“You know this job is just a stepping stone for you, don’t you?” said a psychic medium, one of the patients at a cancer hospital in Manchester where Kelly Lee Owens worked as a nurse at 18. According to her prediction, the now-world-renowned Welsh-born DJ, singer, and producer would move to London and become a star. Just so you know, psychic mediums claim to communicate with spirits, so they must have even better “little birds” than Varys, the Master of Whisperers. Whoever her informant from the other world was—Elvis himself or Bach—it worked. That very year, Owens moved to the big city, and the rest is… on Wikipedia.
Coming from a working-class background where people are used to living in “survival mode” and starting work as a waitress at 14, she didn’t begin writing her first songs until her mid-20s. “I feel that coming from a working-class background, becoming an artist is not really an avenue that presents itself organically to you,” she says, admitting that the push from that medium and other cancer patients was essential back then. Now, 15 years after that prediction, she’s had “one of the best summers of my life, hands down”, DJing alongside Charli XCX and Romy at Boiler Room in Ibiza, playing Glastonbury, and raving in North Wales with Caribou. Yet, as Owens puts it, things are going “darker & dancier” with the release of her fourth full-length, Dreamstate.
“It feels like the beginning of a new phase for me, like I’m starting a 2.0,” Owens says of her new venture. The foundation of this new era was laid through her acquaintance with 1975 drummer George Daniel, who, starting in June 2024, spearheads dh2, a new electronic music-focused imprint of Dirty Hit. “George and I were introduced by mutual friends and had long been in touch about writing music together,” she recalls. As a result, Kelly Lee Owens became “the first artist on his label”. “I suggested, if this does work out, that I could be the first artist on it. It made sense to me. I had my own musical world established, and he was a fan, and we have genuine respect for one another,” she explains.
Around 2006-2007, Owens was a big fan of the indie scene and even helped run local indie festivals between hospital shifts. After moving to London, she worked in record stores and used to play bass in the shoegaze band the History of Apple Pie. Despite such a deep connection to guitar music, she fully embraced electronic sound and fell in love with techno. However, as we can see from Owens’ general approach to her oeuvre, that experience still influences her sonics and visuals. This subtle rockiness makes her somewhat akin to Crystal Castles, Fever Ray, Grimes, Marie Davidson, and other electronic musicians who always refused to be defined by just DJ decks and drum machines.
“Don’t be provocative. Dress a certain way. Stay behind the decks. You can’t be a pop star and a DJ,” Owens recalls the unspoken rules of underground DJ culture she stumbled upon coming from Wales. Well, as her friend Charlie XCX might say, she broke them (I mean, the rules). Starting with her debut EP Oleic, Owens has come a long way, evolving from an electronic wunderkind who dabbled in techno and ambient and an indie darling with critical acclaim to a rising pop star with a distinct personality, which is especially evident on Dreamstate. While this is an entirely different journey from the aforementioned Brat Queen, who began her path in radio-friendly pop music before moving into more experimental electronic music, they’ve both ultimately arrived at the same destination, which we may call club pop.
That said, with a bit of a stretch, we could consider Kelly Lee Owens’ fourth offering a kind of reflection of Brat’s energy—a part of the “collective effort”, as she calls it—and a continuation of the trend of club music’s revival and its rapprochement with mainstream pop, a shift solidified by Beyoncé’s Renaissance. With such upbeat kickers like the Troye Sivan/Romy-tinged lead single “Love You Got” and the atmospheric Marika Hackman evoking “Time To”, it’s only a matter of time and PR proficiency before the music society eventually ranks Kelly Lee Owens alongside other contemporary big-ticket pop heavyweights like Caroline Polachek or Rina Sawayama.
After more minimalistic and academic first three records, Owens does her best to make this transition, emphasizing her voice and upbeat rhythms. While on Inner Song she only occasionally ventured beyond minimal, cold, and introverted techno melodies—like on Björk-ish “Re-Wild”, the indie-indebted slow burner “L.I.N.E.”, and the hypnagogic R&B lullaby “Wake-Up”—Dreamstate is full of bouncy and catchy melodies. “Ballads and bangers was the ethos,” she says, describing one of the record’s core ideas.
Besides its telling name, the springy house track “Sunshine” flourishes with a grandiose spinning dance section halfway through. The fluid and ambient-infused “Rise”, elegantly washed by ethereal, otherworldly Owens vocals in the vein of Grimes, morphs midway into an imaginary soundtrack for a sci-fi thriller with a striking sunrise in the background. As for the vocals, this time they’re far more confident and nearly omnipresent—from cosmic whispers on the title track “Dreamstate” and murmurs on “Sunshine” to simultaneously soothing and piercing chants on “Ballad (In the End)” and enchanting delivery on the verge of Bon Iver on the almost twangy closing ballad “Trust and Desire”, also notable for the strings of Raven Bush, Kate Bush’s nephew.
Instantly, the songwriting feels dopey yet direct, simple yet sharp. Some might say it’s no big deal to write lyrics with words like “feel”, “love”, and “desire”, but Owens has a flair for crafting irresistibly catchy and perfectly calibrated lines, ideal for nightclubbing, as Iggy Pop might put it. “Higher and higher I go / Lifting it up, I feel it all,” she proclaims in a euphoric rush on “Higher”, and conspiratorially states, “Wanna feel the core / Light up the darkest floor” on “Love You Got”. These simple stanzas might make little sense when played on vinyl in a cozy Brooklyn flat, but in a burst of pure euphoria—especially on a dance floor—these words work like fuel.
The only problem is that, separately, some of Dreamstate’s tracks, like, say, the opener “Dark Angel” or “Air”, could be perceived as typical electronic fillers, evoking Jean-Michel Jarre, Tangerine Dream, Orbital, and many other familiar tunes from KCRW’s Metropolis or BBC Radio 1’s Essential Mix. However, as with her previous records, Owens didn’t approach this one in the traditional way—it’s always a glimpse into something much bigger, like a club mix you occasionally catch on the radio in the middle of a rainy night and… dissolve into your dreams, like Lofi Girl.
If you experienced that, it means the mission is “accomplished”, as a kid’s voice proclaims at the very end of the record. Reflecting on her journey into the music industry, Owens says, “People think that these things are a distant dream, this unreachable thing,” and then adds with the spark of a motivational speaker, “I’m just a little girl from a village in Wales who had zero financial help. I found my way into these places because I genuinely love it, and I found a way.” It means if you truly want to achieve something and keep working at it, you’ll get there one day. On her fourth full-length venture, Kelly Lee Owens invites us to pursue our dream and maybe even to do so together. This is the meaning of Dreamstate Autumn. Summer was for fun; this season is for productive daydreaming.
“Know better, do better,” she sings with an electrifying, the 1975-ish voice on “Trust and Desire”. Well, that’s a pretty good motto for this season.