and then try to put something together. I definitely struggle with trying to exist outside of the market. I spend a lot of time trying to separate myself from what I think that people want, or what I think people like about the music, what I think people like about my songwriting. When I sit down, I want to try to head back to the pure place I started as a music fan. It’s awesome to even be afforded the ability to disappear and come back. I fear that is a relic of the past. Bands who have already existed and been successful for a long time can still do that, but I’m super curious to see brand new bands take five years or something like that. I don’t think that if we were a brand new band, I would be able to keep up with the environment that we’re in right now. Do you feel intimidated by the social media of it all?

BY: I know exactly what you mean. I feel like no matter what, you’re always going to have that lingering feeling of this need to do more or to be more present, or put yourself out there more. Especially with social media and how the world of music that we exist in is set up. I guess the thing that helps with that perspective is that historically, if you’re existing in your own lane, people will always be drawn to that.
LJ: Totally. Do you ever get worried about running out of inspiration?

BY: I’ve actually thought about this. The previous album [Glow On, 2021], I spent so much time hitting walls and pacing around the room like, “What is the answer? What am I looking for?” But then you kind of exhaust yourself out and something seeps its way in, it fills it out. Then before you know it, you have an album. I try to remind myself of that process. So when I hit a wall, I’ve now reframed it as an important part of the process. Part of the process is being inspired and having the answer, and the other part is being uninspired, exhausted and having zero answers. It’s a way of not putting so much weight on that half of things, you can look at it as like, “OK, I’m supposed to feel this uncertainty.” Then I can wait it out or figure it out and not get too bent out of shape about it.
LJ: How do you take yourself out? Because I always feel like music is really insidious – it’s difficult to take a break when you’re writing. You go watch a movie or something, but it’s stuck in your head, looping. What do you do to chill out?

“There wasn’t a single idea that I started on the record that didn’t make it. Nothing got scrapped.”

BY: I’m the worst person to ask, because I don’t think I’m good at it. I’m probably the same as you. It’s even hard to listen to music when you’re in the depths of making music – it’s just orbiting around you. I go to watch a movie, the sound design from the opening credits starts, and I think, “Oh, that’s a cool sound.” [both laugh] Then I’m like, “Pause the movie!” Right now, in this moment between tours, I’m trying to embrace not being in that mode, because I’m in that mode for so long when making the record and then touring is like a different kind of thing. I don’t know what your relationship is with touring. It’s amazing, but it can be so exhausting, and it’s also a very important part, because you’re playing the songs live for the first time, and that’s where the actual energy exchange with people happens. What are your feelings about playing shows versus making the music alone in your bedroom?
LJ: I personally get quite a bit more from making the music. I think that’s something I’m actually just better at, straight up. Touring, [after] years and years and years of it, every time I’m trying to figure out how to make it smoother for myself, and trying to really get to the root of what makes it hard. I think what really makes it difficult for me is when you have five back to back or whatever, and maybe on the fourth one you have a cold, then all of the people in like, let’s say Dayton, Ohio, are like, “They’re not as powerful live as I thought.” You’re giving people a show that they paid for, and you’re trying to keep it a consistent level of good. Where I sometimes feel like the actual factors of just being alive that week sometimes will make it really hard. I’m kind of ready to get this show back on the road now, mainly because I’m excited to rework the songs live. But I mean, y’all put on a fucking severely energetic show. How do you do that every night?

BY: For us, it’s such a big part of making the music. When we’re making the music, it’s very personal. But then once it becomes of the world, that’s part two of how the song comes to life. So playing things differently, seeing how they feel. The first time we were playing some of these songs six months ago, they felt so drastically different to the way that we play them now. You play them in different environments, and you get to have different exchanges. Sometimes the recording can be the earliest stage of a song that you thought was complete, but it feels more complete when you get to play it [live]. I don’t know if I love touring, or if I’m just so conditioned to it, because I’ve been going to shows and touring for so long – it feels really ingrained in the whole process. I have friends who are truly amazing musicians, but despise playing a show, it’s just so brutal for them. I get it because it takes a lot, but I have a different relationship with it, it’s a complex love-hate relationship. Ultimately, I feel like it’s important.
LJ: I’m with you, I love that the songs change and I love shows. I just really beat myself up badly if I feel like a show doesn’t go well – I’m on the bus awake all night. You spend all day long getting ready for the event, then it happens and sometimes the pressure around the show itself makes it not as enjoyable for me. But I do aim to get better at that.

“I don’t know if I would have been as interested in starting a band if I wasn’t so interested in the DIY scene.”

