Raw, vulnerable, and achingly human, Superfan’s emotionally charged “Miss W Jones” channels the quiet ache of winter into a breathtaking act of DIY catharsis. In conversation with Atwood Magazine, singer/songwriter Kali Flanagan reflects on his creative rebirth, the poetic tension at the heart of his music, and the delicate balance between melancholy, humor, and hope that defines the ever-evolving world of Superfan.

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Stream: “Miss W Jones” – Superfan

With unfiltered, unflinching lyrics and a vocal recording so vulnerable and close-miked it might as well be here in the room, Superfan’s “Miss W Jones” instantly stops the listener in their tracks with a flutter in the chest.

It’s dreamy and aching, intimate and mysterious, filled with the kind of raw alternative angst that comes from telling the truth – wholly and unapologetically. What begins as a quiet unraveling swells into something haunting and heavy, with brash drums, deep guitar tremors, and breathtaking cello churning from the inside out – not just carrying emotion, but channeling it. “Miss W Jones” is soul-spilling in motion, a song that holds your hand and breaks your heart at the same time.

Opening right at the throat
When I fall asleep
brimming at the edge of the bed
Breath turns into
Love in dormant hibernation
I walk through the snow
just to take the B38

Home as a new descriptor
for mom and dad
And the complex that reeks
of dead animal stench
Distracts me from knives
I’m supposed to sell
At least I can call
Miss W Jones

Released July 25^th via Many Hats Distribution, Superfan’s “Miss W Jones” is one of the latest singles from 21-year-old composer and multi-instrumentalist Kali Flanagan – and a powerful act of catharsis and self-definition. The track finds comfort in a name, a person, and a fleeting moment of warmth during a long, unforgiving New York winter. What Flanagan builds here is both confession and communion: A soft cry from the cold that crescendos into a full-bodied exhale, where intimacy meets impact and tenderness meets turmoil.

It’s a powerful best-foot-forward to the Los Angeles-born, New York-based artist, whose very story is one of transformation, reclamation, and redefinition. After years of indie pop success under the artist name ‘KALI,’ Flanagan reemerged in 2024 as ‘Superfan’ with a sharpened voice and clearer vision, exchanging radio-ready synthpop hooks for candid poetry, dissonance, and deeply tuned acoustics. The result is a sound that feels as visceral as it does vulnerable – part noise-folk elegy, part orchestral post-punk, part something entirely his own. In “Miss W Jones,” you can feel Superfan’s entire world collapsing and rebuilding in real time.

“‘Miss W Jones’ is a song I wrote about finding comfort in friendship amidst the ebbs of loneliness one experiences throughout a New York winter,” Flanagan tells Atwood Magazine. His rich, tender, emotionally charged voice soars over a bed of distorted acoustic guitar and cello feedback, further electrified by brush-played drums that maintain intimacy amidst impact and tasteful dissonance. That tension – between closeness and alienation, softness and churn – is what gives this song its staying power. Even at its loudest, it never loses its vulnerability.

For Flanagan, “Miss W Jones” is a raw, emotionally charged memory in musical form. “I was quite disoriented the first few months I lived in New York,” he confesses. “I was heartbroken and jobless, but I luckily had a lot of friends to lean on.”

He recorded the track in the early hours of a city night, capturing the lead guitar and vocal take in a single breath after the 6 train had finally stopped running. “No punch-ins, no comps,” he recalls of the session with co-producer Hudson and cellist Omeed Almassi – a moment that felt euphoric in its simplicity, as if the three had “cracked some secret code.” That feeling – the alchemy of trust, friendship, and creative freedom – bleeds through every note of “Miss W Jones.”

Just an illusion taking coincidental forms
Repeating the comedy Eleven again
It’s a long wet month
Yet a greater loneliness
exists in shadows of platonic
Journeys imprisoned by unlivable present,
seconds of kissing the climax
I’m slow to forget
in half my unconsciousness
At least I can call Miss W Jones
Miss W Jones

Flanagan’s voice resonates with a new depth and gravity, imbued with the clarity of someone who has learned to see himself anew.

There’s a visceral sense of becoming in his music – the way his baritone presses against the grain of the instrumentation, the way his words hold the weight of both melancholy and forgiveness. “Miss W Jones” is ultimately a song about human connection – the small mercies that keep us afloat in the midst of loneliness, the fragile threads that make winter a little warmer.

