On a recent visit to her Los Angeles home, a few weeks before her first solo album, “No Home Record,” drops, she summarized her thoughts on Sonic Youth and Mr. Moore, in three short words.
“I’ve moved on,” she said.
“California is a place of death, a place people are drawn to because they don’t realize deep down they’re actually afraid of what they want,” Ms. Gordon writes in her 2015 autobiography, “Girl in a Band.”
That may sound like a rather gloomy New York take on sunny Los Angeles, but they are notes of a native daughter. Ms. Gordon grew up in Los Angeles, and on a cloudless August morning, with temperatures pushing 90, she was steering her black Toyota Prius through eastern Hollywood on a tour of her reclaimed city.
“I always feel like wherever I am, I sort of take that energy on, and I was a little worried that I wouldn’t be motivated enough in L.A.,” Ms. Gordon said, as the Prius lurched through weekday traffic.
She was dressed in an earth-tone blouson dress with hints of tie-dye and shimmery gold sandals that showed off her lemony toenail polish, but it would be a stretch to call her “sunny.” Yet neither was she the aloof subject that came across in piles of magazine interviews during the Sonic Youth years, in which she tended to defer to her professorial husband, standing by like a rock ’n’ roll sphinx.
Now, she smiled easily and in Southern California fashion, tended to punctuate sentences with a girlish giggle, even when no joke was uttered. But she was vastly more comfortable talking in abstraction, particularly about art, than about herself.