BY: I actually feel more pressure on the one-offs, because I’m not in a flow state. I think when you’re [on tour], you get in a rhythm, then you can fully let go. Two weeks in, you’re not thinking about anything other than just existing somewhere else in your head while you play. But one-offs can come with a lot of like, “OK, we flew here for this. This is this big thing that we need to be here for.” You get in your head.
LJ: For me, the first few shows on tour are usually the hardest, emotionally, especially in a new cycle, or with new band mates, where you’re like, “We’ve got to get into this flow state or we’re going to be really cooked.”

BY: I was actually speaking about you a few days ago. I went to the Cameron Winter show in LA and sitting in front of me was Waxahatchee, Katie [Crutchfield]. Lindsey: Oh my god. Brendan: I hadn’t met her before. We were chatting about you and she was speaking about visiting you, coming to Maryland and stuff like that. How did you guys meet?
LJ: I actually knew her sister Allison before I knew Katie. I was a fan of Swearin’ and Waxahatchee, all that stuff, and I’d seen her play. Then I think it was right around the time where we were getting a lot of online buzz and there was this moment where, you know how it is, there’s a random ass rush of managers, agents and labels. I was waiting to turn eighteen so that I could sign all of these things, and there were a lot of people in my ear. Katie came in at a good time and was like, “This is my agent, this is my manager.” And I was like, “OK, cool. I’ll just copy.” [laughs] And it went great. Having a friend to lend a non-judgmental ear – we’ve been friends for a really long time. I actually have no idea where I would be if not for finding each other, because she’s helped me with so much. That’s so funny that you guys ran into each other. How was the show?

BY: Incredible. It was just so beautiful, I loved seeing it in that environment. I went with some friends and we were actually talking about Maryland. I’m curious about your relationship with Maryland at this point in your life. Do you come back a lot? Do you have family here?
LJ: I love Maryland. A goal that I had when I decided [to leave] New York… I was trying to buy a house, because I’d been saving up to invest for the longest time. And there is still a part of me that kind of wishes I bought something in Baltimore, but I wanted to try out a new state. But I’m back kind of a lot because I have a dog who, she wasn’t supposed to get as big as she has. [laughs] They told me she was going to be like, sixteen pounds, and she’s about thirty pounds. We did the Dinosaur Jr. tour with her and it was really hard. So my parents have been helping me. I still have a lot of close friends who live there, so I go as much as I can. I definitely miss it. How’s living in Baltimore for you right now?

BY: It’s great. It’s interesting because our schedules bring us different places, and you end up not being home as much. And home [becomes] a place where you can recharge before you leave again. But that’s been great for us. I’m sure you get the same conversations when you’re asked to describe why Baltimore is special – because I think for a lot of people, it’s not the first place on the travel list. When I meet someone, it’s always like, “Oh, you’re from Baltimore. I love Beach House,” or, “I love Snail Mail.” It puts into perspective that there is so much cool music coming from the area.
LJ: There is such a deep, awesome art history in Baltimore. But also there aren’t so many huge things coming out of it that it isn’t like, us all in the same conversation all the time, which is actually so sick to me. When I was growing up, I thought it was so cool that people were from LA or New York. But it wasn’t until I started really digging into the music history and started to care about John Waters and stuff that I was just like, “Oh my god. I live in this Mecca.” I had a friend who started going to Goucher [College], and she could drive before me, so she would take me to DIY shows all the time. Then as soon as I got my license, that’s all I was doing. Even going to D.C. parking in Greenbelt and taking the train to go see a show. I feel like that’s where my life started. I made all these new friends, and I was a part of a scene. It was cool how welcoming everybody was, and how welcoming everybody still is. I don’t know if I would have been as interested in starting a band if I wasn’t so interested in the DIY scene.