The track also cements Superfan as one of the most compelling voices in a new wave of DIY-minded songwriters bridging intimacy and experimentation. Flanagan calls his style “bittersweet, intended to draw out multiple emotions at once – it exists on a precipice.” That precipice is where “Miss W Jones” thrives: A delicate balance between confession and catharsis, noise and stillness, longing and release.

“Miss W Jones” feels like both a homecoming and a rebirth — the sound of an artist settling into his skin while still searching for something more. It’s music that exists on the edge of change, unguarded and alive, pulsing with the ache of being human. As Superfan continues to redefine himself in sound and spirit, we caught up with Kali Flanagan to talk about his evolution, his artistry, and the songs and stories that shape the world of Superfan. Read our intimate interview below, and stay tuned for more to come from this undeniable artist-to-watch!

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:: stream/purchase Miss W Jones here ::

:: connect with Superfan here ::

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Stream: “Miss W Jones” – Superfan

A CONVERSATION WITH SUPERFAN

Superfan: Hi Mitch. I don’t know what I want people to know about me. I’d rather they just come to their own conclusions after listening to the music, which is good. They will know that the music is good after they listen to it.

Superfan: A few years ago, I was taking a picture with a family who liked some music I previously released at a show I was playing. It had occurred to me because I thought it was funny that they called themselves superfans (of me).

Superfan: I’m a big fan of Navy Blue, Sage Elsesser’s alias. I have a pair of his signature Converse skate shoes, I even got my mom a pair, I don’t skate. There are too many to list but I chose Navy Blue because I find myself highly compelled to the potency of his perspective in his art. When I’m listening to his music it feels like I’m listening to his conscience talking to his self. It’s really special when people show themselves in their art, with all of their nuances, in stride, in full confidence. Let alone interwoven by such smart production choices and incredible flow.

Superfan: Honestly, I hate describing it. I’d rather someone just listen or come to a show. If I am to describe it I would say it’s pretty bittersweet and intended to draw out multiple emotions at once; it exists on a precipice.

Superfan: Those songs feel so old to me now because of how much I’ve changed as a person, and the way I write now is more stylized to my taste. When I made that album, it was like losing my virginity; I didn’t have the same knowledge that I do now of how I want my art to sound and the emotional effects I intend to conjure. Nonetheless, it was a very important album to make not only for myself, but for anyone who has experienced some type of dysphoria. I’m grateful I was able to document the changes in my voice over a year; I think TTJ is one of the first albums to do that in full, maybe I am wrong. I’d probably recommend “Everybody Rides the Carousel” and “Your Desire in Food.”

Superfan: It is a Christmas album.

Superfan: I was quite disoriented the first few months I lived in New York. I was heartbroken and jobless, but I luckily had a lot of friends to lean on. Going full circle, getting the guitar/vocal take (no punch-ins, no comps), after hours of waiting for the 6 train to stop going. One of the most euphoric experiences of recording the next record. My co-producer Hudson and my cello player Omeed are two of my best friends; we all felt we were on top of the world, like we cracked some secret code.

Superfan: I write a lot of songs out of melancholy, and this was one of those songs that airs on the more optimistic side – I wanted to lean into the acceptance and camaraderie that I felt going through tough times alongside close friends.

Superfan: I don’t care what people take away from the song, other than the fact that it’s a timeless pop ballad and maybe Lana Del Rey could cover it…or at least listen to it. Also, the music video is awesome because it’s a bunch of my girl-friends carrying things, looking tough.

Superfan: I wrote “Apeiron (Fantasy Football)” to be a kind of epic, reflecting on what personal agency one can have juxtaposed with the endless uncertainties of life. I took inspiration from Anne Carson’s usage of Apeiron, which is a word in Greek philosophy meaning the infinite, indefinite, etc. The notion of fluctuating time signatures and the resonance of the acoustics in the main riff plus sitar drones that were sampled from an archive of Ragas, is a nod to my Indian heritage… foreshadowing the future of Superfan which recalls more Middle Eastern influence, between my cellist Omeed, who is Iranian, and myself, an exploration of where we’re from and the vast expanse of non-western music.

Essentially, the song resolves to state, “I don’t believe in Fantasy Football” – meaning why place bets on something that has no stake in reality, which in context with the chorus, “birds have passage… repeating colors of fate” is meant to signify that things have their way of working out… but there’s this balance of holding yourself accountable and kicking your feet back watching the fireworks.

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:: stream/purchase Miss W Jones here ::

:: stream/purchase Apeiron (Fantasy Football) here ::

:: connect with Superfan here ::

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Stream: “Apeiron (Fantasy Football)” – Superfan

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