If you've ever found yourself in a conversation where the words "you know, I think Radio 2 is much better than Radio 1 these days" has led not to the person concerned being tar and feathered in the local village square but everyone present, including yourself, being forced to agree, then help is at hand. Norah Jones has the potential to make being a devotee of Terry Wogan, Jonathan Ross and the world of smooth sounds and cardigans a very cool thing indeed.
A jazz piano major from Texas who went on to attend the Booker T Washington High School For The Performing And Visual Arts in Dallas (cue images of Bruno from "Fame"s softly spoken little sister sighing to herself in the corner), Jones is AOR through and through. Her obvious antecedents are artists like Carole King and Joni Mitchell, subtly soulful songwriters who charted the dark hours of the heart with a simple strum or a few poignant piano chords. Throw in vaguely brooding Nigella Lawson-at-22-style looks and you have a mainstream star to be.
What really makes Jones worth investigating, though, is the way she sounds. If quiet is the new loud, then the voice is the new power chord. And Norah Jones has a voice you'd trade your soul for. Equal parts smoke, honey, autumn and regret, it's one of those delicious twists of nature you want to lose yourself in. She makes heartbreak sound like the most sumptuous luxury and disappointment feel like whispered sweet nothings in the middle of the night. You suspect she could sing your eviction notice and still make it seem good.
Most of her material is written by her male collaborators Jesse Harris and Lee Alexander, New York based musicians she met when she fell in love with the city's acoustic scene, and you can't help feel that she'll produce a truly amazing album when she finally finds the confidence to take full control. Not that 'Come Away With Me' is particularly unsatisfying the standard of songwriting is consistently high but Norah's voice is so alluring that you'd much rather hear her thoughts and fears than those of her mentors.
As it is, then, this album is a fine introduction to a talent in training. 'Don't Know Why' is a long walk home after a night of missed chances and knowing glances, the line about "catching teardrops in my hand" sounding like Billie Holiday in a moment of defeated candour. 'Seven Years' is Suzanne Vega feeling like a pale blue thing, unravelling her past lifetimes with a crooked smile and shake of the head. 'Shoot The Moon' is failure taken to a place of closure, the sound of troubles being laid to rest.
In fact, most of the songs turn out to be about heartbreak and almost-loves, simply because a mood of quiet regret allows Norah to do that smoky seductress thing. And, inevitably, it all starts to grow a little samey. Only the unfortunate soft focus porn of 'Turn Me On' and, ironically, Jones' own 'Come Away With Me' stray from the formula. Let's hope she perseveres with the latter and tells the men in charge where they can stick the former.
