Today we’d like to introduce you to Julian King.
Hi Julian, can you start by introducing yourself? We’d love to learn more about how you got to where you are today?
I think the beautiful thing about my story is that I’ve never really known how to be just one thing.
I was born and raised in Philadelphia, a city that has shaped so much of who I am, both as an artist and as a person. Music was my first love, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve understood the power of a voice. Not just what it can sound like, but what it can make people feel. I attended the Philadelphia High School for Creative and Performing Arts (CAPA), where I studied vocal performance and dance, and later continued my training at the University of the Arts. Those experiences gave me a foundation, but life would ultimately become my greatest teacher.
Over the years, my journey has taken me into rooms I once could only dream about. From competing on NBC’s The Voice as a member of Team John Legend, to becoming a runner-up in Billboard and Samsung’s NXT competition, to earning an Emmy nomination for my work on All Boys Aren’t Blue. Most recently, I had the incredible opportunity to lend my voice to Sam Smith’s “To Be Free,” an experience that reminded me just how far a dream can travel when you refuse to abandon it.
But the truth is, some of my proudest accomplishments have happened outside of the spotlight.
I’ve spent years pouring into young people as a music educator and mentor, creating spaces for emerging artists, producing cultural experiences, and advocating for communities that deserve to be seen, heard, and celebrated. As a Recording Academy Voting Member, GRAMMY U mentor, and creative professional, I’ve learned that success means very little to me if I’m not using what I’ve gained to create opportunities for someone else.
And while my career has been filled with beautiful moments, it has also required an incredible amount of resilience. I’ve navigated rejection, uncertainty, reinvention, and even moments when my own voice was physically taken from me. In late 2025, I underwent vocal surgery, which forced me to confront what it meant to be a singer when singing itself suddenly became uncertain. That season taught me patience, humility, and perhaps most importantly, that my identity and purpose were never limited to what I could produce.
Today, I’m in a season of rediscovery and expansion. I’m creating new music, preparing to introduce my forthcoming project, BOYS BOYS BOYS, building community through art and culture, and continuing to explore the intersection of music, storytelling, advocacy, and creative leadership. I’m also celebrating my return to the stage with a sold-out headlining show at City Winery Philadelphia, something that feels especially meaningful after everything I’ve experienced with my voice.
If there’s one thing my journey has taught me, it’s that purpose doesn’t always follow a straight line. Sometimes the very things that interrupt your plans are the things that introduce you to a deeper version of yourself.
I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I’m even more excited about who I’m becoming. And I hope that when people look at my story, they don’t just see the accolades or the stages. I hope they see someone who kept choosing himself, kept showing up for his community, and kept finding new ways to turn his gifts into something bigger than himself.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Oh, absolutely not. And I think anyone who tells you their journey has been completely smooth is probably leaving out some of the most important chapters.
I think one of the greatest misconceptions about pursuing a creative career is that talent alone will carry you. People see the performances, the accolades, the beautiful photographs, the exciting opportunities, but they rarely see the sacrifices, the financial uncertainty, the rejection, or the emotional exhaustion that sometimes comes with simply trying to keep your dream alive.
I’ve had some incredible highs in my career, but I’ve also experienced moments where I questioned whether I was making the right decisions. I’ve been in rooms where I knew I belonged but still had to fight to be seen. I’ve watched opportunities slip through my fingers, experienced the disappointment of being incredibly close to something life-changing, and had to learn that being talented, prepared, and deserving doesn’t always mean you’ll be chosen.
There’s also a particular kind of exhaustion that comes with being an independent artist. You’re not just the talent. You’re often the manager, creative director, marketing team, booking agent, financial backer, and sometimes your own biggest cheerleader. You’re expected to create beautiful things while simultaneously figuring out how to afford the life that allows you to create them. And that can be incredibly difficult, especially when the world assumes that visibility automatically translates into financial stability.
