Jill McCracken is a Boston-based queer singer/songwriter making emotionally raw, retro soul music. Whether performing with a full band or in an intimate solo setting, their work is marked by vocal power, emotional honesty, and a deep commitment to human connection. A fixture in the New England music community, McCracken has earned a New England Music Award and multiple Boston Music Award nominations while building a devoted audience drawn to the authenticity at the heart of their work.

Ahead of their performance at Bellforge Pride Festival, we welcomed Jill McCracken into In Good Company for a conversation about creativity, community, and the transformative power of telling the truth. Together, we explored the sacredness of vulnerability, the conditions that support a healthy artistic life, and the ways music can help us come home to ourselves and to one another. Throughout the conversation, Jill returned again and again to the value of honesty: in art, in relationships, and in the ongoing work of becoming ourselves. Their willingness to remain open, honest, and tender in a world that often encourages self-protection felt like a breath of fresh air.

Bellforge: Your music seems to travel to the softer parts of the listener. How has music helped you access your own tenderness and the messier parts of being human? What draws you to share that vulnerability?

Jill: Making music is the best way that I can connect with myself. It’s what feels most true.

When I’m thinking or speaking, it’s so easy to second guess, over-explain, or abandon myself. When I’m singing, I go straight to the most vulnerable place. Non-negotiable. No back-pedaling. It’s not a conscious choice, but there is just something sacred about music that way. The truth always comes through.

I’ve always been naturally compelled to share my inner world when making art and music. It’s not something I have to talk myself into. My nature is to want to connect with others, and I really love moments where we can see each other’s humanity. So I try to lead by example.

Bellforge: What habits, conditions, or communities help protect your creative life today? And what tends to pull you away from it?

Jill: Going to therapy every week helps protect my creative life. As a songwriter, it’s a gift to have that dedicated time to reflect on what’s really going on with me. Whatever I dig up in there is always the stuff that makes it through to my songs.

What pulls me away from my creative life is the grind. Being busy keeps me circling the administrative side of my brain. I think that in order to make good work, our minds need the freedom to wander without restriction. I’m at my best when I have a good balance between the admin side and the creative side. I’m still working on how to achieve that.

Bellforge: What keeps you making art in a world that can undervalue creative pursuits?

Jill: I just could never stop. It’s never even a question or temptation in my mind. Creativity is undervalued in terms of monetary value, but I know the greater value of creativity — it keeps me alive and well. And it keeps society afloat. We all need art and music more than we realize. I have no idea what my life would look like without creative pursuits, and I don’t ever want to find out.

Bellforge: What feels different about performing for an event like Pride Festival, where identity, visibility, and community are all held a little closer to the surface? Does a Pride performance shape the kind of connection you’re able to have with the audience and with yourself in a way that feels different from other performances?

Jill: I love it so much. My number one goal for any of my live performances is to find a true connection with the audience. The whole point is to move people. And whether it’s a Pride event or not, I’m up there being a nonbinary person, I’m playing my queer songs, I’m telling the audience my pronouns, and I’m making a specific point to send love to all of the trans and queer people everywhere.

I’ve been pretty lucky with how that’s all been received so far, but you never know who’s in the audience or what the reaction will be. When I’m playing a Pride festival, I’m with my people. I don’t need to over-explain anything, I’m already understood. And I feel the ease of that direct connection from my heart to theirs.

Bellforge: What part of yourself is still becoming? What are you forging toward that you’re excited about?

Jill: I’m saying this as a person who values human connection over everything — I’m forging towards conflict. Hear me out.

I’m not trying to manifest arguments or unrest in any way. Trust me. But we humans walk around with our own stories and sensitivities, bumping up against each other’s stuff all day long. It’s inevitable. We often don’t want to take the risk to speak up about it, for fear of losing the connection altogether. But I think the expression, when respectful and well-intentioned, actually has the potential to make that connection deeper.

I want to be able to say “I don’t like that” or “I’m pissed at you” or just “no” with more ease, and I want to be able to receive it too. I’m able to do it in my songs. But I want to bottle that confidence in conflict and bring it into my daily life more and more.

Bellforge: We know how well a song can bring us back to ourselves and feed our souls. Joy can show up in many ways: a record, a piece of art, a home-cooked meal, a nightly ritual, a furry friend, or a TV show that helps you remember to laugh and nourish your spirit. In a world that often feels heavy, where are you finding the light and joy?

Jill: One thing about me is that I will find the joy. I probably have too many answers to this question.

A home-cooked meal, yes — my best friend constantly has me over for dinner. She’s always making something delicious and nourishing, and we sit around the table yapping and playing with the dog. One of life’s treasures.

I love good television so much, and I’m almost always watching something that keeps me thinking about it throughout my days. I just finished a rewatch of Better Things, a show so uniquely hilarious and artful and slow that I have no idea how it got made at all, let alone five seasons. It’s so different from everything out there.

Books: Crying in H Mart (Michelle Zauner), What My Bones Know (Stephanie Foo), and Everything/Nothing/Someone(Alice Carrière) all devastated me (the highest compliment). I know this question was about joy, but it’s a joy to be destroyed by good media.

For music, Samm Henshaw’s new album It Could Be Worse is somehow even better than his first. I’ve also been listening to Shakey Graves’s soft and tender new album, Fondness, Etc., and really enjoying it.

Also, I find a lot of light and joy from being a person out in the world with other people. Little laughs and banter with the barista at the café, the people at the gym, neighbors walking down the street. I kind of think this is the most important thing.

Bellforge: Who is a regional artist whose work people should be paying attention to right now? It can be a musician, visual artist, poet, etc. What is it that you love about them and their work? What piece of theirs should we start with or where can we find them?

Jill: I really like what I’m seeing from Prophet PM — he has amazing musical sensibilities. He feels like a classic ’70s soul artist that we should already know. He released a single called “Red Rocks” this year that reminds me of some combination of Labi Siffre and George Harrison. It exudes warmth. I would start there.