Joy Crookes Is Comfortable in Her Own Skin

On a chilly evening in late January, a group of eclectic creatives shuffled from the bustling streets of Manhattan's Lower East Side into the cozy and well-decorated members club known as Ludlow House. The gathering was for the debut showcase of rising British Irish Bangladeshi musician Joy Crookes. As writers and music executives crowded in between paintings covering the glossy navy-blue walls to watch, it seemed this crowd was mimicking the chill posture of the artist herself. And Crookes certainly is cool. It's not just because she's British (though, I do love the crop of It girls from across the pond, such as Dua Lipa and Griff), and it's not even because she's downright stylish. (Her performance look was a matching tweed set with slicked-back hair.) But actually, it's because she's incredibly real. 

As passé as it can be to say someone is authentic, it's true when describing this 23-year-old star. After all, how many other artists introduce a song by asking the crowd if they know what generational trauma is? She's so comfortable in who she is, which is evident in how she moves through the world, her style, and her work. This past October, she released her debut album, Skin, which explores everything from mental health to relationships to protesting systemic racism over a fusion of jazz, soul, and R&B beats. Limiting Crookes's eclectic approach to music to one singular description is as hard as putting her multifaceted identity into one box, so I won't try. Instead, I'll repeat that what makes her work so powerful goes back to her raw, unedited vulnerability. It's what she can make you feel while she sings—literal goosebumps. And I'm not the only one who has been moved by her work. 

Crookes has already received three BRIT Awards nominations, built a large streaming audience, and had a debut showcase in the U.S. that took place just over a month ago. She's an artist to watch, which made my chance to interview the rising talent all the more special. Ahead, you'll hear from Crookes about the inspiration behind her newest album, how her identity influences her art, and what role style plays in her life. Her work is a reminder that the best artists can show us how to love the skin we're in by just being themselves. 

How did you decide you wanted to get into music? 

I don't think I ever had that realization. I was just thrilled with it being a hobby that I enjoyed because it just gave me purpose. I felt like I could dump my stuff somewhere, to put how I'm feeling into something tangible and then let that sit there. 

What has been a monumental moment in your career thus far?

I've had a few, but seeing my grandmother at my shows, it's the juxtaposition between what I've always known and my real life and then meeting the world I've made for myself.

You just did your first debut showcase in the U.S. What was that like for you? 

I loved it. I just came from a UK tour where people knew every word of my songs, and then to shift to where I'm playing shows where not everyone is as familiar with my work is quite grounding and humbling. It's kind of nice to be thrown into the deep, but I also was surprised by how many people came out to support my music. We did a pop-up concert in Union Square, and hundreds of people turned up. I had to hold myself back from crying four times because I just couldn't believe it. The UK is kind of like an island. We have influence, but it is nothing like America. So to be able to see my music transcend over to a whole ocean… To have it speak to human beings is just so beautiful.

Let's talk about the album. What was the inspiration behind your first debut album? 

The inspiration behind the album is quite autobiographical in terms of the lyrics. But then, when it comes to inspiration with music, it's kind of scattered. I'll spend a decent amount of time with my team having conversations about and thinking about how fellow musicians created their sound. I'll ask myself, "How did they go about transmuting an emotion and adjective like love into a song?" And then we'll spend days talking about some of the best Black female pianists in the world, like Nina Simone, or 1970s Welsh post-punk bands. So my inspiration for the album is very micro-macro. Music, for me, is kind of like creating a world around really tiny villages in every song. There's loads of inspiration for music across the globe, old or new, so I'm always drawing from it. But I limited every song to two references for this project just because I didn't want to throw too many things at singles when producing the album.

What was it like to release this album into the world? 

It was quite disarming. I had spent so long creating it. Many people say you put your whole life into your first album, and that's how it felt for me. It felt like running a marathon and then getting my personal best but then … ending up in the silver foil at the end and having a ministroke. It was a lot, but it was an incredible experience. I'd like to do it again, but creating an album is a tsunami of emotions.

What's so special about your music is that it's a love letter to London—what was it like growing up in South London? And how does your home continue to inspire your work? 

