Premiere: The Tender Queer Folk of Julianna Money’s “27”

Arts

Oct 22

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Julianna Money has a gift for filling an entire space with just their voice, a lone guitar and a little bit of heartache. The bittersweet searching of “27” exhibits this ability perfectly, a hymn honeyed within the human condition. Grappling with the wild whirlwind of time as it slips by, “27” is achingly wrapped in delicate disenchantment. And yet, the execution is comforting, a croon of hope that steers one home.

Money’s fellowship to folk and old country spans much further than their earthly years, intuitively strung in their technique and chord progressions with an old soul understanding. Their close relationship to the conversational history of these genres, heartstrings tugged, plays only one part in their passionate propel towards establishing their own voice. Naturally, Money’s songcraft has served as a coping mechanism for heartbreak, an ease for mental health’s sake, and now stands strongly as an integrated part of who they are today. Furthermore, their sonic fervor has roots beyond their well-being or record collection: Money has been singing and harmonizing since they could first talk.

Born into a highly creative musical family, the engagement of song, whether playing or singing, was a daily commonplace with Money’s mother and siblings. After graduating from UGA and moving to Atlanta, their passion for the medium became a palpable pursuit. From early open mic nights to songwriter competitions at Eddie’s Attic (making final round) and Tin Roof (second runner-up), Money’s live performances touched audiences with an acute, memorable presence and prose. Soon enough their first EP, Nickels and Dimes, would be released (almost a year ago exactly in October 2019).

“27” is the second single from the upcoming album, In The Valley, a reference to their hometown Columbus, GA (a.k.a. The Chattahoochee Valley). Their first single, the moody melody “Shrug”, was revealed last week, and combined, both songs show the style in which Money has simmered and reached into to bring truth to their experiences and emotions. A poet with a soft edge of sarcasm, sprinkled with hints of humor, amid buttery vocals, make this rising ATL-based artist one to watch. WUSSY had the pleasure of speaking to the bi, gender fluid, Southern queer cowboi (she/they) about musical ancestry, queer life and the Southern spirit.

What does the song "27" specifically mean to you?

I started writing “27” about a month before COVID but I paused because I knew it was a special song that needed to come to me fully in its own time. I finished it about 2 months into quarantine and it’s been pretty wild to me how prescient it ended up being for the current times. I personally have struggled a lot with existential anxiety and despair for the majority of my 20s, as I think many in our generation have. I had kind of reached this point where my future felt so blank and empty and that felt so claustrophobic - how can you find hope in nothingness? And I was trying to figure out where I fit into the grand scheme of things - how can I make an impact? Does it matter if I do or not? Is there a path for me or are we all just pitching about wildly in the dark? The song sort of reaches this point of trying to find peace in presence - I don’t know the answers to any of those questions, but I do know that the only thing that’s real is each and every moment, and I have to try to live there.

In the Valley references your upbringing and where you grew up. How have these themes shaped your upcoming record?

I have had a pretty complicated relationship with my home ever since it became a concept to me when I left for college. My entire family still lives there, and I’m very close to them. That has been one of the greatest sources of joy as well as difficulty in my life, because that support and that love is everything to me, but it can also be incredibly difficult to try to find my most authentic path without worrying about their expectations.

I went on a road trip across the US a little over a year ago, driving up to Portland, down the West Coast and back. It was a very formative experience for me, because I was really starting to embrace some aspects of my identity around that time, especially my queerness, and I felt so free and open. I came back home and had to reconcile my most authentic self with the place I came from, which I feel is a sort of circular, cyclical journey I’m always on. The record is really an examination of that journey and that relationship with the concept of home. It’s also heavily influenced by the beautiful musical history of where I’m from with some elements of blues, folk, and country.

In what ways has growing up in a musical family informed your skill as a musician?

Growing up among such talent made it harder to claim my own in some ways. It took me a long time to embrace my musical path because as the youngest of four very creative siblings, I compared myself a good deal. Once I got brave enough to start on my own, my siblings championed me every step of the way and are currently my main support system, as well as a huge help to me media wise. Sharing music with my siblings is also what opened my mind to all the amazing music in the world and so formatively shaped my taste.

“there’s a struggle between wanting to flee to a place where you feel totally accepted but also wanting to be a part of the culture and traditions that you love and find beautiful”

Alternatively, has the learning experience with family and community helped you be more open in expressing yourself and stories?

Well, it only took four questions to get me on my astrology bullshit but… as a Scorpio that sense of community sometimes felt overwhelming to me, and made me afraid to put my music and stories into the world. I’ve always been incredibly independent, so going off to college and being on my own for a while, feeling more anonymous, made it easier for me to explore some of these ideas. Now that I’m older, I’ve gotten to where the world of who I am and the world of where I came from are growing closer and closer together, and so getting to share some of these stories and tell where I came from and honor that feels like a really beautiful, special thing.

In what ways are the Southern queer experience unique for you?

OMG! (laughs) How long do you have, honestly? I think one of the biggest things for us Southern queers is the religious indoctrination in the Bible Belt. I grew up Baptist, and that experience has affected my life more profoundly than almost anything else up to this point. I think there’s a struggle between wanting to flee to a place where you feel totally accepted but also wanting to be a part of the culture and traditions that you love and find beautiful. That’s why I love ATL so much, because you really get a lot of that intersection here.

I also think gender norms in the South are especially strict, and that plays out in a lot of different ways. I grew up in a very “Southern Belle” type of tradition, and I was very entrenched in that until I came out at 25 (late bloomer - again, the Baptist upbringing) and started to unfold some of my ideas around my gender expression. Unraveling that was really wild because I began to realize how much of these ideas around femininity, many of them incredibly toxic, had informed my own perception of my identity. Now, being on the other side of that, I’m wonderfully fluid and will be “hot girl” as fuck one day and cowboy the next. (laughs) And I love it and I feel more like myself than I ever have!

In the context of music, I think there’s a lot of marginalization going on. Like being a woman in music is already rife with so much bullshit, and then on top of that being a Southern queer musician. Modern country music culture can be really homophobic which sucks, because my music really exists in this queer country spot - being informed by the country and folk musical traditions and also being informed by queer experiences. I’m still kind of figuring out what that means for me going forward but my goal is pretty much just always to be my most authentic self and allow the rest to fall into place. I also think there’s a movement of Southern queers championing that which is wonderful, and that’s why you have people like Orville Peck blowing up because he’s giving us something we’ve wanted and needed all along.

In the Valley was recorded at Standard Electric in Decatur, available on all streaming platforms November 12th. Follow Julianna Money on Instagram, Spotify, and Soundcloud. Check out our WUSSY tenderqueer playlist for more featured indie folk artists.

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Sunni Johnson is the Arts Editor of WUSSY and a writer, zinester, and musician based in Atlanta, GA.

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