Julia Cumming traversed through Brooklyn, New York, during her first batch of solo shows late this past April, settling into the quiet, amber glow of Public Records. There was a haze to the evening that made everything about the performance feel like stumbling into a hidden speakeasy after midnight – something sacred, tucked away carefully so you can cling onto it a little longer before the outside world catches on. Julia Cumming crooned to a crowd that leaned on the older side, but within the velvet soundscapes of her music, it made sense that the audience felt more seasoned, more weathed by life; this wasn’t glossy rock polish solely for virality or catchy moments, this was music that bruised softly, that lingered like perfum on a coat sleeve, that begged you to lean closer and absorb every tremble in her tonality.

Known for her work fronting the New York-based rock band Sunflower Bean, Julia Cumming diverged into a solo project in April 2026 with her debut record, aptly named Julia. The ambitious 11-track project captures Cumming at her most self-possessed, charting the emotional and psychological terrain of her inner world like a weather map unfolding in rap time. Having existed in the industry since her teenage years, Cumming isn’t afraid to crack herself open across compositions, and her debut solo album bleeds with that kind of candor. The work isn’t precisely what you’d expect when tethering her name to the grittier soundscapes of Sunflower Bean, but that’s exactly why it flourishes on its own. She isn’t retracing familiar footsteps; she’s wandering into entirely different territory with this endeavor, and audiences are utterly spellbound, blending ’70s songwriting influences with the spectral fingerprints of Carole King, Brian Wilson, Joni Mitchell, Kate Bush, and Linda Ronstadt, plus more from that golden age of folk. You can hear those influences drift in and out of the arrangements like ghosts moving through fog with every breath she takes, and it’s why the music appeals to an entirely different audience than you might expect if you only knew Sunflower Bean’s sharper, more angsty edge.

Public Records felt like the ideal room to hear Julia bloom into existence live, and Cumming leaned fully into that intimacy. With its wood-paneled interior and carefully suspended silence between notes, the venue carried her voice beautifully, letting it echo warm and full-bodied through the room like smoke curling toward the ceiling. April 28 was no exception. The performance felt unconcerned with spectacle or elaborate stage design, and that restraint is exactly what made it so captivating; Julia Cumming didn’t require anything glamorous to veil the performance because the voice, the lyricism, the musicianship carried enough gravity on their own. Anything excessive would’ve only interrupted the beating of the art itself.

At this particular show, the album was still fresh in the audience’s hands, having only been released four days prior, and while we didn’t know every lyric by heart yet, it hardly mattered. Julia Cumming extended a hand and gently drew the crowd into her orbit, suspending everyone beneath her spell for the entirety of the 45-minute set. There wasn’t an abundance of solo material to pull from yet, but instead of rushing through the songs, she paused between transitions to unravel the stories and memories stitched into them, guiding the audience deeper into her universe one confession at a time. There was a tenderness to the way she approached the performance that sharply contrasted the rockier terrain audiences may associate her with, and it felt like watching an artist peel away layers in real time until only something deeply human remained. It surely isn’t the beginning of Cumming’s journey in music, but something about this performance carried the nervous kineticity of a first chapter all over again – and perhaps it truly was the beginning of something entirely different than what we’ve expected from her up until now. Even she admitted to the nerves, casually opening the set by requesting “a tequila soda and more vocals.”

Musically, the songs drifted into a jazzier, freer atmosphere, untethered and breathing. I stepped into the performance intentionally blank-minded – I hadn’t listened to the album beforehand and was only vaguely familiar with Sunflower Bean. Whenever I’m given the opportunity to witness an artist performing material from a debut record I haven’t fully immersed myself in yet, I prefer hearing the songs emerge onstage before digesting the studio versions. There’s something almost indescribable about witnessing an artist step into the spotlight with music that feels newly born, and I felt that entirely with Julia Cumming. You could see the passion flickering across her expression with every soaring passage she belted, and in moments where she spoke more vulnerably about the album’s inspiration, it never felt rehearsed or performative; it felt like passing stories back and forth with close friends after midnight. I was utterly entranced by “I Dream of a Fire That Stays Burning When Nobody Tends It,” especially the guitar solo that spiraled outward like a fever dream blossoming slowly, but every song across the set was laced with polished, living musicianship that no digital enhancement or overproduced platform could ever truly replicate.

While Julia Cumming’s debut solo album isn’t precisely intended for casual, shuffled listening, it’s a project that begs to be absorbed front to back, like turning the pages of somebody’s journal in one sitting. For listeners willing to sit with the music for just over half an hour, it pulls you into a world you wouldn’t necessarily expect from the Sunflower Bean frontwoman, and something about that transformation feels deeply natural, like an artist stepping fully into the shape of their own creativity and refusing to shrink it for accessibility’s sake. By the final song, Julia Cumming left the crowd with a promise: more music, more shows, a longer set in the future. And while that might mean a temporary pause on Sunflower Bean, it’s a moment worth leaning into completely; an artist rediscovering themselves in beats per minute.

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