Terms like “easy listening” and “adult contemporary” often carry a stigma, yet they describe a sonic landscape that Julia Cumming navigates with surprising grace on her solo debut, Julia. While these genres are rarely associated with the experimental edge of a dark, sweaty club—the very environment where the New York musician cut her teeth—Cumming’s latest work proves that stepping away from the “cool” factor can be an act of liberation.
Having spent over a decade as the bassist and vocalist for the indie-rock outfit Sunflower Bean, and balancing a career in modeling, Cumming is no stranger to the spotlight. Her roots trace back to the teenage twee pop band Supercute!, a project that helped define her early musical identity. Now, at 30, she has moved beyond the need to constantly reinvent “cool,” opting instead to let her voice—smooth, pliable, and brimming with poise—take center stage.
Julia feels like a deliberate throwback to the golden age of coffee-shop pop, reminiscent of artists like Norah Jones, Jason Mraz, Sheryl Crow, and Dave Matthews Band. However, the album is far from a simple nostalgia trip. Cumming uses these mellowed-out instrumentals as a canvas for darker, more anxious lyrical themes. On tracks like “Ruled By Fear,” she pairs sunny, sleek guitar licks with a raw dissection of her struggles with self-doubt and OCD. Similarly, “Hollywood Communication” offers a bright, breezy soft-rock aesthetic that masks an underlying critique of the identity maintenance required by the music and fashion industries.
The album truly shines when Cumming allows herself to break from the established form. Moments like the discordant rhythm of “I Dream of a Fire that Stays Burning…” or the rowdy guitar work on “Do It All Again” serve as vital reminders that there is more to her artistry than just chill vibes. While the abrupt ending of “Forget the Rest” leaves the listener wanting more, these unpredictable bursts of energy suggest that Cumming is only just beginning to explore the depths beneath her polished exterior.
