Ramona Córdova used to be Ramón Alarcón, just a Jersey kid playing guitar in a punk band. That is, until a little over a year ago, when the then 20-year-old took to singing and found this high, warbling voice. So he took his lofty, womanly trill, set it against a lullaby chamber-folk backdrop, and weaved a fairy tale around it. The protagonist is "Giver," a trembling wan boy who washes ashore on an island, finds music, love and ladies, then boredom before his story ends. Still, Córdova's childlike tale is fraught with adult trauma. Accentuated by a distant production aesthetic and the quaint instrumentation of saws, recorders and xylophones mixed into soft Spanish guitar, it's a sound that can silence the most savage bar. And the record, the boy who floated freely, is ethereal without being limp. Paired with that billowy music is a Ramona persona with a thick beard, wooly cap and fisherman's sweater who egolessly never remembers song titles. What gives? We sat down outside Bar Noir to find out.

City Paper: How do we know you before this persona?

Ramona Côrdova: Denver in Dallas. We were a Jersey band that moved to Philly because it was cheaper and better for us socially. It was rock—more intricate, harder guitar work than what I do now. More random lyrics than mine, but with no cliches. It was a useful experience. But I grew out of it. We were young.

CP: There's a big fairy tale at boy's center. What grabbed you as a kid in terms of long-lasting inspiration?

RC: Old movies like Pinocchio, Snow White, the Disney movies. They had such good songs. [He starts singing a line from boy.] "When I wake up/ I soak up the sun/ and I listen… listen." I definitely got that from Snow White—when she's in the well. I wish I could pinpoint what brought me back to that sound. I never meant my songs to be kiddish.

CP: They're not just child's fantasy. You imbue them with what sounds like your own backstory.

RC: I wanted to tell stories, longer stories, but in fairy tale fashion. So I came up with "Heavy on my Head"—the boy, sleeping, drugged by the potion, dreaming. Then the label that DinD was recording for [ECA/Bodies of Water] asked me if I wanted to record. Rather than hear it first, they trusted me. Somehow knowing I had a project made the story continue. … Then personal things crept in. Dilemmas like the heavy crush I had on a girl worked because "Giver" fell madly in love with "Marcia."

CP: "One Day Someday" seems to appropriate the tall and the small tale nicely. But at the end you seem unhappy. Why?

RC: It is the most definite song, I guess—very Snow Whitey, fluttery, a chime-filled finale, classically inspired. You must be talking about the line "when my hips grow wider and my hips grow bigger." [laughs] When I was younger I wanted to be bigger. I'm fine now. Happy with being slight. I look a lot younger than I am.

CP: For all the highness, softness and lofty tale-telling, "Giver's Reply" is stark and direct: Your octave lowers, the words seem harder. Do tell.

RC: I was sitting in the kitchen of my old apartment with my roommate Isaac when I started it. I tried this very high falsetto voice melody I'd thought up, but stopped and said, "This is lame. I can't keep singing like this on every song." It got annoying. I'm overdoing it. He said, yeah, try and do something different, forget about the other songs. I was glad for his company and suggestion, because then I just chose a first note to hit and the words and the whole song just kind of poured out. It was a great feeling.

CP: You do have the look of the boy in your story. Combined with the falsetto voice and fairy-tale leanings, there's more impact. Why the package? And what is your nationality?

RC: I always dressed like this—sort of. I used to wear a newsie cap and wing tip shoes, though. From my father's side, my grandfather was from Spain's Canary Islands, my grandmother from Puerto Rico. From my mother's side, my grandmother was from Haiti and my grandfather was Philippine-raised Chinese.

CP: You have a voice and a fair-facedness that defies sexuality, even with the beard. But you're a dude, dude!

RC: [laughs] I know. It's so the voice I grew up with—but it's funny hearing it back when I sing. It's cool. I didn't realize it was so high, or different. Or weird.

CP: But certainly there's ambiguity in terms of sexuality. Why? Didn't you think calling yourself Ramona would add to that?

RC: It was nothing done purposefully, the ambiguity. I wrote these songs how I imagined them. And the name? I didn't like the way Ramón Alarcón sounded as a "band" name—not a big fan of bands named after a frontman. One day it just popped to my head to name this project after my grandmother. Ramona Córdova. I thought it'd be a nice thing to do for someone I care about so much.

Ramona Córdova performs Fri., Dec. 9, 8 p.m., free, with Kiss Kiss and Birdie Busch, Black Floor Gallery, 319A N. 11th St., third floor, www.blackfloorgallery.com, www.ramonacordova.com.