By It’s our Bandcamp Pick of the Week, featuring Sister Gemini’s twangy siren song rock album SCREAMING CRYING LAUGHING SIGHING, out now via For The Birds!
Sister Gemini – SCREAMING CRYING LAUGHING SIGHING
Genre: Indie Twang
Favorite Tracks: “Elvira,” “Silver Ladder,” “Madeline”
I routinely, needlessly covet my own loneliness. I’ll often spend months thinking that my distance is unique—convinced that unless my molecules ever vibrated precisely like another’s, no one can ever truly know me. But Los Angeles artist Remy Jean (AKA Sister Gemini) is a vivid reminder that true spiritual camaraderie is always just right there—and extends beyond once being weird kids with cassette players.
Across Gemini’s debut, SCREAMING CRYING LAUGHING SIGHING, Jean “ruminates on how we carry conditioning from external forces into new phases,” per the liner notes. The resulting musings were born of a doomed relationship, but her talent and warmth mean these songs permeate levels beyond the realm of romance. She strikes the right blend of honesty, drama, and humor. On “Freakshow,” she declares, “Let me walk me home / Being part of your freakshow’s been killing me real slow / Past life shadow / But I keep you around, what’s that say about me?” Mostly, it’s a way of viewing yourself in this grander context —even when you’re sorting out your sorrows, self-awareness is a force of gravity. She seems extra aggressive on “Active Adult Community Swim”: “If you’re talking about me, say it with your chest / I’m not upset.” You need grit so the introspection isn’t soul crushing.
Jean tenuously embraces inner misery; the slow hum of slide guitar on “Elvira” could stir tears. But the song’s integrity in fully exploring infidelity is both a counterbalance and some much needed distance. From there, the album makes similar “journeys” a few times. “Madeline” is a somber ode to lingering (“I don’t want to wash your touch off me just yet”) before “Last Few Hundred Mornings” seems extra mournful while mostly being quite deliberate (“Your calling card / Saying you’ve changed / Who hasn’t”).
You can feel this “cyclical” nature within individual tunes; “Scooter Song” finds Jean stuck in the amber between past and future in glorious agony. Perhaps this back-and-forth isn’t an entirely novel “device” (or life experience?), but Jean makes wonderfully, terribly real the eternal “emotional waltz” that is life. The fact that so much of it is genuinely appealing—see also the sauntering ballad “Sadie” and the aching, charming “Silver Ladder”—is a luxurious cake treat atop Jean’s true earnestness.
These songs were born of a doomed romance, and as much as that “energy” holds true, they have assumed new context between my ears. They are tunes about accepting how you feel and contextualizing it accordingly—anthems for a brighter day when the sting of yesterday remains white hot. They are ballads for who you were as much as they’re sonnets for who you’re becoming. It’s not at all a linear path, but Jean maintains a stark presence that’s at times a guiding light and, at the very least, another soul fumbling about the dark.
On SCREAMING, I’ve found a genuine compatriot, someone whose only answer is a topsy-turvey roadmap of their inner life. Our paths might have looked maddeningly different, but Jean’s now a voice in the distance calling you to this place where your struggles and triumphs aren’t ever just your own. You’d be wise to heed her musical call via Bandcamp.
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