Back in 2021, Yebba closed out her debut album, Dawn, with well wishes from her mother, whose death she grappled with across the grief-consumed record. At the end of “Paranoia Purple,” a voice note played: “Hope you’re having fun, and I hope you’re singing away.” Yebba puts these words into practice on Jean, her first LP in five years.
“Say, what if I forgave it all/I’d be the laughing stock of every guard at every wall/But what if I let the river through/And whatever else just might belong to you,” she sings on the opening track, “Forgiveness.” It’s a quiet prayer delivered in a tender tone over a delicate piano melody. Leaning into faith over fear, the 31-year-old starts to learn how to let go. In some moments, it’s easier said than done. She calls back to “Forgiveness” as she approaches the end of the album with “Seven Years.” The refrain “Maybe that’s how forgiveness feels” returns, only this time there’s an added weight of uncertainty. “Seven years of rage/Did I lose my mind?” she sings. “Tears strike the page/Will I waste my life?” Yebba wants to know if it’s possible to keep anchors in the past, but also move forward without being weighed down by them. She asks, “Will it all wash away, or can I keep you forever in my mind?”
Yebba named Jean after her late grandmother, and she’s thinking of her hometown on “West Memphis,” which rides a slick country arrangement right back to Arkansas. She spent some time there while making this album, and made note of the cyclical routines that the lives there have followed for as long as she can remember. “It was TBN and praise the Lord/Then Powerball was on by four,” she sings. “Granny said to trust the Lord/He’ll heal the sick and settle every score.’” But in her assessments of what stayed the same, Yebba notices that she really hasn’t at all. She’s older, but not entirely wiser, which she seems to embrace — the idea that there’s always more to learn and experience is a source of excitement, rather than alarm. The realization follows her across the album in both sound and context.
Yebba has the kind of voice that doesn’t typically have to compete for attention. “Different Light,” for example, operates in her most classic mode — it’s a stripped-back ballad, both haunted and haunting, and entirely arresting. The hazy, synth-filled “Delicate Roots” feels similarly designed for closed-eyes listening. There’s nothing else to do but give into the aching feeling she evokes. Most of the album ventures beyond the R&B pockets Yebba usually resides in. Still, her gospel influences remain intact, like on the amorous “Waterfall,” which first arrived in 2023 after being sampled on “Polar Opposites” from the Drake album For All the Dogs. There’s a recurring lyrical theme about change and distinction that might have informed her yearning for exploration. She’s always “singing away,” but she fulfills the “having fun” element of that parting wish from Dawn when she tries on new approaches to the way she molds her voice around her words.
“Aggressive” is a rock song about all-consuming want and desire. Her emotion is mirrored by raging guitars that fight to overtake her voice and nearly win. Yebba mellows out on “Earth, Wind, & California,” though only in the sense that her assessment of rapid trend cycles and the music industry (“The real ones are gone/Prolonging death/To suck dick for the man/That only makes us come/To meetings/About meetings/We’re fucked”) is set against a breezy surf-rock backdrop. “Of Course,” the album’s skittering mid-point, distorts Yebba’s pristine vocals through glitching hyper-pop verses. The song is peppered with quick-witted one-liners, from “I’m thick as fuck and fine as hell” and “I hope that he kiss and tells” to “He’s a fan in my DMs, so I report his ass for spam” and “All these men are fuckin’ scams.” In the background of one verse, Yebba lets out a bellowing laugh.
The balance Jean strikes between devastation and liberation emphasizes the appreciation one brings to the other. When she sings about hating L.A. and missing her mother on “Alright,” she paints a raw portrait of her greatest hopes and the grief, fear, and purpose that keeps her moving forward against all odds. “Yellow Eyes,” a folky record pierced with thunderous claps, was co-produced by Yebba and John Rooney, who helped craft the album alongside composer James Francies. Her melodic flow switches a handful of times across the song as she builds towards an outro carried by bluesy harmonies. “When you think it’s over/Look over your shoulder/The way that it was/It’s all waiting for you,” she sings. “Don’t come undone/The way that it was/We were just getting started, so lost/So long, the way that it was/And when I come home I’ll remember the way that it was.”
Jean is an enthralling account of an artist learning to be less precious about linear healing and emotions that don’t lend themselves to that process. These songs hold the weight of the past while clearing a path forward. Yebba remembers the way that it was, but also sees how she has grown beyond those restraints. “No more time for severed answers, second glances and baited questions or playing it small,” she sings on “Water & Wanderlust,” the album closer. “That’s how it goes.” The years since we last heard from her have been full of expansion and exploration. It’s good to have her back.
