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THERE'S nothing remotely "rock chick" about Sass Jordan this afternoon.
In fact, the sweetly dispositioned, black-clad woman sipping raspberry tea and chatting quietly in the Chateau Laurier's palatial lobby looks suspiciously like ... well, like a young expectant mother.
"I'm totally out of it," says Jordan, who -- despite being seven months pregnant -- is in the middle of a cross-country promotional tour for Present, her first album in more than three years.
"We had this showcase thing in Toronto last night, so I've had, like, four and a half hours sleep. I'm just a total ... zombie."
Zombification aside, Jordan is in good spirits as she discusses her new record, her impending motherhood ("the last thing on the planet, besides plumbing, I ever thought I'd do") and her recent, rejuvenating return to Canada after a long stint in Los Angeles.
The longtime Montrealer headed south of the border about seven years ago to be nearer her American manager and record label -- and to escape the MuchMusic-fed overnight fame that made it impossible for her to walk down the street in her home country after her debut record, Tell Somebody, was released in 1988.
Jordan's move to L.A. was far from the escape she'd hoped it would be, though. Her relationship with that same manager deteriorated drastically. She found herself stuck in a going-nowhere-fast romance with a junkie. And, to top it off, the city itself was taking a toll on her mental state.
"All of these people from all over North America congregate there to try and realize their dreams," she says. "And, of course, a lot of their dreams are shattered -- it's one in a billion. There's this real air of desperation mixed with hope ... It's not a healthy place to bring up a kid, and I don't think it's a healthy place for anyone to spend a protracted amount of time."
Eventually, Jordan says, she simply got her fill of the L.A. value system. ("What was your last success or failure? How do you look? What kind of car do you drive?")
"I found myself -- me, who I like to think of as fairly down to earth -- saying things like: 'Are we going to take that car to the restaurant?' " she recalls. "And I thought: 'Enough.' "
Having a new husband from Toronto didn't make the decision to leave L.A. any more difficult, either, she admits.
Whatever her motivation, the move appears to have done Jordan some good. Though Present -- in stores next Tuesday -- isn't a radical departure from the tough power-pop sound that made her famous, it's a far more upbeat and self-consciously mature release than her last, 1994's decidedly dark, heavy and addiction-haunted Rats.
"The whole record is really about coming out of a hole, it really is," she says. "I was in such a dark, dark place emotionally and spiritually (with) crappy relationships and all that nonsense, and wondering what kind of job I was doing, what I had to offer the world."
It's also a relief to be freed from the jaws of the U.S. music-industry "machine," adds Jordan, who's now tied only to a Canadian contract after extracting herself from her American record deal with MCA.
"There are just so many people singing and performing these days -- Canadians are much more sophisticated now," she says. "It's the same kind of thing (as the U.S.) on a much smaller scale. It's much less jaded, as well. And much more pleasant, on the level of human beings."
Jordan laughs, catching herself sounding a little too well adjusted.
"I love everything, basically."