Folk for the fighters and anthems for quiet battles
There’s a particular magic in music that doesn’t flinch from darkness but still leaves room for light–Julia Belle’s debut EP Dreamland does exactly that.
Folk artistJulia Belle crafts hauntingly intimate soundscapes on her debut EP Dreamland, weaving delicate melodies with raw, confessional lyricism.
Drawing inspiration from Phoebe Bridgers and Adrienne Lenker, her music navigates the push-and-pull of mental turmoil and fleeting solace, offering a refuge for those who find comfort in art that embraces both pain and beauty.
From the melancholic release of her latest single, ‘Let Go,’ to the dreamlike textures of ‘Homesick,’ this playlist is an invitation to sit with the messy, beautiful parts of being human.
Julia’s voice, soft yet unwavering, guides you through OCD’s labyrinth, panic’s grip, and the quiet hope that lingers after.
Press play and let Dreamland hold space for your own storms and silver linings.
Catch Julia’s deep-dive into the powerful inspiration and deep meaning behind Dreamland below.
I Dream
This was the first song I wrote for Dreamland, and in many ways, it’s the emotional core of the whole project.
I was in the depths of a terrifying mental health spiral, completely overwhelmed and unable to keep pretending I was okay.
I remember breaking down in front of my mum, telling her I couldn’t do it anymore if life was going to keep feeling like this.
That moment ended up becoming the chorus: “I told my mum, if I have to go another day, I won’t last long, if it’s anything like today.”
Later that night, I saw a video of Aspen in the snow, this magical, peaceful world that felt galaxies away from where I was.
I just wanted to be in that world, to feel that kind of stillness and escape.
That wish, that desperate longing to be anywhere but here, became I Dream. It was my first doorway into Dreamland.
The final line of the song still breaks something in me every time I hear it: “I’m begging for it.” That’s what ‘I Dream’ is. A plea for a life that feels liveable.
Lucy
I wrote ‘Lucy’ daydreaming in the supermarket, thinking about a band (who may or may not rhyme with Boygenius) that just looked like they were having so much fun.
It struck me how much I wanted to be in that world, not even necessarily as myself, but as someone else entirely.
That’s what ‘Lucy’ became: a dream of a different life, lived through someone who seems to have it all figured out.
She’s adventurous, vibrant, full of light, she finds silver linings in things I can barely face. I was jealous of her.
I think the song is really about escapism and the way we can romanticise someone, or an idea of someone, into a symbol of hope.
‘Lucy’ is more than a person, she’s a place I wanted to go.
Somewhere sweeter, brighter, easier. Somewhere I could finally just be.
To Be Saved
‘To Be Saved’ was the last track we recorded for the EP, though I had started writing it much earlier, during one of the darkest periods of my life.
I had just been accepted into therapy. I was agoraphobic, barely functioning, and completely hopeless.
I truly didn’t believe I could get better.
The original version of the song had no light in it at all, it was all pain, numbness, and the feeling of being far too gone.
But when I came back to finish it over a year later, I had made it through some of that darkness.
I was in a better place, and I added a line I could never have written back then: “Give yourself a break, love. Time will be your saviour.”
That lyric felt like future me reaching back to comfort past me.
This song is a free fall, yes, but it’s also a hand reaching out through time, saying “just stick around to find out.
Red Sea
‘Red Sea’ is the most stripped-back moment on the EP, just me and my guitar, recorded in one take like a live demo (aside from one word I asked my producer Toby to comp because I completely botched it).
That rawness was important. I wanted the song to feel unguarded, like a late-night confession.
This track lives inside a moment of desperation, of trying to feel something other than despair, and reaching for something that ultimately makes things worse.
It’s about giving too much of yourself away in hopes it will somehow fix you.
There’s a line, “I would’ve parted like the Red Sea, just in case you needed to cross me,” that captures the heart of it.
Escapism isn’t always beautiful or cinematic. Sometimes it’s messy, misguided, and rooted in pain.
And sometimes, what you hoped would save you just ends up leaving you more lost.
Rockstar
‘Rockstar’ is the tongue-in-cheek moment on the EP, a flash of defiance dressed up in sarcasm.
It was sparked by a man at a party who told me, without hesitation, that women can’t make good music.
So I imagined this whole fantasy of me, centre stage, shredding on a guitar, the crowd going wild, and him in the back, being forced to eat his words.
It’s playful and exaggerated, but by the time I wrote this song, I’d been in therapy for a while and was starting to understand what all this anger was really covering.
‘Rockstar’ isn’t just about proving someone wrong. It’s about reinventing myself.
Because the old me, the one who was desperate for relief and convinced she wouldn’t get better, had to die.
So yes, I’m dreaming in this song. But this time, the dream is about survival.
About stepping into a version of myself who takes up space and never asks permission again.
Homesick
‘Homesick’ started as a fragment I posted on TikTok a couple years ago, just the opening lines about being homesick for a place that doesn’t exist.
It got a really strong response, and I always knew I wanted to finish it.
But I don’t think I was ready to write the rest of it until much later, when I started working with a new therapist and began EMDR.
That process was incredibly challenging, it brought up a lot, and it forced me to face parts of myself I had buried.
But it also gave me the clarity I needed to finish the song.
This track is about longing for a place, a feeling, a version of myself that I’ve never truly known.
It’s about dissociation, identity loss, burnout, and the strange grief that comes with healing.
That line, “I’m homesick for a place that does not exist” feels like the emotional thesis of the whole EP.
And there’s another line in the bridge that ties everything together: “It’s been raining in my head, but I take cover in Dreamland.”
That’s what these songs are for me. A shelter. A place I escaped to when reality felt unliveable, which is why I titled the EP Dreamland.
The bridge is one of the most raw moments I’ve written: “It kinda scares me what I’d do, just to go back to my youth.”
This song holds all the parts of me that wanted to disappear, but were still brave enough to hope for something better.
Let Go
‘Let Go’ is the final track on the EP and the one that probably scared me most to write.
I wrote it straight after a therapy session, in the middle of what felt like complete psychological collapse.
I’d been trying so hard for so long, clinging to attention, validation, anything that made the pain feel more manageable, but none of it was working anymore.
This song is chaos. It moves like a panic spiral, frantic images, overwhelming emotion, desperate grasping at anything to stop the free fall.
There’s even a nod to my hometown in there, “clawing to the edge of a tsunami safe zone.”
Where I grew up, if you’re standing high enough to survive a tsunami, there are signs painted on the concrete that say TSUNAMI SAFE ZONE.
It always struck me as kind of darkly funny, like you’re on the brink of disaster, but technically safe.
That became the perfect metaphor for what I was feeling.
The chorus, “Mama I’m sick and there’s no medicine to help,” is one of the rawest things I’ve ever written.
There’s no filter here, no metaphor to soften the truth. Just the sound of someone trying to survive themselves.
But the heart of Let Go is its ambiguity. Letting go could mean releasing pain, illness, fear. Or it could mean something far darker.
The song never decides, and that’s intentional.
Because what it’s really saying is: you can’t keep going like this. Something has to change.
Letting go is essential, whether it saves you or swallows you.
That choice is left hanging, unresolved, for the listener to sit with.
Dreamland is a collection of all the places I went when I couldn’t stand to be where I was.
It’s made up of fantasies, delusions, coping mechanisms, desperation, and small moments of hope.
Every track is a different kind of escape. Some imagined, some real, some that nearly broke me.
Writing these songs was my way of surviving the chaos in my head.
But underneath all the dreaming is something simple and human.
A longing for peace. A wish to be understood.
And maybe in the end, the courage to face the real world again, no matter how terrifying that might be.
