Local Review: Jill Whit — I’ve Been Thinking About Me, Actually

Jill Whit
I’ve Been Thinking About Me, Actually
Self-Released
Street: 10.17.2025
Jill Whit = Atta Boy + Wolf Alice x a meditation soundtrack

It’s been over four years since Jill Whit released her debut album, time is being. Written during quarantine, the album became a product of those times we were all forced to be with ourselves a little more than any of us were used to. The arrival of I’ve Been Thinking About Me, Actually was greatly anticipated by the community of friends and fans who’ve surrounded and uplifted her, and by the local artists who helped bring her ideas to life with their varying musical talents.

At the fore of the new album is an at-peace confidence that I see likely having grown from Whit reckoning with herself on time is being and during the interim. Where time is being championed a lot of her spoken word poetry and was draped in ambient soundscapes seemingly written and designed for the subconscious, Whit’s newer work has a more vibey tone engendered by patent drum work and pulsing synthesizers. There’s still a calmness in her refreshing vocals and thoughtful lyrics, clearly informed by Whit’s background in poetry, but she expresses herself with more musicality this time, communicating a type of growth from her inherent humility and a total acceptance of where she’s at now.

Whit’s newfound brand of radical tranquility indicates that she has found within herself the means to dance and groove a bit, while encouraging her listeners to do the same. “Nudie” is a perfect example, as it starts off with throbbing, low-tone synths paired alongside pounding electronic drums from Casey Romney, welcoming you to a trance-like state that permeates the album. It’s an inviting aperture, followed by another round of sparkly synths that are mixed with the riffing of a devastatingly clean, castor-oil-smooth pedal steel.

“Lava Springs” continues with the synths, this time in a more rhythmic fashion and still paired with pedal steel, the latter lending the entire album a clearly Western-influenced aesthetic, rounding out and providing balance to Whit’s supernal, singer-songwriter sound. Although there isn’t a rigid structure dictating the flow of any of her songs, the attractive instrumental parts provided by Whit’s talented band of local musicians do their part in offering contrast to her deliberately paced verses.

Dylan Almond and Dylan Roe, who backed Whit’s recent DIY Fest performance and are soon embarking on a regional tour of the Northwest with her, are both consistently present. Almond lends his skills with guitar and synthesizer throughout, while Roe shares pedal steel responsibilities with Romney, who also plays electronic drums on every track except “Lava Springs” and was responsible for the album’s arrangement, recording, producing and mixing. Sure, it takes a village, but the vision is Whit’s, and it’s a uniquely personal one that fluctuates between somber calmness and revelatory self-acceptance.

Her calm solemnity is most acute in “You Say It First” and “Violet,” both songs that are full of yearning, with “Violet” in particular suggesting a semblance of regret. On “You Say It First,” Whit admits culpability in the issue of expressing love for the first time, singing, “Being honest makes me nervous,” while secretly wanting her lover to say those magic words that tend to change people: “I love you.” There’s hope in her lyrics and tone, however, as she expectantly awaits the uttering of those very syllables, imploring them, “C’mon baby, make me yours.”

“Violet” is a little more sorrowful in how it addresses the duality of emotions you experience when it’s time to move on from someone. “It’s strange to be happy while still a shade of blue,” Whit sings, with a tone of lament that is capitalized on by a strummed, subtly jazzy acoustic chord progression; a potent combination that reminds me of Jeff Buckley’s iconic melancholy on “Hallelujah.”

One of the album’s crescendos is in “A Sign.” A single Whit originally released in 2024, it appears midway through and stands out as a meaningful anthem, conveying strong emotionality while deploying a core sentiment of, “I’m getting older, but it’s okay.” It’s deeply appealing each time I listen, and I don’t think it can be overplayed. Nostalgic but content, and explosive in its repeated, melodic “chorus,” the song is a slow-burn that at one point almost pauses before bursting wide open, sounding like the blazing sun appearing from behind silent clouds. Gentle back-up lyrics from Malissa Mabey accentuate the track’s ethereal nature.

The final verses of “A Sign” carry an important message about making the most of our “borrowed time,” and that the often-solitary feeling of aging should be a reminder to live life in a way that makes you happy. It made me think of moments where, after you’ve been grappling deeply with yourself, you let yourself just be for a moment and experience the sheer joy of observational existence.

The album reaches a righteous culmination with “Monologue,” an eight-minute track that begins with an acoustic progression, soft and soothing, but winds up taking you to an energized, entrancing second-half, characterized by a synth riff, background noises that yield a spacey sound and subtle drums, which when put together indicate the album’s finale. It leaves you with a buzzing, conclusive feeling as the synths drift off  — all you want to do is spend some time letting it all marinate within you, its effects lingering long after the final note is heard. That is, until you go back to the beginning and hit play again. —Kyle Forbush

Read more local album reviews:
Local Review: Don’t Apologize — Expectations
Local Review: BATTERY — Dial Up