One of my most difficult challenges came in 2025 when I experienced a serious vocal injury that ultimately required surgery. Imagine spending your entire life building an identity around something, only to wake up one day and realize that the very thing you’ve depended on might not work the way it once did. For a singer, that’s terrifying. I had to confront the possibility that my voice, as I knew it, might never be the same. Recovery required me to slow down in ways I wasn’t accustomed to, and it forced me to separate my worth as a human being from my ability to perform.
I’ve also had to learn how to navigate being a multifaceted creative in an industry that often wants to put people in boxes. I’m a singer, songwriter, producer, mentor, cultural curator, and community builder. For a long time, I felt pressure to make those identities make sense to other people. Now I understand that I don’t have to shrink the fullness of who I am just to make myself easier to market or understand.
But perhaps the biggest lesson has been learning not to confuse a difficult season with a failed journey.
I’ve learned that rejection isn’t always a reflection of your ability, that rest isn’t the same as giving up, and that sometimes growth looks less like climbing a ladder and more like having the courage to start over.
I wouldn’t romanticize the struggles, because some of them genuinely hurt. Some cost me time, money, relationships, confidence, and peace of mind. But they also taught me how to advocate for myself, how to build community, how to recognize my own value, and how to keep moving even when the destination isn’t entirely clear.
I’m still figuring things out. I’m still learning. And there are still days when this journey feels incredibly uncertain. But I think that’s part of what makes it beautiful.
I’ve stopped measuring my success solely by how many doors open for me. I’m learning to appreciate the fact that, even after everything, I still have the courage to knock.
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I’ve always said that I’m an artist by gift, but a creative by nature. Music may have been the first language I learned to express myself through, but it certainly hasn’t been the only one.
At my core, I’m a singer, songwriter, multidisciplinary creative, and community builder. My work lives at the intersection of music, culture, storytelling, and human connection. Whether I’m performing onstage, producing an event, developing a creative campaign, mentoring emerging talent, or collaborating with a brand, the common thread is always the same: I want people to feel something, and I want them to feel seen.
As a recording artist, I specialize in R&B and soul music, with a deep appreciation for storytelling, vocal expression, and the emotional honesty that makes a song resonate long after it’s over. I’ve been fortunate to work across television, recorded music, and live performance, including appearances on NBC’s The Voice, an Emmy nomination for my contribution to “All Boys Aren’t Blue”, and most recently, collaborating on several records with Sam Smith on their album “Hazel Eyes”. Each of those experiences has stretched me creatively and reminded me that there is no single definition of what an artist’s career should look like.
But what I think truly distinguishes my work is my ability to build experiences and communities around creativity, rather than simply creating something for people to consume.
Through my work as an event producer and cultural curator, I’ve developed experiences like Queerly Beloved, Rooted, and Houses & Hip-Hop, which celebrate identity, artistry, and the beauty of bringing different communities together. I love creating environments where people can show up as their fullest selves, discover something new, and leave feeling more connected than when they arrived.
That philosophy also extends to my work with the Recording Academy, where I serve as a Voting Member, GRAMMY U mentor, and content creator. Mentorship has become one of the most meaningful parts of my career because I understand how transformative it can be when someone recognizes your potential before the rest of the world catches up. Having spent years working with young people, I know that sometimes the greatest thing you can give someone isn’t an opportunity, but the confidence to believe they’re worthy of one.
I’m also passionate about creative partnerships and storytelling through digital media. I enjoy working with brands and organizations to develop content that feels culturally relevant, intentional, and genuinely connected to the people they’re trying to reach. I don’t believe audiences simply want to be marketed to anymore. They want authenticity, personality, and stories they can recognize themselves in.
When people ask what I’m most proud of, I could easily point to the Emmy nomination, television appearances, major collaborations, or professional recognition. And I am incredibly grateful for all of those things. But I think I’m most proud of the fact that I’ve managed to build a career that reflects so many different parts of who I am without completely abandoning any of them.
