At first glance, New York-born Norah Jones and London-born Lily Allen appear to have little in common, musically or otherwise. Vocally and lyrically, Jones, 27, seems as gentle and urbane as Allen, 21, does brash and acidic.
They also seem to come from different generations, despite a mere six-year age difference. Allen's infectious songs and tart-tongued blogs on her MySpace Web page got 2 million hits last year. Jones doesn't even have a MySpace page, although her rootsy offshoot band, the Little Willies, does.
But these two gifted singer-songwriters share a few key traits that extend beyond the fact they were both estranged from their famous fathers while growing up, but have since reconciled. (Jones is the daughter of Indian music legend Ravi Shankar, while Allen's dad, Keith Allen, is a British actor and comedian.)
Most important is the independent spirit that fuels their music. This is matched by their ability to rise above the pop-music conventions that shackle too many young artists in this age of dull “American Idol” conformity.
With her 2002 debut album, “Come Away With Me” (which earned five Grammy Awards the next year), the jazz-trained Jones almost miraculously made slow, subtle music appealing to a mass audience. Her third solo outing, the delicately crafted “Not Too Late,” is even more spare and understated.
It's also darker and – at times – more playful, depending on the song, and more ambitious and idiosyncratic. Despite her worldwide album sales of 30 million, Jones isn't complacent. She repeatedly challenges herself, and her listeners, on this enchanting, 13-song album.
Collaborating with her boyfriend and bassist, Lee Alexander, who expertly produced “Not Too Late,” Jones has for the first time on any of her albums written or co-written every song. She addresses matters of the heart and the wrenching price of war and political demagoguery with equal skill.
“Wish I Could,” the album's gripping opening song, uses only whisper-soft acoustic guitars and cellos to offset Jones' aching tale of two women mourning the same fallen young soldier. “Sinkin' Soon” is a bluesy ballad that wouldn't sound out of place in a Depression-era speakeasy. It features hushed vocal support from indie cult star M. Ward and lyrics that could be about a failed relationship or a doomed nation, both beset by a clueless protagonist.
The exquisite “Not My Friend” ruminates on a dangerous companion, while the charming “Little Room” playfully salutes the power of love. Even better is the plaintive “My Dear Country,” which probes our country's bleak sociopolitical landscape with chilling results worthy of Randy Newman at his best.
Allen, conversely, specializes in perky, musically upbeat songs that combine elements of ska, pop, rock-steady and hip-hop. With her rapier wit, she crafts biting lyrics that mercilessly skewer her targets (usually former or would-be boyfriends).
She's a budding master of the kiss-off song, as demonstrated by the chorus to “Smile,” on which she sweetly sings: At first when I see you cry / Yeah, it makes me smile / At worst I feel bad for a while / But then I just smile.
On the delightful “Not Big,” she gleefully recounts a former lover's inadequacies. Gliding over a buoyant, Jamaican beat, she croons: I'm sorry if you feel I'm being kind of mental / But you left me in such a state / Now I'm gonna do what you did to me / I'm gonna reciprocate.
Allen is a good, rather than great, singer. But she exudes so much winning personality it doesn't matter. She falters only with “Littlest Things,” a soppy ballad, but quickly recovers with “Alfie,” in which she bemoans her younger brother's copious pot-smoking thusly: Please use your brain / Surely there's some walls out there that you can go and spray.
Singing in an unabashedly Cockney accent, she's also sly enough to rhyme “weight loss” with the name of anorexic-looking supermodel Kate Moss. And she's savvy enough to sample Earl King's New Orleans R&B classic “Big Chief” on the dance-happy “Knock 'Em Out,” which finds her trying to evade a player by claiming to have both herpes and syphilis.
It remains to be seen how Allen, who never performed live until last year, fares on stage. In the meanwhile, “Alright, Still ...” easily lives up to the first part of its title.