BY: Growing up, I had a similar idea where I thought that when I turned eighteen, I’ve got to get out, I’ve got to go somewhere. Because something about the world tells you that, especially if you’re making music. I’ve been playing in bands forever, but once I joined Trapped Under Ice, that was the first band I started touring with and seeing the world. The years around that, I kind of started to contextualise Baltimore’s place in the greater world, and seeing the pros and cons of these bigger cities where there are those ideas that if you want to be in a band, you’ve got to move to this place to be more connected. It’s true and false at the same time. Because you can be more connected in some ways, but you can get extremely disconnected in other ways. It helped me grow in appreciation for having a home that felt intimate, and same to what you were saying about the DIY scene. I was talking with friends the other day about how the coolest thing that attracted me to… I’ve always loved music, but the thing that put it all into perspective for me was once I started getting excited about going to shows. The people who I was most looking up to were the people who were in the room with me. The people that I’m in the mosh pit with, but then their band plays the next set. I’d never seen a concert at an arena until I was like, in my late twenties. I just grew up through community centre shows, then local venues or house shows. I first started going to shows when I was maybe thirteen. My band would play, and older bands would be like, “Yo, you’re a really sick drummer, you should come to eat with us after.” And then the next time we played a show, they would be moshing for my band. I’d be like, “OK, it’s not just a spectator thing where I have to admire them from afar. I can admire everything that’s going on, and be a part of it.”
LJ: I kind of feel like I had the reverse experience where I was getting my mom to take me to like, The Black Hat in D.C., or Ottobar to see all these bands that I was finding on Tumblr and Grooveshark. It wasn’t until I was maybe fourteen or fifteen that I had a friend who was trying to go to all these house shows, and it was so cool. It gave me the confidence to want to do it. Everybody was so nice and encouraging. Exactly the same as you, except just, like, reverse. I’ve always been a musician, and I’ve always wanted to do music in some way, but I definitely wasn’t like, I’m gonna start a band and it’s gonna go great. It was just through making friends and DIY and going to awesome shows. We pretty much created a band because I was speaking to Angie from Post Pink about U+NFest and she was like, “I’ve heard your EP on Bandcamp. It’s awesome. You should play.” And I was like, “OK, cool.” And that’s a prime example, it was just like, “Here, you try.”

BY: I remember hearing your first EP [Lush] and just being like, man, this is incredible. Your voice is incredible and the guitar playing is so unique. It’s been ten years now? Was that 2015? Lindsey: Yeah, so crazy. Brendan: I’m curious, comparing where you were at that point in your life to now, where you’ve put out a couple records, and you’ve had so much life experience, you live in a different place, and a lot has changed. What feels different about making music now? What’s your relationship with making the music?
LJ: Honestly, I was able to get rid of a lot of magical thinking around songwriting. When I moved out of New York, and I was in my parents’ house for like, a year, I think a lot of my issues with songwriting… It would be agonising for me, because I would work on an idea for like, six months, seven months, and then decide it wasn’t album worthy and get rid of it. I was like, “No, it’s ruined.” And it would make me feel so emotional, like I’d just wasted all this time. I also had this superstition almost that I could only write music in the quiet of my parents’ home, that specific Ellicott City home. During the pandemic, during Valentine, I was back there and I was like, “Oh my god, it’s true. I’m back here and I’m writing all this music.” For me, it was a big deal coming here [North Carolina] and finishing this record [Ricochet]. I wasn’t at all worried about superstition or where I was. Maybe it’s a maturity thing, I’m not sure, but it’s just like, “Actually, what I need is quiet and a room that’s not my bedroom to work on music, so that I can put it to bed for the night.” And like, “I need my neighbours to not be able to hear me” – I couldn’t do New York for that reason. But honestly, it was getting rid of the magical thinking, and doing all the instrumental stuff first, and then the lyrics later. There wasn’t a single idea that I started on the record that didn’t make it. Nothing got scrapped. It wasn’t like, work, work, work, work, work, oh shit, dump it. I was working on a lot of them all at once, and looking at it as a bigger picture. I’d get bored working on one thing, and just go to another. I feel like that’s probably going to be my process [going forward]. Even just making a second record that did well meant a lot to me for the superstition in my mind. I wasn’t, like, “I just got lucky.” How has your songwriting changed over time?

BY: I like your process, as far as doing it all at once. A few years ago I was speaking with this painter, Ken Kelly, he did a bunch of the Kiss artwork and stuff like that – super legend. He was describing to me that he has his canvases in a circle around him and he works on little things [on one work], and then if his eye is drawn to something [on another work], he just drops that one and works on the other. So he’s doing it all at once, and they don’t even need to be connected. Doing it that way actually made so much sense to me, it’s constantly refreshing your perspective and you don’t get so locked in, like, “I need to finish this.” You’re doing this green colour on this one, and you’re like, “Oh, actually, this would work really well over there.” I love the visual of the canvases surrounding you in a circle. Because my attention span can go all over the place, so it’s a better way to embrace that. As you were talking about, today’s music world can be a little less album-focused and more just like, quick singles, but my brain still works in albums. It works in the big picture. Seeing the way that songs can exist on their own, but when put together, there’s something tangible and connected. I’m still very in love with that.
LJ: Totally. I’m hoping the art of the album returns, because it’s its own fucking skill set, and a lot of people don’t have it.