Jack Cullen’s Journey from Marathon Man to Music’s Newest Voice

There are artists who write music, and then there are those who live it first. Jack Cullen falls distinctly into the latter. His new single, “All I Need,” released as his first on RCA Records, isn’t just a song—it’s a statement. A stirring, beautifully stripped-back reflection of emotional clarity and connection, it marks a pivotal moment in Cullen’s journey, not just musically, but personally. It arrives with the grounded optimism of someone who’s known exhaustion, transformation, and the quiet revelation of stillness. This isn’t heartbreak pop. This is gratitude, written into melody.

“It came from being away from home,” Cullen says. “Physically exhausted, emotionally raw. But in that space, I realised everything I really needed was already within me.”

That kind of realisation rarely comes in comfort. Before music, Jack was a professional rugby player whose career was cut short following surgery. What began as recovery through songwriting became a new calling, one that has since taken him from packed support slots to major stages. But his process has always been about returning to the core of things—a discipline sharpened most notably when he ran twelve marathons in twelve days along the rugged coastline of Cornwall.

“I believe you learn a lot about yourself when you put yourself through things like that,” he says. “The energy it gave me to write, and to feel the love and support around me—I’ll never forget it.”

That feat became the emotional catalyst for “All I Need,” a song less about the finish line and more about the view along the way. It’s an anthem of self-awareness and connection, laced with lyricism that evokes not stadium grandeur but something more intimate: golden memories, small joys, and the grounding presence of people who see you clearly.

“Throughout the writing, I kept coming back to family, to my friends,” he says. “Those moments you carry with you, even when you’re thousands of miles away.”

Now, Cullen is adding another chapter to this journey. In typically bold fashion, he’s chosen to cycle from Scotland to Glastonbury for his debut appearance at the iconic festival. The ride will take three weeks. For most artists, the run-up to Glastonbury is a media blitz or a mad dash to soundcheck. For Cullen, it’s a meditative pilgrimage. “It felt like time for another adventure,” he says. “What we’ll find on the road is the unknown. And that’s what excites me.”

The man behind these physical feats isn’t a masochist. He’s a seeker. Every distance travelled seems to strip back the noise and reveal something essential. “All I Need” captures that. It is the rare song that doesn’t reach outward but inward, finding poetry in simplicity and joy in emotional transparency. There is no cynicism in it. No bravado. Just the quiet power of clarity. That openness, he admits, came naturally. “It wasn’t hard to be open because the feelings run strong and are all around me, all the time.”

Cullen’s brother helped map the marathon route; friends captured the journey. That sense of community isn’t a footnote—it’s foundational. “At the core of all this is friendship,” he says. “I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who inspire me.” This idea of shared energy and aligned purpose flows seamlessly from his rugby days. “Both rugby and music require a team—people working toward the same thing,” he reflects. “That matters to me massively now.”

Yet Cullen is quick to note that vulnerability is a different kind of strength. “On the pitch, maybe you hide your pain. In music, you channel it,” he says. That transition—from suppression to expression—is part of what has made his sound resonate. There is a richness to it, not just in tone but in truth. His voice, both literal and lyrical, carries the weight of lived experience. When asked what keeps him grounded off-stage, his answer is refreshingly simple. “Movement. I always try to exercise during the week, even if it’s just a walk. A good seat and a good coffee. Staying connected with loved ones.”

And his must-have for the ride to Glastonbury? Not a GPS or a lucky charm, but something better: “My battered old cap. It’s been with me through every run, every ride, every road. It’s not just gear—it’s a bit of home I can wear on my head.”