It has occurred to me when I was first confronted with this anti-Carrie Bradshaw (from Sex and the City) online campaign springing out of nowhere: from horror-style compilations of her showing up to love interest Mr. Big’s apartment in themed outfits, or even describing her as devoid of any self-worth and dignity throughout the show’s course. I am, of course, not the first to notice the trend, but at a time of constant surveillance, when any vulnerable moment might get blasted on social media to forevermore embarrass you, putting up a stoic barrier is not that unjustified. However, people like the North Carolina-raised Jasmine Rose Wilson (or Baby Rose) make it a point to be even more earnest to protest it, the way she does in her third studio album, YEARNALISM.
Turning her back on nonchalance, the singer-songwriter-producer dissects her feelings, as shameful, raw and vulnerable as they may be. She explores intimate moments, rendering them eminently relatable in the honesty they are present with; from the ache of drifting away from friends, lovers (“Better”), to the Leon Thomas feature (with whom she won her first Grammy for “MUTT”) about the difficulty of transitioning the nature of your feelings, or getting over someone in single “But, nvm”.
“Jasmine’s Sunset”, described as a love letter to her
younger self, does lean toward the oversaturated subthemes of “healing
eras” and “caring for your inner child” that we have been seeing in pop
music lately in Ariana Grande’s eternal sunshine or Kacey Musgraves’ Deeper Well;
this subject is thankfully offset in “Sunday”, peaceful partly-acoustic
break, with its admission of imperfection and messy behaviors.
Baby Rose’s sincerity finds the perfect support in her
smooth, layered production of jazzy neo-soul. The slow, passionate genre
fits like a glove, not just her manifesto, but her unique contralto
voice, her fast-pace vibratos tinged with a proud Southern accent that
feels like it contains the whole palette of human emotions.
Best presented in “Is This Love”, the love for soul stands
out as much as her vocal versatility: starting out like a classic 70s
track, the second verse’s cadence switches to contemporary neo-soul,
closer to a Sasha Keable than Etta James. A much needed bubble of
optimism and emotional complexity, Baby Rose’s YEARNALISM
proves that, yes, wearing your heart on your sleeve is ridiculous,
risky, potentially humiliating, but it is the only way to really live.
