Jules Wade’s EP smokescreen is one of those rare releases that sneaks up on you. At first glance, it’s just six tracks—nothing particularly intimidating or groundbreaking in structure. But then you hit play, and something happens.

Its a series of tiny, intricate worlds, each one brimming with its own blend of melancholy, hope, and that quiet, hard-to-define determination that seems to whisper, “You’ll get through this.”

photo by juleswademusic

Jules Wade doesn’t stick to one genre. Why would she? Life isn’t neatly boxed into categories, so why should her music be? One track leans into gentle acoustic folk, the next takes on electronic undertones that echo the pulse of city lights at 2 a.m. By the time you’re halfway through, you realize she’s guiding you through something deeply personal but universally relatable.

When I first played this EP, it felt like stepping into someone else’s dream. The melodies, flowing into one another like smoke, give the sense of losing control over your thoughts, but there’s no threat in it. It’s a cleansing experience. Wade seems to build musical walls around you, but instead of feeling stifled in their shadow, you find peace and inspiration within them.

I have the impression that Jules Wade creates music for those who are tired of straightforwardness. You know how sometimes love is like a gust of wind, capable of scattering everything around, rather than quiet tranquillity? Wade captures that very chaos, but she does it in a way that transforms listening from a burden into a release.

I tried to find a way to describe how I felt after listening. The only thing that came to mind was a comparison to a letter you receive from a friend after a long silence. You read it slowly, multiple times, not because the words are complex, but because they stir something deep inside you.

What’s fascinating about Wade is how she plays with genres. In one track, you emerge as a hero who’s just undergone catharsis; in another, like someone allowing themselves to be sad for the first time in ages. It all feels both familiar and entirely new.

photo by juleswademusic

Let’s start with easier. This song is wrapped in a light mist: fresh, almost watercolour-like acoustic pop with minimalist vocals. There is something meditative and tender in this track. It’s the perfect way to open the EP, setting the tone for the other songs. Here, Wade whispers something important but leaves enough room for you to decide what it means.

Then comes kickback. The piano carries on a dialogue with Jules’s voice, which sends shivers down your spine. This is one of those songs that bring emotional flashbacks—some indistinct, blurred images, fragments of feelings that seemed long forgotten. The song is subtle and intimate without descending into excessive drama. It’s a track for those moments when memories wash over you like a wave.

this means war is a complete shift in mood. If the first two tracks let you sit and reflect, here Wade literally shakes you awake. Indie-rock guitars and energetic vocals turn this song into a call to action. Wade shows she’s unafraid to experiment, switching from tender pop to vibrant rock, all while retaining her emotional honesty.

With under my skin, Wade brings us back to a more ethereal space. The vocals here are softer, more melodic, yet no less powerful. The melancholy is subtle, barely noticeable, like a gentle autumn breeze. The guitars add depth, holding the listener in a state of smooth contemplation. This is a song that goes deeper than you’d expect.

The final tracks—love letter (from an idiot) and where you want me feat Jessica Mazin—are the culmination and conclusion of everything Wade aimed to express with this release. The former is romantic, dreamy, almost naive. It sounds like a confession finally spoken out loud. The latter is a farewell note that leaves the listener at an emotional peak. Wade manages to blend elements of pop-folk, rock guitars, and an almost danceable rhythm, making this track feel like the finale of a grand journey.

Yes, I’ve listened to smokescreen—once, twice, three, ten times. And each time, I find something new, something personal. This EP doesn’t seem made for streams, charts, or idle chatter, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it lands at the top somewhere. Yes, I’ve listened and tried to break the tracks down. But the more I listened, the less I wanted to analyse. smokescreen is created to flow with you, not to be broken down.

And Wade herself? She’s not the type to shout about her importance—she quietly places her work on the table and leaves. And you sit there, staring at it, unable to look away.

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