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Joy Crookes is only 26, but the south Londoner’s music already feels omnipresent. One song in particular, at least: Feet Don’t Fail Me Now seems to be absolutely everywhere. I hear it in cafes and bars, trendy boutiques and grimy off-licences and, when I forget to turn it off, the autoplay function on my streaming app of choice. The song only came out in 2021, as a single from Crookes’s acclaimed debut album, Skin, and even if it doesn’t yet feel canonical, it has at least thoroughly saturated certain pockets of the city.
Which makes it all the more remarkable that, when Crookes plays it at Islington Assembly Hall this evening – an “intimate”, or intimate for her, show at only 890 people – one of the Brits Week for War Child charity shows, it doesn’t even garner the biggest singalong of the evening. That honour might go to the understated funk earworm Trouble, about a tumultuous, toxically appealing relationship; or Don’t Let Me Down (Demo), an early song performed by Crookes solo with an electric guitar, preserving all the warm minimalism of the original track. The enthralled crowd roars in appreciation during these moments, which belie the fact that Crookes is still a relatively early-career artist: she’s only released one album, with, she assures fans this evening, another set for release later this year.
Born to a Bangladeshi mother and Irish father, Crookes makes music that feels reflective of a melting-pot upbringing: while it’s mainly soul revivalism that colours her music, you’ll also find elements of dub, synth-pop, hip-hop and 2010s pop balladry across Skin. She has been praised for a willingness to inject her songs with political themes – Skin features songs about gentrification, racism and misogyny – and despite the vintage tone, Crookes’s music presents an inversion of classic soul tropes. If classic Motown often had a mournful, bleeding-heart spirit, Crookes’s music more often captures a sense of independence and empowerment, befitting a generation in search of anti-anxiety anthems.
These preoccupations are at the heart of tonight’s show, the bulk of which comprises as yet unreleased material. These songs, which largely fit the mould of the tracks on Skin with a little added pop oomph (sturdier and simpler beats, big choruses), are frequently about top-of-mind topics for young people: anxiety, beauty ideals, toxic exes, reliable besties. I sometimes found myself wishing for more bullish defiance or abject sadness, coming from a voice so brassy and rich, but there is no denying that Crookes can write a killer hook. Never more so, perhaps, than on the as-yet-untitled song whose hook goes “You’re a killer”, a bouncy, surely viral-ready track that Crookes introduces as one of her favourites of the new batch. Slick and energetic, it’s a highlight of the evening.
Another new song, Crookes explains, is about “unrealistic beauty standards, and how they’re kicking all our arses”. The track centres on a fictional character called Carmen, who represents an impossible ideal; with its halting piano intro, it brings to mind Frank Ocean’s Super Rich Kids and the opening bars of Bennie and the Jets. Later, she plays a song about anxiety and the queasy feeling of adrenaline, inspired in part by the scene in Pulp Fiction when Uma Thurman’s character is given an injection to the heart. (“This song is a fuck off to mental health issues,” she quips.) Although Crookes warns the crowd early in the night that she has “bubble guts” because she hasn’t performed for so long, her voice sounds pitch-perfect, resonant and full in a room that – likely not built for pop concerts – doesn’t always sound particularly great. She’s backed by a crack four-piece band whose deft, warm style is far more appealing than that of the unsubtle hired hands usually drafted in to perform with rising stars like her.
Not everything lands. Pass the Salt, a recently released new song featuring Vince Staples, feels harsh and metallic in an otherwise finely tuned set. On the track, Crookes engages a cadence approaching hip-hop over a crisp, booming beat; performed with live drums, the song never really coalesces, and coming second in the set it feels like a shaky start. It’s a bum note she thankfully recovers from. Mathematics, a recent Kano-featuring single performed later in the set, allows Crookes to show off her almighty belt, a remarkable, room-filling thing.
The most poignant moment comes when, bathed in blue light, she addresses the reasons behind tonight’s show. “I really wish we weren’t raising money for children that are in conflict and wars,” she tells the audience. As she dedicates a new piano ballad, Forever, to just such children, it feels like a perfect combination of pop and politics.
