For many artists, success is measured by how far they can travel from where they started. For Jamie Rafferty, success has never been about leaving. It has been about carrying the people, places and stories of his hometown with him wherever the music leads.
Raised in the close-knit North Lanarkshire village of Croy, Rafferty has built his songwriting around the lives that shaped him. His debut single, Back at 25, is not simply an introduction to a new artist but a love letter to community, memory and the quiet resilience found in ordinary lives. While its jangling guitars and anthemic energy draw comparisons to the storytelling traditions of Bruce Springsteen and Sam Fender, the heart of the song belongs firmly to Croy, where neighbours become lifelong friends, every street has a story and the people who came before are remembered through the tales they continue to tell.
Those stories have always surrounded him. His parents can still recall who lived in every house in the village decades ago, while his late piano teacher filled his childhood with memories of Croy’s past. Together, they gave Rafferty something more valuable than musical technique: an understanding that every life contains a story worth telling. It is a philosophy that runs through his forthcoming debut EP, a collection of songs that moves effortlessly between heartland rock, Americana and intimate acoustic moments while remaining rooted in the people who inspired them.
That authenticity extends beyond the lyrics. Before playing stages such as King Tut’s, the Barrowland Ballroom and TRNSMT, Rafferty was quietly recording songs in secret, funding studio time with money earned working alongside his dad on building sites. Unsure whether music could ever become a career for someone from his background, he first found his confidence performing for neighbours at the local village hall before eventually taking those songs far beyond the streets where they were written.
Recorded across Nashville, London and Bath with collaborators including Seton Daunt, Owen Lewis, Elliott Blaufuss and Luke Sital-Singh, the EP broadens Rafferty’s sonic palette without losing sight of where it all began. Whether exploring rollicking rock ‘n’ roll, cinematic Americana or heartfelt ballads, every song is anchored by his gift for observation and his belief that the smallest communities often produce the biggest stories.
As Jamie Rafferty prepares to introduce himself to a wider audience with his debut EP and headline tour, House of Solo sat down with the Scottish singer-songwriter to discuss growing up in Croy, finding inspiration in everyday lives, recording in Nashville, working with some of his musical heroes and why, no matter where his career takes him, home will always remain at the centre of his songwriting.
You’ve mentioned that your mum and dad practically know the history of every single house in Croy going back decades. How does having parents who hold the village’s oral history influence the way you observe and write about characters in your songs, like those in “People Like Us”?
Yeah, they could go round every door and tell you who lived in every house when they were growing up, which I think is a party trick pretty specific to them and the village. They always talk fondly about growing up and living in Croy, as did all of the people I know from the village. One of the people who taught me so much about life and music was my piano teacher, Peter. He grew up in the village as well and would tell me so many different stories. For me, telling stories in songs is really important. Especially with a song like this, it’s definitely a combination of all the different stories I’ve heard over the years from everyone. The warmth and happiness in those stories comes out in the music.
In your debut single, you sing about an older generation who endured incredibly tough lives, facing unemployment or family struggles, but never complained and only focused on the good times. How did witnessing that stoicism shape your own outlook on life and your resilience as an artist?
I always feel extremely lucky that I’ve had the life I’ve had and been surrounded by the family I have. My parents protected me from the world growing up and continue to try now, even in my twenties. The song definitely isn’t about any hardship. It’s about how, no matter how much a place changes, it’s the memories that remain with a place that make it home. For me, it was always the good memories that people talked about. I have no doubt people had hardships in their lives; it’s the same the world over. But “Back at 25” is about the happiness you find in a place never leaving you. I would hate this song to be misconstrued as a song about struggle. That’s not my experience of the village or the stories I’ve been told. Being from Croy feels like more of a nationality at times, and there’s a real pride in being from there. That’s at the heart of this song.
You still live in Croy and can’t imagine moving far from it because “people make a place what it is.” In an industry that often pressures artists to relocate to London, how do you plan to protect your connection to your hometown as your career takes off?
I love travelling to and from London. It’s a great music city, and so much musical history has happened there, but I don’t think I could relocate. The difference between Glasgow and London is so big for me, and I’m definitely a homebird at heart. I’ll stick to commuting for now. I have everything I need up here.
You received a drum kit at age five, but it was seeing Noel Gallagher headline a gig in Glasgow as a teenager that pushed you to pick up the guitar. What was it about that specific live performance that shifted your mindset from just listening to music to wanting to create it?
I’d been eyeing up my brother’s old broken guitar for a while, around the time Noel Gallagher’s first solo album came out. I got massively into it. After seeing him on stage with the red Gibson and the way I felt at that gig, I was sold on it and wanted to do exactly what he was doing. It was one of those gigs where I felt like I was floating. To make other people feel that way is the goal. I felt exactly the same last year seeing Oasis at Murrayfield.
Because a music career felt “beyond comprehension” in Croy, you recorded your first songs in secret using money you earned working on building sites with your dad. What was going through your mind during those quiet recording sessions, and how did you feel when your dad listened to them and didn’t believe it was actually you singing?
I think it felt beyond comprehension because I probably felt slightly embarrassed in case the songs weren’t good. There was a bit of a culture in the west of Scotland when I was younger where it could be difficult to want to be different, so if I was doing it, I wanted it to be really good. I think my dad was just surprised because I hadn’t given anyone the slightest indication that I was writing songs or recording them. It was so far out of his comfort zone that he was shocked that I could do it. You have to know my dad to understand that, to be fair.
