Norah Jones: The Devil in Miss Jones

Norah Jones could really go for a hamburger. Nestled in an armchair in a downtown-Manhattan recording studio on a wintry afternoon, she has a craving no mere soy substitute can satisfy. “I’ve been on a health kick lately,” she says, patting her tummy. “Right now I’m trying to make tofu taste good. But I love me some burgers. I used to live over by this place Corner Bistro, in the West Village? Man, that’s a damn good burger. I’d end up there at four in the morning, really, really drunk. You don’t even remember it till you wake up the next morning — like, ‘Why do I smell like onions?’”

Getting wasted, gorging herself, passing out — this is Norah Jones? As it turns out, the mocha-eyed piano chanteuse is actually a bit of a badass, despite what her Whole Foods–frequenting, NPR fan base might suggest. The daughter of sitar legend and Beatles confrere Ravi Shankar, Jones, 27, grew up with her mom in Dallas before moving to New York at 20 to pursue music full-time. Her 2002 debut, Come Away With Me, was an unexpected smash — a hushed, cozy collection of jazz and country standards and modest originals (Jones calls it “sleepy”) that went on to sell a colossal 10 million copies. Since then, she’s won eight Grammys, sold 5 million copies of her follow-up (the warmer, twangier Feels Like Home) and duetted with a slew of wide-ranging admirers, including Dolly Parton, André 3000 and Elmo. (“He totally grabbed my ass,” she says, grinning.)

This year might be Jones’s most pivotal yet. Her just-released third album, Not Too Late, marks the first time she’s written or cowritten every song. This summer she’ll also make her acting debut, starring alongside Jude Law and Natalie Portman in My Blueberry Nights, a film by art-house auteur Wong Kar-Wai. Today, Jones — radiant in jeans and an Oscar the Grouch T-shirt — is ready to let loose. “I wish everyone would say what they really think,” she declares, “and not be afraid of turning people off.”

Let’s start with your childhood. Did you have any nicknames growing up?
When I was in fourth grade I ran for class president as NoJo. This was during the whole Flo Jo craze — pre–J. Lo. Oh, and there was one girl who always called me “Bitch,” but really, I think she was just projecting.

You were an only child with a single mom. Were you two more like friends than mother-daughter?
Like the Gilmore girls? We’re very, very close — definitely way closer than any of my friends are with their parents. We talk on the phone at least … well, too many times a day. I’m not gonna give you a number — you’ll think I’m weird.

More than 10?
Not more than 10. But a lot.

What’s the first concert you ever went to?
MC Hammer.

You’re kidding.
Nope. I was 12. That was one of the first cassettes I ever bought.

Did you have the pants and everything?
Oh, of course! I also loved pop metal: Guns N’ Roses, the Crüe. I had a rock & roll neighbor — her mom drove a Camaro — and I was always over at her house listening to Warrant albums. But I wasn’t very rebellious. I went to an arts high school, and we were all band nerds who were into jazz.

You were sneaking out of the house to discuss alternate tunings?
Yeah — rock & roll! No, the drama kids snuck out a lot, but I didn’t really hang out with them. I had one drama friend — the first time I got drunk was when I spent the night at her house. Her parents were out of town, so we raided the liquor cabinet.

What were you drinking?
Rum and Dr Pepper. It was terrible — I got really sick. I haven’t drunk Dr Pepper since.

So what are your vices now?
Hmm. Is my grandma gonna read this?

We’ll see to it that she doesn’t.
I like to have a beer or a martini. I’ve hung out in many a bar till closing time.

Are you a fun drunk?
I start talking a lot — and much louder than normal. I feel like such a dumbass the next day! But I never, like, take off my top and dance on the table.

Do you smoke?
Not currently. I’ve quit a couple of times — the last was about three months ago. I actually prefer my voice when I’m smoking. I’d love to sound like Cat Power without having to smoke cigarettes or drink a bottle of whiskey every day. I just have to wait till I’m older, I guess.

How about pot?
Of course. I’m not a pothead, but, you know, sometimes. I don’t smoke a lot, though, because I usually just fall asleep. And I get the munchies, but I don’t have a problem with that. That’s the best part.

Ever get high with your buddy Willie Nelson?
I’m not going near Willie’s weed! My friend did once, and he had to go home and sleep for 12 hours. Willie’s weed is no joke.

