My artist name is Jules Klee, a nickname from growing up that only close friends and family were allowed to call me. However, thanks to the internet, somebody stole my domain name and wanted several thousand dollars for me to purchase it.

In an attempt at continuity, I scrapped everything released under the name “Julia Klee.” If you’re a Watch Dogs fan and you’re wondering what happened to me, hi there. Here I am. And if you’re one of the mighty few fans of Big Charade, drop me a line. I’ll send you a signed CD. Donations appreciated.

(Cause I’m making a new album!)

TBH, I was really weirded out by my song being streamed by a predominantly male teenage audience, shooting at each other over the internet. The subtext felt way too creepy.

“Talk” was inspired by a time when I was losing my religion. I realized I was in a cult and needed to reconcile my search for meaning with the false reality of absolute certainty. Nowadays, I lean HARD into the practice of “Who the hell knows?” (Do they? RUN!)

I’ll skip ahead to 2023. If you really want to know about 10 years of undiagnosed Lyme disease, ask me in a loud bar.

I was divorcing my best friend and parenting, trying to find my footing post-COVID, when this old me, the songwriter, waltzed back into the room, barking, as if a careless human caretaker had forgotten to let it outside.

I now honor that wonderful bitch. She won’t leave me be.

Americana music is the kind of music I make. Powerful, hypnotic voices that soothe and bruise, of an analogue past, inspire me.

If you’re here, I imagine categories aren’t as important to you as feeling something.

If ever we find ourselves in the same room together, I hope you’re able to keep something you didn’t expect to find — like a feather or strange apocalypse partner..