It’s difficult to find your footing after times of grieving – though condensing time like an accordion, capturing both the past and present into a full journey of cathartic healing feels so effortless at the hands of Noa Jamir. Last week, the New Orleans/Lafayette-based singer-songwriter shared a beautiful exploration of self worth on her debut full length album Cicada. Taking a two year hiatus, Jamir dropped out of her last semester of college as she went through a “dormant hell” of loneliness and depression. To reemerge from those dark moments as a beautiful new spirit, Cicada lets breezy tunes take the reigns as Jamir documents her personal experience of healing and the importance of holding onto every step.

Cicada plays to the soft-rock headbangers and pop song lamenters that live for the intimacy of heavy summer air. The album opener “These Walls” plays to the momentum of a slow burning anthem – swelling in a compressed state of confusion and frustration as Jamir tries to break down her self-constructed walls of what it is to love and to be loved. The country-adjacent “Want to Love” scratches that yallternative itch that is spreading around these days, with its atmospheric lap steel (Alan Howard) annunciating the tenderness of the track and the longing in Jamir’s lush vocal performance. The stand out, “Indebted” is a steady indie-rock burner, culminating Jamir’s rage and fortitude into a patient demeanor of confidence, singing, “He proved to me that I can survive anyone and anything” – joyous and defiant all in one. 

Some of the most impactful moments on Cicada are also the most sonically exposed – sitting still as the words drip like warm honey over the sparse soundscapes. “Oh I know it’s comin / The rain, the sun, the flood of all the memories,” Jamir sings with a quiet whisper on “Nights”, as the chorus blooms with layered harmonies over a folky guitar. The song lingers with an intense beauty, giving space to those unwanted thoughts – not allowing Jamir to deny their existence. With the inclusion of two voice memos from close friends, we are given a rare glimpse into Jamir’s support system during those rough moments – personal, endearing and beautiful, a culmination of the project at hand. “Mariah’s Interlude” is a brief spoken piece, tending to the patience of self care. “Aidan’s Interlude” speaks, “it can be tempting to numb ourselves […] it’s just helpful for me to remind myself that when I’m feeling a lot, that is my superpower and that makes it possible for me to truly live” – and to Aidan’s credit, Cicada feels to embody that statement. 

Cicada moves at its own accord, and that’s okay. As a compositional album alone, the dynamic shifts, deliberate pacing and endearing hooks create a charming and enticing listen that runs no longer than 25 minutes. But what makes Jamir’s writing so special are the dualities that often are overlooked in times of struggle are now given a their own voice. “I realized what this was for me / A way out of my own company,” she sings on the aforementioned “Want to Love.” What feels like a harsh drive down memory lane isn’t taken as regret or mourning, but rather the importance of recognition and growth that got Jamir to where she is now.

Written by Shea Roney