The inevitable becoming of Ellur

Ella McNamara – better known as Ellur, a nod to the Northern-accented pronunciation of her first name – is from a town called Halifax, where everyone mostly knows everyone. “It’s such a beautiful place and I’m really proud of where I’m from. It’s such a source of inspiration for me,” she says.

Our conversation takes place after soundcheck for her show in Nottingham. She has the following day off when she will travel back home to Halifax, and then to Birmingham a day later to continue her tour. McNamara describes Halifax not as a city but as a town, surrounded by other tiny towns that serve as an escape from London, where lately, she spends much of her time for writing sessions and other closely related music priorities.

But those writing sessions have really just taken the shape of something slightly different than what they were in her childhood home. McNamara spent the entirety of her childhood knowing she wanted to be a performer. What she didn’t realise was that the work before you make it to the stage was what she was really going to fall in love with.

“I think that’s kind of reflected in the songs that I’ve written earlier on in my career versus the songs that I’m putting out now,” she tells me. “Before I just kind of wanted to be a performer so I was writing pop songs that didn’t really mean anything to me, just because I wanted an excuse to do a gig, whereas now the writing side of things is so fundamental to who I am as a human really – it’s really essential for me as a form of self-expression.”

It was McNamara’s father who – be it intentional or not – instilled this possibility of a career in music. Watching him, knowing he spent his time making and playing music, seems to have made itself a subconscious wish and now a conscious reality.

“It’s what I’ve grown up with and it was just what was normal,” she says. “It’s what was in the house – they were writing, there were instruments in the house. I was privileged enough that when I wanted to play guitar, there was a guitar. I could go learn it. But I suppose it’d be the same thing if my dad were a blacksmith, then I’d want to be a blacksmith. My mum was a teacher and I also wanted to be a teacher when I was a kid.” The Hannah Montana of it all always seemed feasible for McNamara: she says that, as a kid, she figured she could be a teacher during the day and a musician after dark.

It cannot go without mention that McNamara’s parents are an unwavering part of what she feels really allowed her to come into her own as Ellur. “They’ve never once questioned it for me. I got pretty much straight As in school and ended up unemployed for three years. I probably could’ve found a good and stable job, but I’m 25 and I’m doing this.”

Her first ever gig took place in a pub in The Piece Hall, a refurbished 18th century building in Halifax that used to be a market space and now houses independent shops, cafes, and bars. “I got asked to do a cover gig at one of the bars on their opening weekend. I learned like ten songs thinking they were going to last a lot longer and ended up just playing them on repeat for two hours. That was really quite scary and humbling.” Playing gigs around her hometown, covering Adele songs, making 20 bucks, and, as she puts it, “earning people’s attention” are all things that McNamara read as opportunities.

Playing a gig, no matter the size, meant she got to fulfill her desire to perform. Covering Adele songs allowed her to play music that she loved. Making 20 bucks was, well, making 20 bucks. The mentality of wondering what she could do to have people listen, to have people be interested in what she was doing, allowed McNamara to hone and understand her style. Not in a way that demands attention for self-fulfillment, but rather an innovative approach to figuring out what makes an audience click with a musician.

The north of England breeds a certain kind of image to those who aren’t from there: an exterior that exudes an effortless edge, nuance, and attractive intimidation. Ella McNamara fits in with that favourable stereotype. Her visuals range from soft black and white film photos to high contrast digi-cam pics to everyday iPhone captures. She’ll be donning a midi-skirt and boxer boots, a white button up or an Adidas track jacket; regardless, it all feels genuinely her.

Despite that impression, “I think I’m a bit of a control freak,” she says. “I have such a strong sense and vision of what I want things to be and what I want things to sound like. I love working with people, but a lot of the time I’m like, ‘I know exactly what I want,’” she explains.

Her typical crowd includes working alongside people like producer Joel Johnston, also known as Far Caspian, who McNamara credits with a key role in the development of her sound. “He’s always listened to me and he’s also got a similar taste as well. I think it’s just down to that. As a solo female musician, I write with a lot of men and I work with a lot of men, and it’s really nice to get into a room with someone who really listens to what I have to say,” she says.

McNamara fuses indie-pop with elements of typical Britpop; mixing modernity with nostalgia in her echoey vocals and lightly synthy guitars. Her 2025 EP The World Is Not An Oyster combines these decades-spanning elements. The title track balances the best of 2000s folk elements and acoustics, while “The Wheel” is quintessential British storytelling with its quick, sharp verses.

Comprehensively, McNamara’s lyrics utilise vagueness with poetic effect, and honesty with a striking nature; her style is generally collagic. “I take inspiration from everything and anything,” she says. “I think it just depends on the mood I’m in. I’m mostly inspired by what feels right in that moment; I'm just trying to follow that feeling a lot more.”