What’s the worst thing a reviewer has said about your music?
This one writer called me Snorah Jones. At first it bothered me, but now I just think it’s funny. My mom calls me Snorah all the time. And I know Come Away With Me is a sleepy record. God, if I could tell you how many people have come up to me and — as a compliment — said, “I listen to it every night. It puts me right to sleep.”

That’s not really what you want to hear as a musician.
Doctors should prescribe it as a sleeping pill, what can I say? But my skin is a lot thicker than it was a few years ago.

So what criticism bothers you the most? Too slow, boring …
Boring, I think. “Too slow” is a taste thing. But “boring”? That’s just mean.

You have one side project that’s an outlaw-country cover band and another where you wear a platinum wig and fishnets and play punk songs. Is that your way of taking a break from “boring” Norah?
Yeah, it’s great for me to cut loose. Sometimes, especially at the beginning, I wasn’t having fun, because of all the stress and pressure. Those bands are a way for me to just play at a pool hall, drink some beer and have a good time.

One thing people often overlook is that your music is pretty sexy. It’s a toned-down, subtle sexuality. But “Turn Me On,” “I’ve Got to See You Again” — they’re basically booty calls.
I never thought of it that way! When I’m singing, the goal is definitely to seduce. I’m not Beyoncé or Christina. If I’m gonna get you, I’m gonna get you by whispering.

Whose music puts you in the mood?
Like “in the mood” in the mood? [Laughs] Al Green doesn’t hurt. Donny Hathaway.

If your boyfriend were to give you a free pass for a night — anyone, man or woman …
Probably Shakira. She’s hot — I like that she’s this pop star, but she’s also kind of unique and weird. I always sing Shakira when I karaoke.

How many martinis does it take to get you on the karaoke stage?
Maybe two? The first time I went, I thought, This is so lame, people are gonna think I’m a loser. But it’s so much fun.

You remind us of John Mayer, another artist who gets called “boring” but who’s secretly fun and smart-alecky. Is it frustrating that people don’t see that side of you?
I do think that, on my first two records, my real personality didn’t come across at all. But who knows — if my image had been different, maybe the first record wouldn’t have been so successful. Maybe because I was so … blank, that’s why it appealed to so many different kinds of people. It does frustrate me, though. I don’t think I’m a stuffed shirt.

OK, so prove it: What’s your favorite swear word?
Right now it’s balls.

That’s a good one!
I’m trying to get away from the F-word. You know, you start overusing a word and then it loses its power. So I’ve replaced it with balls. Every time I say it, I kind of giggle and snort to myself: “Oh, balls!”

Let’s talk about your new album for a bit.
Yay! Now that you’ve ruined my reputation …

It’s darker than your first two, and surprisingly political.
I’m not a cynical person, but it’s been hard to watch the news the past two years and not be scared. Global warming, hurricanes, the government, the war, the imminent decay of civilization. But I’m not being divisive with this record. These songs express my feelings — I’m not saying, “Think like me, I’m a blue-stater.”

Well, you are a little. In “My Dear Country,” for instance, you call President Bush “deranged.”
No, I say, “Who knows, maybe he’s not deranged.” As in, maybe it’ll actually get better. I think it’s important to stay hopeful, even if it’s not realistic. And if people get turned off by these songs, then gosh, nice knowing you, and I’m sorry.

Are you, like the Dixie Chicks, ashamed that George Bush is from Texas?
I was taught never to talk politics in mixed company. But I will say that I’m not ashamed that the Dixie Chicks are from Texas.

You’ve sold more records than most tabloid pop stars or blingy hip-hoppers. Do you ever refer to yourself in the third person?
I try not to. NoJo don’t play that.

Where do you keep all your Grammys?
They’re in my closet. [Laughs] Still in the boxes. I live in New York — there’s really no room in my apartment to display eight Grammys without being all, “Hey! Look at me!” And they’re really heavy. I’m scared I’ll drop one on my head. I can just see the headline: NORAH JONES MURDERED BY HER GRAMMYS.

That seems unlikely. It would make for a pretty cool tombstone, though.
I don’t want a tombstone — I want to be cremated. I’ve always thought the whole embalming-and-burial thing was creepy. I don’t want to be decaying there in my clothes.

OK, then where would you be scattered?
Maybe someplace like Big Bend National Park, in West Texas. But hopefully I’ll have a lot more time to think about that.