You honed your live set in front of your neighbours at the Croy village hall before stepping onto major Scottish stages like King Tut’s, Barrowlands, and the TRNSMT Festival. How does the pressure of performing for people who have known you since birth compare to playing for thousands of strangers at a major festival?
The local acoustic night in the hall is where I learned to be comfortable singing in front of an audience, and I couldn’t have asked for a better place to do so. You won’t find a more supportive and welcoming crowd of guys. I first started playing there at 16 when a friend, Johnny Waters, brought me up for a couple of songs. The guys have always backed me and supported me at my gigs since then. The real difference is trying to get people at festivals to take notice of you and give them enough so that they want to hear more. Very different experiences, but I couldn’t have tackled the bigger gigs without the encouragement I was always given by the lads in the hall.
The EP ranges from “rollicking rock ‘n’ roll” to “introspective Americana.” How did having the freedom to write without strict genre boundaries allow the EP to naturally evolve into these different styles?
I think because this EP has been recorded over the course of a few years, my taste changed slightly and my life experiences changed, which naturally made the styles of songs different. The good thing about all of the producers I worked with is that they all did what was best for the songs. Nobody tried to take me down a specific lane or pigeonhole me. Especially at this stage, I don’t want to be stuck to one genre. I want to be a songwriter first and foremost, and my favourite artists’ catalogues all have varied styles and genres. The one constant is their writing. That has always been my mentality when approaching this.
For your track “So I Can Let Her Go,” you worked in Nashville with producer Owen Lewis and co-writer/MD Elliott Blaufuss. You’ve described this song as the antithesis to Dolly Parton’s classic “Jolene,” where you’re begging someone to take an old flame away so you can move on. How did the physical environment of Nashville influence that cinematic country sound, and what was it like writing a song not strictly based on a real event in your life?
I’m a massive fan of classic country artists like John Prine, Willie Nelson and, obviously, Dolly Parton. They always told stories in their songs, and the stories weren’t always theirs. It was so easy to lean into this style of writing being in Nashville. Similar to “Back at 25,” I’m telling stories that aren’t mine, but in a totally different way. It felt like taking on the role of a broken-hearted man. I often tell Elliott that I couldn’t have asked for a better first experience of Nashville than writing this song with him. Elliott is a true music guy and a real joy to work with, so straight away that fed into the song. Owen has worked with just about everyone. He knows so much about the recording process that it was so easy to trust him with the songs as well. He has a real attention to detail and pushed me to get what he thought the song needed, especially vocally.
Your EP opener, co-written with Seton Daunt, touches on the early days of your relationship with your girlfriend. You admitted that you usually write about the world around you rather than going introspective. Was it difficult to open up that side of your personal life for a song, and how did Seton help you navigate that vulnerability?
Seton and I clicked straight away. We have a really similar taste in music, he’s a great guitar player, and it’s nice to be able to write to someone else’s playing. The thing I loved about writing this song with Seton is that he gave me the space to dive into the subject, very different from a lot of other sessions, and I appreciate being given that space. I don’t really wear my heart on my sleeve and kind of talk in riddles sometimes, so being able to refine the lyrics to suit the style of song he was building was the perfect storm that day.
You’ve got tour dates lined up for London (The Waiting Room), Manchester (YES), and a massive homecoming-style gig at Glasgow’s The Garage. What can fans expect from these headline shows, and how are you translating the lush, multi-layered studio production of the EP, like the brass, roots, synths and castanets, into a live band setting?
I want people to connect with these songs, most importantly. When it comes to the live shows, I want that connection to become even stronger. I’m building my band right now, but Elliott will be doing the heavy lifting as musical director. We have a great relationship personally and musically, so I know he can bring my vision to life.
The solo live performance video of “Back at 25” was filmed at Glasgow’s historic Òran Mór. Why was that specific venue chosen to capture the raw energy of your debut single?
It’s a stunning room, visually and sonically. There’s a great atmosphere in there, and I’ve been to a lot of gigs there. I’m really grateful they allowed us in to record for a few hours.
With the debut EP set to introduce you to a wider audience, are you already thinking about what a debut full-length album might look or sound like? Do you see yourself continuing to mine the stories of Croy, or are you eager to write about new environments?
I’m constantly exploring new sounds and trying to nail down one that sounds like me. I think I will get there, but I’m not putting too much pressure on it. As long as the songs are there, that’s most important to me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing about Croy in some way until I have nothing left to say. I’m quite observant and am always people-watching, so that will always be a subject of the songs. I want to keep trying to write about life in a way that means something to me and hopefully that can resonate with other people, whether that’s from my hometown or if I have to look elsewhere. I’m unsure, but I’ll figure it out, hopefully.
Having collaborated with producers and writers across Nashville, London, and Bath, you’ve built a sound that blends classic Scottish storytelling with Americana and anthemic rock. Moving forward, are there other musical styles, instruments, or dream collaborators you are eager to experiment with?
I’m such a big fan of great musicians. There are so many guitarists I’d love to work with. John Mayer and Johnny Marr would be my two dream collaborators. Those guys can change a song completely with just a guitar. They have such a great instinct for it. I’d love to let them loose on some of my songs.
When you look past this upcoming September tour and the EP release, what is the ultimate goal for you as an artist? Where do you hope your music takes you and your community back in Croy over the next few years?
The ultimate goal is to build something with my music. There’s so much music out there just now that it’s a real fight to be heard. Hopefully, the more people that hear the music, the more they’ll connect with it and get on board. As for Croy, it has a long list of talented people for such a small place: footballers, boxing champions and musicians alike, so there’s a lot to live up to there.
