Kelly Lee Owens is for working class dreamers

People crowd into Brixton’s Phonox, a sticky, dark room, because they want to escape.

The dance floor is filled with excited teenagers dressed like Charli XCX brat summer edition (long hair, black cycling sunglasses, 2000s miniskirts) and lined with middle-aged techno fans stoically cheering on what must be one of these kids’ first real club experiences. It’s the July 2024 launch party for Dirty Hit’s new electronic music label, dh2, founded by George Daniel of The 1975. Kelly Lee Owens, the first-ever artist to be released on dh2, comes out the side door onto the decks. All we see are her sunglasses, a cheerful smile, and a gravity-defying triangular haircut as she dances through a playful set. Daniel and his fiancée, the real Charli XCX, dance and film on their phones behind her.

Those at the event — some of his oldest fans, many probably new thanks to George’s connection to Charli — already know the lyrics to his thrilling, addictive debut single, “Love You Got.” It was released only hours ago. Although Owens’ mix mixes other people’s songs with his own, the set feels like an introduction to the philosophy of Dream state, his new electronic album. Its euphoric choruses, spiritual overtones and mantra-like lyrics introduce listeners to a two-step program: letting go of the events in your life and then dreaming bigger for yourself.

For Owens, it was a nerve-wracking experience to publicly welcome the next, more visible, high-octane era of his career. “A lot of people think they can be a DJ, but it’s hard and really scary to put yourself out there. You’re on your own, with nothing to hide behind,” Owens tells me a week later from his London apartment. “You’re commanding a space with so many tracks. You’re making decisions every few seconds for an hour or two.”

Since launching, she’s played in North Wales, at a venue near her hometown, for an event she curated with Dan Snaith, aka Caribou (artists usually only play in South Wales, and she’s tired of this cultural neglect) and in Ibiza twice, for her own set and to support Charli XCX at one of her PARTYGIRL club nights. The latter as an opening act makes sense. A rare and revered woman in techno, Owens’ music is probably best described as techno for pop fans.

She’s originally an indie music enthusiast who fell in love with the “humanity” of analog synthesizers by accident, the first time she heard them in the studio. “If you don’t put your soul into them, there’s no soul – they’re extensions of yourself,” she says. That philosophy extends to her own ethereal songs, created intuitively, rather than through specific technical training or explicit planning. “Dance music is hypnotic and there’s something about it that feels primal, something you can’t put into words – and I’m happy because I don’t want to. We shouldn’t be able to explain everything.”

Her sunny, unpretentious stage manner has the effect of “holding the space” for the audience, allowing them to feel present and uninhibited. It wasn’t always easy performing in this way. “I dove headfirst into this underground DJ culture that came out of Wales without really understanding what the silent rules were,” she explains. “Don’t be provocative. Dress a certain way. Stay behind the decks. You can’t be a pop star and a DJ. I have hang-ups about that because I wanted to be taken seriously. And now I know I can do whatever I want. I’ve earned my stripes. I want to enjoy it.”

As a teenager, she worked as a nurse, a path suggested by a careers counselor after Owens said she wanted to care for and connect with people. It was only later that she was encouraged to follow her dreams by patients at the cancer hospital where she worked. One of them was a psychic who told Owens that she would be moving to London in May and that she would be able to see her singing and performing. “I hadn’t spoken to this lady at the time, but she started our conversation by saying, ‘You know this job is just a stepping stone for you, right?’” Owens recalls, adding that in May, she was offered a full-time job at a record store in London during the 2009 recession. Other patients indirectly encouraged her by sharing their personal regrets. “It was always the things they didn’t try and the things they didn’t say – not being bold or brave enough to try things and fail.” She considers it the greatest gift she could be given at just 18 to have an intimate daily conversation with such vulnerable and wise people.

When she moved to London in 2009, the capital was a different place, able to bend to the will of a punk spirit and host independent spaces. The event horizon for its clean-up was still a few years away. It seemed possible for someone with no money to open a club night or pull off a DIY project. “A pivotal moment for me was when Fabric was threatened with closure,” she says, putting an end to that cultural decline in 2016. “Between the property industries, the local councils and people moving into London next to a club and then complaining about the noise, there was a shift in the way that culture wasn’t valued, didn’t care, didn’t want to know why this area was cool or popular.” » The fact that people protested the closure of such a necessary institution and got it reopened in 2017 was encouraging and something Owens thinks we should remember. “If you’re a fan and a music lover, we have to fight to keep dance spaces open, even just for each other. It’s about the broader community.”

Having a mix of trusted venues and more pop-up spaces means that no matter who you are in a city, whether you’re older with no group of friends available or new to the place, you can escape into the experience you need each night, she says. “Dancing alone, going to a party alone, that’s my favorite thing. You can be a part of something alone or with others, that’s the beauty of these spaces.”

During the collective introspection that many people have experienced during the pandemic, Owens was inspired to make an album about the dream state. The main message of Dream state It’s about trusting in something bigger than yourself, with a belief that’s easy to talk about but hard to put into practice. “I’ve embodied faith for the first time in my life,” she says of the past few years. “I’ve let things happen to me and really trusted that everything will be okay.”

Owens has recently been concerned that it’s too easy for young people and working-class people to stop dreaming in this culture. “What’s glorified is what’s quantifiable,” she says. “I think coming from a working-class background, becoming an artist isn’t really a natural path for you. You tend to play it safe because you’re usually working to pay your rent, which is very difficult, while also trying to cultivate your creativity and follow a creative path.” She credits the conversations she’s had with cancer patients as “the nudge” she needed to make sure she’s giving her best to her dreams, no matter how long it takes.

“Sit down with yourself, away from the noise of social media, and separate yourself from who you think you should be or who you’re being pushed to be. We can’t diminish how present that is, especially for young people,” she advises, adding that no professional opportunity or personal truth will come your way if you don’t. As she says, both musically and in conversation, “give yourself permission to dream bigger.”

“Dreamstate” will be released on October 18th via dh2/Dirty Hit.