With his haunting new single ‘Red, dead Ladybugs’, emerging German singer-songwriter Julez invites listeners into a world of quiet reflection, fragile beauty, and emotional honesty. Rooted in atmospheric indie-folk and alternative influences, the track finds profound meaning in seemingly ordinary moments, transforming a simple image into a meditation on impermanence, longing, and human connection. As anticipation builds for his debut album ‘Beauty Left Within’, Julez opens up about the creative process behind the song, the influence of his hometown of Gelsenkirchen, and why vulnerability, space, and authenticity remain at the heart of his music.
There’s a quiet intensity to “Red, dead Ladybugs”—how do you approach building emotional weight without relying on big sonic moments?
I think intensity doesn’t always need loudness or huge arrangements. Sometimes the quietest moments can feel the heaviest because they leave space for people to really sit with what they’re hearing. It gives listeners time to reflect and connect with their own thoughts and experiences. With this song especially, I wanted fragility and atmosphere to carry the weight rather than dramatic production choices.
The track feels deeply introspective—was it written in one sitting, or did it evolve over time?
The initial idea came very suddenly. The lyrics, especially the chorus, appeared almost instantly when I saw the dead ladybugs on my windowsill. But the song itself kept evolving over time. Even after the basic structure was there, I continued shaping the atmosphere and overall feeling very carefully.
How do you decide when a song is “finished,” especially one rooted in such open-ended themes?
That’s always difficult, because songs like this never completely feel finished on a personal level. At some point, though, you realize that adding more would actually take something away from the honesty of it. Usually I stop when the song feels complete without becoming overexplained.
The title itself is striking—did it come before or after the song took shape?
The title was there almost immediately because the image itself was the very starting point of the entire song. Seeing those two dead ladybugs already carried everything the song later became about: fragility, impermanence, and the search for love and warmth. So in many ways, the title existed before the full song did.
Your music avoids overproduction—how do you strike the balance between polish and authenticity?
For me, authenticity always comes first. I want songs to feel human and believable, even if that means leaving certain imperfections untouched. The production should support the heart of a song, not distract from it. I love atmosphere and detail, but they still need to feel honest and natural.
Do you think listeners interpret your songs the way you intend, or do you welcome misinterpretation?
I actually welcome different interpretations. Of course many of my songs come from personal experiences and inner struggles, but once they’re released, they no longer belong only to me.I like when listeners find their own meaning inside them. Sometimes people understand things in a completely different way than I intended, and I think that’s a beautiful part of music.
How has your background in Gelsenkirchen influenced your perspective as a songwriter?
Growing up in Gelsenkirchen wasn’t always easy. There’s a lot of decay and hardship there, and that definitely shaped the way I see the world and approach songwriting. It’s a place with a certain roughness and honesty to it, but it’s also deeply marked by poverty and unemployment.
In many ways, that also connects to the idea behind my debut album Beauty Left Within. The title is strongly inspired by my hometown, which once thrived through coal mining. Since that industry disappeared, the city and the whole surrounding area, has gone through a kind of decline. But to me, there’s still beauty hidden underneath all of that, and I think that search for something meaningful within decay became a central idea throughout the record.
I think growing up in a place that isn’t often romanticized also made imagination, atmosphere, and introspection even more important to me creatively.
There’s a sense of stillness in the track—do you think silence and space are underrated tools in modern music?
Absolutely. I think modern music is often far too overloaded and afraid of silence, even though silence can carry an incredible amount of weight and meaning. Space allows melodies, lyrics, and atmosphere to breathe. Especially in intimate songs, what you leave out can sometimes be just as important as what you put in.
When introducing your debut album, what narrative or emotional thread do you hope listeners pick up on first?
I hope people immediately connect with the honesty of the record. Even though the album deals with loneliness, grief, pressure, and personal struggles, there’s still warmth and hope running through it.
That contrast between darkness and the beauty that can still remain within it is probably the central thread of the whole album.
Looking ahead, do you see your sound expanding beyond this indie-folk/alternative space, or deepening within it?
Probably both. I never want to limit myself too much stylistically, because music should evolve naturally alongside life and the experiences that shape you. But no matter where the sound goes, I think atmosphere, honesty, and vulnerability will always remain at the center of what I do.
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