Jessie Jones boldly breaks free on self-titled debut solo album

Self-reliance doesn’t come easy to 23-year-old Jessie Jones. Luckily for her, the ‘60s — and her devotion to the era’s pop music — happened and helped her kick some nervous habits.

Just listen to her explain her debut solo album.

“It’s a very independent message, of not taking baloney from anyone, of not letting people abuse you or talk down to you,” Jones says of her self-titled new album, due Friday on Fullerton’s garage pop indie label Burger Records.

“That’s been one of my problems. I let myself be a victim.”

Press her, and Jones will slink down into herself and brush things off with clichés about learning from one’s mistakes. She grew up in a strict religious household and eventually found her confidence through songs, specifically the later music of the Beatles. She’s also quick to add that while her mom favored the sounds of the family’s evangelical church, she also passed down some records from Talking Heads and the Clash.

“The rebelliousness of it paved the way for me to not have any rules, as far as writing my songs go,” she says.

The Beatles were played regularly during the making of “Jessie Jones.” “They took a lot from the pop side of music but weaved it really well with a psychedelic, dreamy, fantastical way of singing. It was very experimental,” Jones says.

“Jessie Jones,” the album, is in love with music’s vinyl era, specifically the mid-’60s, when rock ‘n’ roll got more than a little mystical. There aren’t a lot of electric guitars on “Jessie Jones,” but there are strings, a sitar and a piano, and perhaps the brightest, most whimsical kiss-off song one will hear this year in “Sugar Coated.”

A boy, presumably the one Jones refers to during an hourlong interview as “ex-boyfriend No. 2,” is repeatedly told to “kiss the ground that I walk on.” It sets the tone, with a cascade of piano notes, that this is an album about boldly breaking free — in sound and attitude.

When Jones’ first proper band broke up in 2013 — the sludgy, hard rock-leaning Feeding People — a different urge to break free struck the Orange County native. She wanted to get out of Southern California, so she ran away with a boyfriend. Maybe they’d learn how to survive on a farm.

“We were going to be self-sustainable. You know, that whole dream? I wanted this utopian, romantic fairy tale, and it totally destroyed me,” she says.

And yet, she adds after a pause: “Thank God.”

Today, Jones is back in Orange, once again living with her mom — in her mom’s garage, to be precise. She’s still a romantic and says her wanderlust has been tamed, but her musical adventurousness is readily apparent.

Moments on her debut such as “La Loba” play out like a Spanish fairy tale, complete with what feels like a late-song dance spell in which it sounds as if a kitchen has been turned into a percussive instrument. “Make It Spin” goes round and round with a vintage organ that adopts carnival-like tones, and the groove of “Quicksilver Screen” saunters around vivid synths and hand claps.

Jones is as diverse in her vocals as she is in her arrangements. At times, this once “deathly shy kid” finds the confidence to go all operatic, as evidenced by the sitar-and-strings hymn of “Lady La De Da.” Other times, Jones says her producer, Bobby Harlow, would tell her to “sing like Diana Ross.” Hints of light-stepping soul appear on songs such as “Twelve Hour Man.”

“It was all from old records,” Jones says of the influences. “We were drawing from the ‘50s, ‘60s and ‘70s.”

Jones describes “Prisoner’s Cinema” as “dark,” adding that it’s the sound of “divine madness.” It was written before she ran away, and Jones says the song is about “internalizing all your emotions.” Sure, but it’s broken up with choral flourishes, a beat that feels fashioned out of toy instruments and a breezy bass that glides more like a jingle. If there’s any indication of madness, it’s not in the song’s upbeat arrangement.

It’s a wide-ranging departure from her past works. Feeding People was heavy and a little bluesy. The band’s songs, says Jones, were about being “angry at the church.” Today, she also sings with the Death Valley Girls, a gritty garage rock group that she describes as a “dream girl band.”

Jones, solo, is after something more floral and perhaps more spiritual. Though she says she’s given up God, she admits praying to nature. She may no longer be traveling the country, living off the land, but she’s a hippie at heart.

“This album is the childish part of me, the part of me who still wants everything to work out for the best,” she says. “I want to make happy music, hopeful music.”

Twitter: @Toddmartens