Norah Jones

On a music-video set just south of downtown Los Angeles, on an industrial strip trafficked by semis and surrounded by railbeds, a bewigged Norah Jones is dancing with a man in a tuxedo. Wait, make that a man in a form-fitting lime-green body stocking with a tuxedo pinned to his chest. In this converted garage behind a Streamline Moderne façade, Jones is working out some on-the-fly choreography to “Sinkin’ Soon,” from her new album Not Too Late.

“Can we try that one more time?” the dancing musician asks director Ace Norton, 24, who chews gum and patrols the set sockless in deck shoes, an untucked flannel shirt with rolled sleeves and dark jeans. “He says, ‘Got it!’” Jones announces to no one in particular, “and I’m like, ‘Wait, no we didn’t! We just learned it!’”

As Jones—resplendent in jet-black pageboy wig, black slacks, white shirt, sequined vest, and heels—fine-tunes her dance steps with Mr. Tuxedo (the puppeteer in the green body stocking disappears in post-production, completing the illusion that Jones is cutting the rug with, literally, an empty suit), boyfriend/musical collaborator Lee Alexander wryly takes in the proceedings, chuckling when she crosses her arms in a devil-horn rock salute after nailing a take.

Later, during a tight close-up, Jones amuses herself and the small on-set audience by flaring her nostrils, wiggling her ears and sticking out her tongue. In contrast to her shy public demeanor while her debut Come Away With Me was on its way to selling 20 million copies and earning five Grammys, Jones acts completely comfortable in the spotlight and in front of the camera. Perhaps it’s the recent practice—prior to the day spent shooting “Sinkin’ Soon,” Jones spent seven weeks acting in feature film My Blueberry Nights with acclaimed director Wong Kar-Wai. Or it could be the four straight years of touring to promote her first two records. Or it could be her recent stints recording and playing stealth gigs with a half-dozen semi-serious ensembles, from bluesy country bar band The Little Willies to the garage rockers El Madmo to Tim Luntzel’s soul-jazz outfit Brooklyn Boogaloo Blowout.

The 2007 model Norah Jones is a more confident and extroverted performer, and—strange as it may sound for someone whose first two records combined to sell more than 30-million copies worldwide—she’s just begun to find her voice as an artist. “[Not Too Late] is definitely my first record as a songwriter … even though I wrote songs on the last few records,” Jones says a couple days later, when we settle in at a suite at West Hollywood’s Sunset Marquis for a wide-ranging chat. “I started writing songs right before my first record came out, and it kind of opened up a whole new world for me. I thought, ‘Wow, I can do this.’ I mean, it’s hard, but when inspiration hits, it’s quick and it feels really good.”

A COMING OUT PARTY

In person, Norah Jones hardly matches her depiction—particularly her depiction early on—as a shrinking violet or melancholy romantic. She’s engaging and energetic, cracking jokes, poking fun at herself and mugging goofily. As she’s introduced to me—in costume—on the video set, she blurts, “Ah! This is not the real me!” Similarly, when she describes the first time she discovered she could play piano with only a lead sheet, she bounces in her seat and gestures broadly with her arms: “Ha ha! Wah hoo! This is awesome, I can just play. Great!”

During one of her appearances with “punk” three-piece El Madmo (fronted by Jones and Daru Oda, a member of Jones’ regular backing ensemble, The Handsome Band), she once sported fishnet stockings, a platinum-blonde wig and raccoon-looking eye makeup. And with The Little Willies she convincingly sings lead on “Lou Reed” (co-written with Alexander and Richard Julian), a song about the dour underground-rock godfather going cowtipping.

So what of the poised young woman in an elegant dress, emoting earnestly at the Steinway grand? “I think it comes from just being a jazz singer all the time, getting used to singing about love, being soft and quiet. But I mean, even then [circa Come Away With Me], I wasn’t like that,” she observes. “I’ve never been romantic and melancholy. My whole life I’ve never been like that, so it’s kind of funny.”

Consequently, with Not Too Late—on which she wrote or co-wrote every song—Jones strays considerably from first-person romantic voice. There’s an undercurrent of political unease and worldly dissatisfaction, beginning with lead track “Wish I Could”—four minutes of quiet minimalism (backed only by guitar and cello) that alludes to a soldier’s life: “She says ‘love in the time of war is not fair / he was my man but they didn’t care / sent him far away from here / no goodbye.’”

The album’s boldest statement is “My Dear Country,” an otherworldly waltz that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Kurt Weill musical or on a Tom Waits record.

T’was Halloween and the ghosts were out
And everywhere they’d go they shout
And though I covered my eyes I knew
They’d go away
But fear’s the only thing I saw
And three days later was clear to all
That nothing is as scary as Election Day

“That one just sort of came right out one day,” recounts Jones, who says the song was an attempt to make sense of things. “I’ve always been the kind of person who tries to see both sides.… I don’t know why, but I’ll be like, ‘Oh well, he was mean to me, but I understand. Maybe I said something wrong.’ Definitely in that song I’ve tried to understand both sides, but it’s hard to sometimes.”