Since releasing her debut album Don’t Let the Kids Win in 2016, Julia Jacklin has carved out a fearsome reputation as a direct lyricist, willing to excavate the parameters of intimacy and agency in songs both stark and raw, loose, and playful.

2019 follow-up Crushing was described as “a triumph” by The Independent, and “a candidate for this year’s strongest singer-songwriter breakthrough” by Rolling Stone, and her latest album, PRE PLEASURE, has been met with similar acclaim and continues to establish Jacklin as a mainstay of the indie world. 

Jacklin returns to the US for the first time since her sold out PRE PLEASURE TOUR in 2022/23, and will be doing a unique series of solo residency shows alongside supporting a run of dates with Mitski. 

Describing the upcoming shows, Jacklin says “The residency idea started because in the spirit of doing what I want next year, even if it doesn’t make sense, I decided I wanted to do a Vegas Residency. The thought made me laugh, and I want to laugh more, and I want more joy in the indie rock touring circuit. I just feel like I jumped on a train in 2016 when I released my first record and it’s been a while since I’ve interrogated why I’m still on the train or asked who's driving. 

I’m approaching next years shows with a sense of play. I want to write on the go, try things out and slow things down for a second. I want to stay in the same city for more than a night, have some breathing room in between each show to really think about what I’m doing, why I’m drawn to songwriting and public performance and how I can change my practises to be more sustainable. Maybe I can even work on my enduring stage fright in intimate rooms where I can see peoples faces, feel their support, and remember that this is all just about connecting with other people at the end of the day. 

I'll be playing solo, I'll have some guests, some friends, who knows! I'm just going to see how it feels and leave room for exploring and experimenting. Hope to see you there.

The music Ella Williams makes as Squirrel Flower has always communicated a strong sense of place. Her self-released debut EP, 2015’s early winter songs from middle america, was written during her first year living in Iowa, where the winter months make those of her hometown, Boston, seem quaint by comparison. Since that first offering, Squirrel Flower amassed a fanbase beyond the Boston DIY scene and has released two more EPs and two full-lengths. The most recent, Planet (i), was laden with climate anxiety, while the subsequent Planet EP marked an important turning point in Williams’ prolific career; the collection of demos was the first self-produced material she’d released in some time. With a renewed confidence as a producer, she helmed her new album Tomorrow’s Fire at Drop of Sun Studios in Asheville alongside storied engineer Alex Farrar.

Before Tomorrow’s Fire, Squirrel Flower might’ve been labeled something like “indie folk,” but this is a rock record, made to be played loud. As if to signal this shift, the album opens with the soaring “i don’t use a trash can,” a re-imagining of the first ever Squirrel Flower song. Williams returns to her past to demonstrate her growth as an artist and to nod to those early shows, when her voice, looped and minimalistic, had the power to silence a room. Lead singles “Full Time Job” and “When a Plant is Dying,” narrate the universal desperation that comes with living as an artist and pushing up against a world where that’s a challenging thing to be. The frustration in Williams’ lyrics is echoed by the music’s uninhibited, ferocious production. “There must be more to life/ Than being on time,” she sings on the latter’s towering chorus. Lyrics like that one are fated to become anthemic, and Tomorrow’s Fire overflows with them. “Doing my best is a full time job/ But it doesn’t pay the rent” Williams sings on “Full Time Job” over careening feedback, her steady delivery imposing order over a song that is, at its heart, about a loss of control.

Closing track “Finally Rain” speaks to the ambiguity of being a young person staring down climate catastrophe. The last verse is an homage to Williams’ relationship with her loved ones — ‘We won’t grow up.’ A stark realization, but also a manifesto. To be resolutely committed to a life of not ‘growing up,’ not losing our wonder while we’re still here.

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