Existing in the middle with NewDad’s Julie Dawson

“When we were putting [the songs] side by side I sounded like a baby in the first one I wrote because I’d written it a few months before I’d done the other ones. It just wasn’t how the rest of it sounded, but,” Dawson takes a breath, “when I wrote ‘Bottom of the Pool’, I remember in that moment it did feel like 'okay, this is actually a cool project. It’s doing something that makes sense.'”

This titular single not only embodies the record, with its haunting melodies and steady synth line driving the track forward like a comforting pulse, but also everything Dawson wanted to capture. The album feels like a distillation of those moments in life that sit between everything and nothing. Lyrically, it explores the quiet desire for escape – the kind that comes as you walk home after a night out with friends, when you’re not quite happy, but not quite sad. It’s about the kind of yearning to exist between freedom and detachment, where emotions blur and drift but you’re still undeniably present. “I kind of ran with that idea of wishing you were kind of in the middle,” Dawson reflects quietly, “because the highs can be great, but the lows that come with those highs are like–”, she flattens her hand out, palm down, by her feet towards the floor. “So you wish you were in this middle somewhere – and that was inspired by BoJack Horseman."

It may be unusual to make connections to Netflix animations when listening to bittersweet electronic records, but BoJack isn’t the only cinematic influence Dawson has drawn on. “Euphoria was a big one,” she remarks. “It was lockdown era and I was re-watching a lot of that. “Close the Door” was really inspired by that show and just the vibes of it.” Atmosphere is integral to Bottom of the Pool and goes hand-in-hand with these inspirations lifted from television and film alike, with collaborator Jack Hamill’s instrumental ideas pulling from a similar place to create alternative soundscapes to escape into.

“The instrumentals were just– they were pieces of music. They didn’t feel like they had a chorus, a verse; they were just these pieces of music. So, I was putting stuff on top, almost like a poem in a way – I don’t write poetry,” she confesses with a laugh, “but that was how I was seeing it. I wanted it to be like something that I could read. So I just didn’t restrict myself as much on it and definitely went to other places, like pulling from films and TV. I wanted it to feel otherworldly in a sense”.

There’s a playfulness to it – an experimentation that never feels forced. Dawson’s connection with visual media isn’t just about setting a mood, it’s about layering cinematic feelings onto the music. Each song is crafted with the kind of immersive depth you find in a quiet moment of escape, lying in your bedroom alone, floating between feelings, lit only by flickers of a television screen. Talking about this project, Dawson is so deliberate, even when the emotions and atmospheres she tries to capture are abstract and elusive. Her reverence for soundtracks is clear, an instinctive grasp of their power to evoke emotion and craft vivid scenes. Perhaps it wouldn’t be surprising to see her scoring one day.

That’s not to say Dawson hides behind these inspirations; in fact, there is perhaps more of her weaved into this new album than we’ve seen before. “With NewDad, I used to be so afraid of really expressing myself because I would be embarrassed. But I feel like on this one, I felt slightly disconnected from it in a way,” she shares, reflecting on the growth that’s come with her solo work. “I felt like I could just kind of pour my heart out on it and I wasn't afraid of that.” While Dawson admits she’s “still learning how to do that,” it’s the balance between the personal and the cinematic that allows songs like hazy lead single “Silly Little Song” and the more hushed “Hailee” to exemplify the strange comfort found between the album’s cold, futuristic soundscapes and the warmth of her voice.

It’s testament to the ease between Dawson and fellow Irish-producer, Jack Hamill (Space Dimension Controller), that Bottom of the Pool evolved so naturally. On hiatus with Irish four-piece NewDad during lockdown, the new project started with a series of creative exchanges with Hamill online: “When I started this project we really didn't know it was going to be an album,” she admits. “But then, just over the course of like a year or two, we were very quickly like ‘okay we're putting this out now’.”

Modern convenience and artistic synergy saw these demos coalesce into a cohesive album – a fitting meld for the escapist electronics of Bottom of the Pool. “It was funny because basically the whole album was made on WhatsApp in a way,” Dawson smiles. “I've only met Jack once in person and I think we exchanged two words; we were both kind of awkward but we just had this really nice flow. He'd send the songs and then I'd send them back.” You can hear it in the final result, the feeding off each other’s creative instincts, making the whole thing feel less like a grand declaration and more like a conversation – one that’s open-ended and inviting. “He did his thing and then I did my thing. Then, he kind of just neatened it up and like, put a little bow on it. It was actually just really easy.”

Dawson seems unconcerned with the traditional way of creating a record. What’s more important is to “make sense of your own feelings and put them somewhere,” she muses, reflecting on the creative freedom that shaped this album. It’s what opens the door to exploring the more unsettling aspects of escapism. It’s whyBottom of the Pool feels both intimate and expansive, strange and yet familiar. “This album is,” she pauses, “it’s a little more ominous. It’s something you’d listen to alone, but it’s not like ‘here’s a blanket, get cosy.’ It’s for when you can’t sleep at night and you’re like, ‘I’m just going to roll with the late night antics.’” In a way, speaking to Dawson in the daytime feels like only half the story; it’s during those nighttime bouts of insomnia and fairy-lit TV binges where this album truly exists.

Looking to the future, Dawson’s path feels just as open as the music she’s creating. “I just want to get better at songwriting and the only way to do that is to write and write and write,” she emphasises with an excited energy, grounded in the idea that constant curiosity is the only way forward. “I just want to keep experimenting.” She ponders on her desire to embrace new sounds and ideas while also sharing an eagerness to branch further – maybe even a traditional folk album, who knows? In Dawson’s world, the possibilities seem abundant.

“I’d like to,” Dawson responds when asked about touringBottom of the Pool, “I’m usually singing and playing guitar [in NewDad], so I could be floating around and having a little dance. Maybe. Probably not, because I’m too awkward, but it’s okay. We gotta try it.” This playful hesitance surrounds Dawson, suggesting an easygoing but steadfast dedication to stepping outside and trying the new. It reflects an almost universal feeling: the desire to let loose while grappling with the fear of being judged in the act. It all comes back to this same quiet exploration she’s been nurturing throughout her work. Dawson is not an artist still figuring out her space in the music world; rather she is an artist exploring every space she can within it, just to see what she might find.