There are 8 songs on Juno’s SoundCloud profile, the free streaming platform it may seem with the lowest stakes in the grand scheme of being a successful musician. And If 8 songs are remarkably few, there are even fewer songs on Apple Music and Spotify — a possible indicator that those 2 songs are the ones she wants you to take seriously in trying to unravel what she’s about. Well, having a carefully curated image and sound is what artistry may be these days, but like true gems, her more engaging work is to be unearthed on SoundCloud-across the 8 songs with less than 50 plays.
In figuring her out, This scarcity of material to consume is in contrast to the self-selling nature of her name( literally, “hear Juno”), and the various tags on her Twitter which say: “ voiceover artist, producer, songwriter, and singer. Naturally, It’s difficult to wear all these hats properly, but then, her Instagram bio only says “songwriter”, perhaps the truest instance when an Instagram bio captures any essence.
Songwriting is her greatest asset and as far as any approach to songwriting goes, her writing morphs into the familiar form that accompanies diary entries-essentially turning listeners into voyeurs of her multi-layered, dark, but ultimately innocent world. Think of her songs as mostly love songs and then you realize they could also be musings with herself- a profound self-awareness particularly absent in new music these days.
For most listeners, hearing Juno for the first time would be on “ gone” the essential cinematic experience of her music, and You can look at it in two ways: it’s brilliant because she’s a genius, and it’s brilliant because she’s fearlessly amateur. How ever you look at it, “ gone” provides an experience in immersion- a rare moment when you follow a story from start to crescendo and ultimately, finish. Also, the winded feeling you get at the end of the song is the internal concession that you can’t sing along even if you wanted to. You just listen, all the while present in your defeat.
“Gone” is also very all-knowing: “ like I knew this was sudden / I knew it wouldn’t last / to you I was a burden”. These may be just yarns but they belie a truly unrestrained writing, the type unrefined by writing camps or commercial success. It’s also the type that adds you to her private snap story, particularly on display in the not-for-radio call out of a “ clueless modafucker” and the bare and aptly short composition of “ hopeful tape”, where she bemoans sexual pressure and wanting to be the little girl she really is.
This is a good thing — as it hints at a future cult following, the type built on the intimacy of lyrics only meant to be sung or rather, spoken — directly to 20–30 people and not performed in arenas, as there’s enough performance in the earnestness of her singing.
In the end, there’s only so much one can say about a budding singer, especially when everything feels deeply DIY- due to the constant discovery of self that afflicts young musicians. However, regardless of what she really wants for herself, or what you as a listener may want for her, there’s an abundance of clay for her to be molded into whatever variant of success that’s out there for musicians. No, not Don Jazzy this time. Maybe Cobhams?
