Some artists spend years searching for the sound that truly feels like home. For Samuel Jack, that journey has taken him from singing in a local pub and writing songs in a rain-soaked caravan in England to crafting music beneath the California sun. Along the way, he has built an independent career defined by perseverance rather than shortcuts, culminating in over 100 million streams for Feels Like Summer and songs that have found their way into some of television’s biggest series.
Now, with his second album, One Last Dance In The Valley, Samuel arrives at what he describes as the record he was always meant to make. Rooted in soul but shaped by years of personal growth, the album reflects on love, heartbreak, adventure, self-belief and the moments that define a life lived with conviction. Inspired by his experiences between Los Angeles, Nashville and home, it captures an artist no longer chasing expectations but embracing authenticity with renewed confidence.
As he prepares to release One Last Dance In The Valley on September 25, House of Solo sits down with Samuel Jack to discuss the emotional pull of California, the freedom of remaining independent, why hope continues to fuel his songwriting, and how trusting his instincts has led him to the most honest music of his career.
Here’s your interview with grammar, spelling, punctuation and readability improved while keeping Samuel Jack’s authentic voice and conversational style intact.
‘California Sun’ feels less like a postcard from Los Angeles and more like a deeply personal love letter. What does California represent emotionally that nowhere else has managed to give you?
In short, California represents everything to me. So much of my experience in music has happened there, and alongside that, it has been the backdrop to so many important moments in my life emotionally. Heartbreak, loss, career highs and career lows. I’ve learnt so much about myself in California: who I am and who I want to be. I remember calling my friend Emma one night. I was slumped outside a studio between takes, feeling anxious and like I didn’t belong. She reminded me how hard I’d worked for the opportunity, and LA did the rest.
You’ve said this record is the album you were always supposed to make. What finally gave you the confidence to stop chasing expectations and fully embrace the artist you wanted to be?
The music industry is a mad place sometimes. I’ve always been a soul and blues guy at heart, but equally, I’ve never wanted to stay in one lane musically. I’ve been pretty adventurous in that sense. I’ve written pop, funk, dance, disco, all sorts, but there’s always been a backbone made up of my influences running through everything I do.
If I’m honest, after Feels Like Summer did so well, I wondered whether I should try to recreate that, and I think I got kind of lost for a minute. But now the dust has settled, I feel like I’ve come home. I asked myself, “Why did I start writing music in the first place?” The songs on the new album answer that question. I’ve really matured as a writer, and I truly believe this is the best collection of songs I’ve ever written.
Before music, you were working in a pub and singing with friends. Looking back, do you think talent or persistence has ultimately shaped your career more, and why?
One hundred percent persistence. I started relatively late, and I’m certainly not some kind of musical prodigy. Looking back, my career has been built through surrounding myself with good people, a bit of luck and perseverance more than talent.
Funnily enough, I recently listened back to some old demos I was sending to producers years ago, and put it this way, I wasn’t getting through to the next round. Not a golden buzzer in sight. I just kept showing up, learnt as much as possible and said yes to everything.
There’s an interesting contrast between writing songs in a rain-soaked caravan in England and creating an album inspired by Los Angeles. How much does your environment influence the stories you choose to tell?
I think the environment certainly influences the creative process, but honestly, I think it’s more my emotional environment, or how I’m feeling, that truly impacts my writing. You can be sad in California and write a sad song in the sunshine, or happy in a freezing cold caravan and write a happy one. It’s more about where your head’s at.
Throughout One Last Dance In The Valley, there are recurring themes of love, longing, memories and trusting your instincts. What emotional thread connects all of these songs for you?
Honestly, and all clichés aside, it took me quite some time to really appreciate the journey for what it is rather than worrying about the destination. There’s a lot of joy in this record and a lot of dreaming. I stop sometimes to remind myself that I get to write music for a living now. That was always the goal.
On top of that, the last few years have seen me get married, buy my first house and really arrive at what is probably the happiest place I’ve ever been in my life. One Last Dance In The Valley looks back on the wild ride I’ve had over the last few years, but it also celebrates love, the journey for all its ups and downs, and the thirst for adventure that took me to Nashville, LA and all over the world writing music.
You’ve described this as a soul record at heart. What is it about soul music that allows you to express yourself more honestly than any other genre?
Vocals. Big, gnarly, impassioned vocals. It just feels like the only way to do it for me.
‘Feels Like Summer’ has now surpassed 100 million streams and returns every year as a soundtrack to people’s lives. How has living with the success of that song changed your relationship with it?
I hear stories about big hit songs becoming tedious for the artists who sing them, and I get it. But honestly, that song changed my life. Seeing it connect with people so often, for so long, all around the world gives me a feeling that’s quite indescribable. I’d sing it 100 times every day and it would still make me smile.