As an artist of the black queer experience, I’ve also come to understand the importance of visibility and representation, particularly in spaces where people like me haven’t always been afforded the freedom to exist without explanation. I want my work to challenge the idea that we have to choose between being commercially successful, culturally intentional, emotionally vulnerable, and unapologetically ourselves.
I think what sets me apart is that I understand both the art and the audience. I know what it means to stand on a stage and deliver a performance, but I also understand what it takes to build the stage, bring the right people into the room, tell the story, and create an experience worth remembering.
And maybe that’s what I’m most proud of: I’m not just interested in being invited into extraordinary spaces. I’m interested in helping create spaces where extraordinary people can belong.
Ultimately, I want my legacy to be bigger than a discography, a list of credits, or a collection of accolades. I want it to live in the people I’ve inspired, the communities I’ve helped strengthen, and the opportunities I’ve helped make possible for someone else.
Can you talk to us about how you think about risk?
I think I’ve spent most of my life taking risks, even before I fully understood that was what I was doing.
There’s something inherently risky about choosing a creative life, especially when you’re pursuing a career that doesn’t come with a guaranteed paycheck, a predictable trajectory, or a clear definition of success. You’re essentially betting on yourself over and over again, sometimes with very little evidence that the world is going to bet on you in return.
But I’ve come to understand that the greatest risk isn’t always making a bold decision. Sometimes it’s remaining somewhere you’ve outgrown simply because it’s familiar.
One of the biggest risks I’ve taken recently was stepping away from my career in education. For years, teaching provided structure, stability, and a sense of purpose. I loved my students deeply, and I knew the impact I was making mattered. But I also began recognizing that I was pouring so much of myself into helping other people pursue their dreams that I was slowly neglecting parts of my own. Leaving wasn’t an easy decision, especially in an economy where financial security feels increasingly difficult to come by. But I knew that staying somewhere out of fear wasn’t the same as staying somewhere out of purpose.
And now, I’m preparing to take what might be the biggest risk of my adult life: moving from Philadelphia to Los Angeles.
Philadelphia is home. It’s where I was born and raised, where I discovered my voice, where I built my community, and where so many of the people and experiences that shaped me still exist. I’ve spent years building relationships, establishing myself creatively, and becoming part of the city’s artistic fabric. The thought of leaving all of that behind, even temporarily, is both exciting and incredibly emotional.
But I’m also at a point in my life where I recognize that the next version of my career may require me to step outside of the environment that helped create the current one.
Los Angeles represents an opportunity to expand my work in music, entertainment, creative direction, and cultural storytelling. It means placing myself closer to new collaborators, different industries, and opportunities that may not be as accessible from where I am now. But it also means starting over in many ways. Building new relationships, navigating a much more expensive city, establishing a new support system, and trusting that everything I’ve spent years developing will translate into this next chapter.
And that’s frightening! I don’t have every detail figured out. I don’t have some magical guarantee that everything will work out exactly as I envision it. But I do have experience, relationships, resilience, and a growing understanding of what I’m capable of.
I also think there’s an important distinction between taking risks and being reckless. I’m not interested in romanticizing struggle or making impulsive decisions simply because they sound courageous. I believe in doing your research, preparing as much as possible, understanding what you stand to lose, and then having the courage to move forward even when you can’t control the outcome.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that security and fulfillment aren’t always the same thing. Something can be comfortable and still be limiting. Something can be uncertain and still be exactly what you need.
I’m approaching this next chapter with equal parts excitement, gratitude, and fear. And I’m allowing all three to exist at once.
Because the truth is, I would much rather look back on my life and know that I gave myself a genuine opportunity to become everything I imagined than spend years wondering what might have happened if I’d been brave enough to try.
Philadelphia taught me how to dream. Now I’m taking a chance on seeing just how far those dreams can travel.
And no matter where I end up, I’ll always carry home with me.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://instagram.com/itsjulianking
- Facebook: https://facebook.com/ItsJulianKing
- Twitter: https://x.com/itsjulianking
- Youtube: https://youtube.com/@itsjulianking
- Other: https://tiktok.com/@itsjuliankingg
