Julia Jacklin’s Newest Treasure: The Gem

My high school years can essentially be divided between Julia Jacklin’s songs “Don’t Know How To Keep Loving You” and “Lydia Wears A Cross.”

So, needless to say, when I heard that Jacklin’s new album was going to be released during my first month at Wesleyan, I was ecstatic (and a little nervous; after all, it’s possible that those first two songs actually dictated my high school experience).

Julia Jacklin’s fourth studio album The Gem, released on September 25, opens with the track “Brand New,” whose tone is reminiscent of her previous album, PRE PLEASURE (2022); on first listen, the beat and heavy guitar bring to mind “Lydia Wears A Cross.”

This similarity is ironic given the desire for novelty conveyed in the lyrics. The phrase “brand new” is repeated to illustrate a sense of freedom and de-familiarization, which I honestly found irritating as I began to listen. This song thematically sets a nice feel for the The Gem, and sounds quite beautiful, but ultimately falls a little flat. As with most of her work, I found myself putting it on often, and now love it dearly as a somewhat mature version of her classic indie teenage-angsty ballad. 

“Get Away From Me (I Think I’ll Love You Soon),” the first single released, sets the tone for the entirety of the record, describing the effort to balance feelings of intimacy with the fear of being left and the damage that can occur with heightened stakes and emotions. The song begins with a noncommittal and easygoing perspective on a relationship: “You don’t have to call me if you don’t come home tonight.” But we see that this nonchalance isn’t out of lack of care for the other person; rather, it’s out of a kind of survival instinct and “trying to ready myself for what’s coming my way.” The song walks a thin line between self-preservation and the undeniability of strong romantic feelings in the relationship. At no point is the song about the other person, but about the singer’s reaction to the relationship itself; it sets a tone of introspection for the rest of the album.

The track “God Sometimes” feels like a slightly less exciting version of the song that comes afterward, “If I Had The Hand of God,” which might be my favorite song on the album. It begins with a much more upbeat tempo and is immediately juxtaposed with an idyllic and vulnerable scene of “Standing in the yard / Trying not to drink / Watching my neighbor eat a peach over the sink.” Of the two characters, one denies themselves their vice, and the other indulges in an innocent summer ritual of cinematic consumption (“Call Me By Your Name,” anyone?). Jacklin belts, “If I had the hand of God / Would the God whose hand I have / Know not to leave you alone when you say you’re feeling sad?” 

In a desperate and aggressive tone, Jacklin holds the hand of God and essentially claims that she knows this person better than God does. It is nothing if not poetry. The previously innocent image now devolves into looking at someone who we assume is suicidal and possibly won’t even be safe while God is watching. This song alludes to a complete lack of control, almost as a child holds a parent’s hand after realizing that they are fragile. It’s a loss of religious belief and faith, illustrated by the last line, “Mary sings and I feel nothing.” It’s possibly one of the most expansive songs on the album, and the listener can choose to interpret it on any scale of urgency or extremity that they so desire. 

“You Turned On The Tap” is one of the more tragic songs on the album. The piano sounds pained as Jacklin describes the results of her self-protectiveness. She delves into the ways her behaviors and fear caused her to neglect a relationship to the point that someone else had to step in and water it back to life. Inevitably, her fear of reliance comes to fruition anyway, showing our all-too-human tendency to create what we are afraid of. 

“Angel Vision” marks a shift in tone as one of the softer songs on the album. The guitar strumming is relatively muted, and the melody is smooth and quiet, almost akin to a folk song. As if speaking as a child, Jacklin describes the feeling of being watched and the freedom that is lost. In the last 30  seconds of the song, Jacklin belts her last realization: that the growth of someone else means the loss of her perspective.  

The album closes out with my other favorite song on the album, the third-released single out of four total. “I Wish” is the most intensely hopeful and heartbreakingly resilient song on the album, and thus, it is tied for my favorite. Jacklin’s shrill voice sings, “Oh, the days they were turning black / Could not believe the light would come back / Until it did, bit by bit / I remembered how to do it / I got through, and I’ll be fine / Still, I wish someone had been there at the time.” Her self-reliance finally plays back in front of her and she sees the ways in which she prevailed, but she wishes, looking back, that she could have had help. It shows that just because she can be okay on their own—her fear of being left wasn’t necessary—doesn’t mean that it is the way to go about life. Ultimately, it shows that we need each other. By the last 30 seconds of the song, we have been resurrected. A baby bird raises its head with the same innocence as someone who eats a peach over the sink. The listener foolishly feels a beginning growing, which calls back to the first song on the album, “Brand New,” leaving us in a perpetual state of love and loss, and survival and death. So we put on the record again. We start again, brand new.  

Ruby Weston can be reached at rweston@wesleyan.edu.