When millions of listeners connect with a song for reasons completely different from why you wrote it, does it still feel like your story, or does it become theirs?
Theirs. It’s all theirs.
Your influences include Sam Cooke, BB King and Van Morrison, yet your music never feels like an imitation. How do you honour those artists while still creating something unmistakably your own?
I don’t think there’s any one answer to that. When the music you were raised on is so deeply embedded in your DNA, there’s a natural tendency to lean into the sounds and sonics you’ve been shaped by. It’s just in the blood.
Hope and optimism run through much of your songwriting, but they never feel forced. In a world that often feels uncertain, what keeps you writing from such a hopeful place?
There have been so many times throughout my career where I’ve been on the edge and it looked like things weren’t going to work out. Then, somehow, something happens that keeps you moving forward. Hope is born from those moments. It’s fuel that you use as a creative.
You’ve spent years building your career independently. Has having creative freedom always outweighed the challenges that come with taking the longer route?
Sometimes I wish there was an army of people at my disposal to help with the career side of things. Don’t we all? But the truth is, no one will ever care more about your music than you do. That’s a fact.
I’ve been lucky enough to have my own little army of three for several years now. We’re small but perfectly formed, and having that creative freedom far outweighs sacrificing it for anything else. I was told once, “Keep your team small and your work rate big.” I swear by it.
Your music has featured in series such as Lucifer, Tulsa King, The Rookie and The Summer I Turned Pretty. How does it feel seeing songs that began as personal reflections become part of someone else’s story on screen?
I love it. It’s been a fantastic way to find new audiences, and it always feels a bit surreal hearing my voice soundtrack a film or TV show.
Los Angeles has long been sold as a place where dreams either come true or fall apart. What version of the city did you discover once you experienced it for yourself?
Both. It’s a melting pot for creatives, and I still feel that allure every time I visit. Equally, there’s a lot of rejection in that town. I’ve been chewed up and spat out countless times there, but I’ve also never felt more inspired. If you know, you know.
The album title, One Last Dance In The Valley, feels cinematic and nostalgic. What does that title symbolise, and why did it feel like the perfect way to introduce this chapter of your life?
There are always peaks and valleys throughout a career in music. I remember being out in LA, staying in the Valley as I normally do, about a year ago. My first album had been out for a while and I was in one of those “what next?” headspaces. It’s always a fragile place to be as a musician.
I’ll never stop writing, that’s for sure, but sometimes you wonder whether you’ve got enough energy left in the tank to go through it all again. After some good conversations and some great writing sessions, I came round to the idea that I’d never made an album completely free from my own expectations or anyone else’s. I realised I literally can’t function without making music, so why not just tell my story and make a record purely for the love of it?
I turned to my producer and said, “Well, what about it then? One Last Dance In The Valley?” It felt like the perfect title.
You’ve spoken about following your heart and trusting your gut instinct while making this record. Was there a particular decision where your instincts went against industry advice but proved to be the right one?
Not one in particular. I’ve never really done what’s expected by the industry. I control my own publishing, work with a small team and release whatever I want, whenever I want, in whatever format feels right.
Over the years, I’ve heard plenty of “Don’t do this, do that.” You’re constantly told to stay fresh, be new, be young and exciting. Honestly, that’s just boring to me.
I’ve been making music for a while now. I’ve had successes and disappointments, but what I’ve learnt is that we’re all on our own journey. I actually love the fact that I’ve been around for a while because it means I’ve got stories to tell and experiences to draw from. Success is different for everyone. I’ve trusted my gut, been on an amazing journey, and I’ll be forever grateful for that.
Streaming culture often encourages artists to focus on individual songs rather than complete albums. Was it important to you that One Last Dance In The Valley be experienced as a full body of work from beginning to end?
Fortunately, I feel like every song on this record stands on its own, so each one has room to breathe individually. But the artist in me loves the idea of someone sitting down and listening to the album from start to finish.
I worked closely with my long-time producer Owen Thomas on this record. He’s incredible. The whole album sits together beautifully sonically, and a huge part of that came from the live element we built into it. We placed a big emphasis on sounds that felt like they were genuinely “in the room”. I could totally geek out talking about it, but in the meantime, this record is definitely best experienced from beginning to end.
Looking back at the young man who first stood behind a pub piano twenty years ago, what would surprise him most about the artist and person you’ve become today?
Probably that I’m still going.
When listeners reach the final track and the album comes to an end, what do you hope they understand about Samuel Jack that they didn’t know before pressing play?
That there’s always time for one last dance.
