Fired in an existential crisis, ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’ was perhaps always destined to become a sleeper hit, not that Julia knew how relatable it was when she was experiencing her own panic attacks about why her life wasn’t working out as she thought it would. Twenty-four is a shit of an age, really – the first number you reach when you’re no longer referred to as “only…”. People can be shocked that you’re “only 19”, impressed that you’ve done so much and yet you’re still “only 23”, but by 24 you’re just 24. Suddenly you feel like you’re behind if anything.
Having begun harmonising in folk groups at the age of twenty, the growing anxiety of years playing weekly open mic nights where “people were just pumped that you knew how to plug your guitar in” made ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’ simmer with the nervous energy of a last chance saloon.
Julia says, “I feel a lot younger now than I did then”, and that she’ll now never dismiss anyone’s concerns about their age. “But I also don’t buy into it when people say, about musicians, ‘you have all the time in the world.’ You don’t have all the time in the world. This is a young person’s game – look at the industry, it totally favours young people – and having the fear of age is very motivating. So I think it is ridiculous but it can be necessary to get things done.”
‘Crushing’ is relatable for its own reasons – predominately the frankness in which Julia presents the breakup of a long-term relationship – but its motivation is completely different to that of ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’.
Her debut had to work or else, and you’d think that that pressure would have either remained or intensified. After all, if there’s one thing more stressful than attaining what you most desire, it’s holding onto it. “But it wasn’t the pressure of writing a good second record,” she says, “it was the pressure of being out there and people calling me a songwriter. ‘But I haven’t written a song in a year and a half. So I’m not a songwriter.’ This is going to sound crazy, but I felt like I was a person impersonating my old self. Like, ‘but me now – 26-year-old Julia – is not a songwriter. She was.’
“I felt like I was performing a cabaret version of who I used to be. I’m still wearing the same clothes and singing songs about a boyfriend I don’t love anymore and haven’t for a long time. You’re performing these emotions every night that you don’t feel anymore.
“And so I never felt the pressure of having to write something good for a second album. It was more that being a songwriter was who I am and I was not able to do that anymore. That was devastating.
“Once I accepted that that album was perhaps all I had in me I started writing again and it was fine. But ‘Crushing’ isn’t the sequel to ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’, because ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’ feels like someone else wrote it. I’m such a different person now. That sounds so wanky, but I was just so glad that I could still write songs.”
I previously met Julia when we filmed an episode of Loud And Quiet’s Bands Buy Records video series in 2016 (when she confessed that she used to fill her iPod with obscure music that she didn’t listen to, in case another kid at school picked it up and scrolled through it), and I spoke to her again the following year for our Sweet 16 column (where she told me about all the rugby she played at that age). In person, she has a cool, dry sense of humour, is patient and familiar to be around, and kind of shy but never awkward. A stereotypical, easy-going Australian, I guess.
When talking to her about her father I ask if he has any traits that she’d attribute to him being British. “I guess he’s not very good at communicating,” she says. “Is that an English thing?”
Yes, I say.
“My dad is famously tight with money. He said that his dad had a pocket book and every expense was written in this book. Like, if they went out for the day and he bought him an ice cream it would go in the book. My dad kind of does the same, and I’ve found myself being really weird with money. Like, I overthink things. I couldn’t impulse buy anything, and I don’t think it’s a good thing.
“For example, I wore the same clothes for a decade.” She laughs. “All the clothes I had as a teenager, I wore them well into my mid-twenties. I was like, these still work. I like them. They fit. They’re me. But I was wearing the scummiest T-shirts. Honestly, it’s only since I became a musician that I’ve realised that new clothes, a.) make you feel happy and clean and good, and b.) you’re getting photos taken all the time, you’re on stage every night for months on end – you need to have variety of clothes.”
Although you didn’t for ‘Don’t Let the Kids Win’, I say. (Julia was rarely seen not in the clothes she wore on the album’s sleeve – a Jamaican bobsled top, tartan skirt and white Reebok Classics.)
“Yeah, I wore that for a year,” she says.
Julia has the kind of eye for aesthetics that tricks you into presuming she employs a team of stylists; not that she simply didn’t throw out her clothes from ten years ago. When we arrive in Dungeness she springs open her suitcase and begins to consider what to wear for photos.
She does have one visual collaborator, and she’s always been quick to credit Nick Mckk’s input. It is Nick, after all, who directs, shoots and edits all of Julia’s videos, and acts as her official photographer and karaoke duet partner.
‘Crushing’, Julia decided in response to the current colour trends of baby pink, baby blue and brown, has been set at green and orange. In an increasingly visual world, these become important calls, and yet once you hear the record you’ll see how much Julia’s voice belittles the point.
Throughout ‘Crushing’ her vocals are quite incredible, and it’s here where the limited resources of her hometown and her desperation to sing anything at all come good for all of us.
On opening track ‘Body’ she keeps things low and husky, her voice hanging in the air like a curl of smoke as the track trundles on and never reaches a chorus. But an octave or two higher is never far from reach and she can get there quickly within the same song. Like on ‘Head Alone’, where she glides from a breathy beginning, through the kind of pretty birdsong phrasing found in mid-’60s pop songs, into an impassioned section that borders on operatic. Whichever tone she choses, she’s boldly high in the mix throughout, and says that she didn’t want any studio tricks getting the way of the album’s simple elements. It makes her vocal performance all the more unbelievable.