AT 6 p.m. on a Tuesday in mid-March the people streaming into the Living Room, a Lower East Side club geared to singer-songwriters, weren’t there for happy hour. Word had quietly gone out to friends and associates that Norah Jones and her band would be performing songs from her new album, “Little Broken Hearts,” and the small room was packed.


“I’m sweating, this is so nerve-racking,” Ms. Jones told the crowd a few songs into the set. “It’s so weird when they don’t know the songs. It’s like, what do they think!”


The hushed room heard the 12 breakup songs that fill “Little Broken Hearts,” which is easily Ms. Jones’s darkest, most moody album; it’s due for release on May 1. It’s her second album in a row to revolve around failed romance; so did “The Fall,” released in 2010. She began the set singing, “Good morning, my thoughts on leaving are back on the table.” The songs from “Little Broken Hearts” — written with the album’s producer, Brian Burton a k a Danger Mouse — take up longing, regret, sorrow, betrayal, relief and revenge.


Soon after she finished playing the album, Ms. Jones wandered through the room to greet family and friends in the audience. She spotted Mr. Burton and rushed over. “I know you heard all the mistakes,” she blurted.


After a decade as a pop star Ms. Jones, 32, is remarkably down to earth. Before an interview over brunch at a French cafe near her home in Brooklyn — eggs Benedict with hot sauce — she realized she needed to walk her aging poodle, Ralph. And while it was weeks after the Living Room show, Ms. Jones still recalled her nervousness with a visible shudder. “That was so awkward, my God,” she said. “It’s funny how exposed it can be when it’s something new.”


At much bigger shows Ms. Jones’s audiences know her songs. Each of her four previous studio albums has been a million seller, and her 2002 debut album, “Come Away With Me,” has sold more than 10.8 million copies in the United States alone. Her music arrived as a counterbalance, even a refuge, from pressured, synthetic pop, staking out a leisurely melodic intersection of folk, jazz and country, soothing but with a dignified restraint. She gathered a multigenerational audience and an armful of Grammys.


On “The Fall” Ms. Jones’s music grew pushier, bringing in more electric guitar and even some distortion. With “Little Broken Hearts” she veers in yet another direction, often setting aside the rootsy, naturalistic sound of her previous efforts.


The new album has an otherworldly haze that’s not exactly retro but not aggressively modern. Standard instruments are deflected through reverb and other effects, each placed in its own sonic domain; the arrangements outline clear pop structures yet register as ghostly backdrops. (With its spaghetti-western guitar reverb and receding echoes, it’s similar in some ways to another Danger Mouse project: Broken Bells, his partnership with James Mercer of the Shins.) Ms. Jones calls “Little Broken Hearts” her “most experimental” album, while Mr. Burton, in a telephone interview, said, “It’s a little different from what her fans expect.”


He added: “There was never really a feeling that any of the stuff we were doing was going to be radio friendly or anything like that. That was the furthest thing from what she was worried about. And the same thing with me. It was a really rare chance to work with somebody where we just wanted to make the record we wanted to make. She had so much success, it wasn’t so much of a concern.”


Yet at the same time Ms. Jones’s quiet, melancholy, unforced voice is immediately recognizable, recorded in intimate close-up. The new songs are also concise and hook conscious — pop songs by Mr. Burton’s definition: “melodic stuff that can communicate pretty easily.” The lyrics are usually plainspoken and, as Ms. Jones put it, “relatable.” The album’s first single, “Happy Pills,” chugs along at a firm midtempo, as she sings a tart good riddance: “Time to throw this away/Want to make sure that you never waste my time again.”


But there’s more sorrow than sass on the album: “You tried to replace me, but you didn’t get far/And I tried to repay you but I only got scarred,” Ms. Jones sings in “4 Broken Hearts.” The sparse, thumpy beat and lilting melody of “Say Goodbye” carry bitter zingers: “You don’t have to tell the truth, ‘cause if you do I’ll tell it too.” And then there’s “Miriam,” in which a stately, lullabylike melody carries lyrics about the singer murdering her rival.


“People react very strangely to that song,” Ms. Jones said, smiling. “I’ve have girlfriends high-five me, and start laughing. I’d had guys turn white and say, ‘I don’t know that you should put that on the album.’ I’ve had people say, ‘That is my favorite song’ and I’ve had people say, ‘That song really scares me.’ I guess it is creepy.”