The tapestry of culture that I grew up around was insane. It's like a gap-year wet dream, except it's at my doorstep—every kind of food, every type of music, every language, every culture. And to grow up around that can be both empowering and overwhelming. Sometimes, navigating through so many different worlds, including within my own identity, [and] navigating between two cultures that are so different is a lot. But learning to navigate in this world has been the best education in becoming a woman. I was so proud to have been surrounded by so many different identities. Plus, I was always told that I grew up in a shithole. The stereotype for South London is that it's poor; it's the ghetto. But deep down, people know that actually in these places are the strongest people, the strongest stories, the best food, the best culture, the best music, the best dancing, the best everything. So of course, you're going to downgrade it to "I don't go south of the river," but hold on a second—we don't need you, because there are so many interesting and strong people with their own fucking story.

Often, people of color and people with multiple heritages feel a pressure to assimilate into one identity, to check "one box" so to speak—when you were younger, did you feel the pressure of navigating multiple identities? 

As I get older, I can recall nuanced or particular memories and can reflect and say, "Oh, okay. That's why I felt the thing I did. … I was feeling confused or lost, or I couldn't fit in." But unfortunately for all of us, particularly people of color, we're taught to believe that we have to be in a box. If you're a Black boy, you need to be listening to a certain kind of music. We're constantly being told to assume some form of a stereotype. But then when someone does it, they're the first person to be bashed for it. So for me, I'm still on my journey to accept that I can't be put in a box. Learning to accept ourselves is probably the biggest power we can all have in our own lives and the lives of others.

Do you feel this album is an homage to you embracing your own skin? 

Definitely, but embracing that no one apart from yourself decides your identity. Your skin, it's up to you. It's not even up to where you come from, your family, or your ancestors. It's actually just up to you. And that's no disrespect to where I come from. It's just that there's just so much expectation of human beings and how we're supposed to be. And that pressure can be alleviated by ourselves if we embrace our own skin.

It was so special to see you perform in NYC, and I was practically moved when you mentioned that the song "Poison" was about generational trauma. For you, what does it look like in your own life to break the cycle?

I think it comes down to practicing self-worth and self-esteem and self-love. For me, breaking any cycle of trauma is first acknowledging it, then questioning it and trying to decide whether it's something that lives with you and doesn't pay rent or whether it's a pattern and whether it's something you even want to do anything about. Acknowledgment is great. It's a super-important first step, but then, you need the urgency or the drive to go face-to-face with whatever that is with whatever tools work for you, whether that's therapy, meditation, etc. There is no right way of undoing whatever needs to be undone. There's no right way to heal. You just need to have the urgency to find whatever will get you out of that space. 

There's so much stigma attached to mental health, both in the wider world and within the Asian community. Why has it been important for you to be open about your journey with depression and anxiety? What do you think we can do to destigmatize these conversations? 

It's important to me because it's just the most normal thing in the world. Mental health doesn't need to have a stigma attached to it. It should be normalized to be able to talk about how we feel and when we're suffering. It feels like so much of our community repressed themselves, and then that repression just ends up in your blood. That's when something like epigenetics happens, and generational trauma is born. And then someone has got a ton of shit that they have to deal with that's not even necessarily from them. It originates from the fact that no one back there did anything about it. We have to think about mental health like dealing with something like trash. If you keep throwing garbage out and then no one comes to collect the trash, your house turns into a landfill for you and everyone around you. 

I also think we have to rethink the idea that mental health is even a taboo within communities of color because we've been told it's something we don't talk about. It's just that it doesn't fit within this narrow lens of white psychology and mental health. Our communities have always practiced self-love, self-healing, and meditation in these ancient forms. I don't think that we can sit here, especially as privileged daughters and sons of immigrants and communities of color that have access to the internet, and have the tools that none of our people behind us had [and] do nothing with them.

Another song I loved on this album was "Skin." It's such a beautiful song about loving someone struggling with their mental health. For you, why was it necessary to write this song?

I wrote it for someone. And I knew with that song I wanted it to not only be for the person but to [also] sound like a Frank Sinatra song, where it gets straight to the point. When it comes to mental health, we have to stop beating around the bush and just talk about it. It is as simple as telling someone who is suicidal that they are wanted and their life is worth living because it is.

Okay, we have to talk about the song "Power." It felt like such a potent take on misogyny and racism wrapped up into one song. What drew you to write it? What does power mean to you?

I wrote that song while working at a writing camp in France in the middle of nowhere. This was when Trump had just been inaugurated. I was 18 at the time, angsty, and loud as well with lots of opinions. But I had an incredible conversation with a fellow writer over two hours about quite heavy stuff that I ended up becoming quite emotional and crying, but this song was born from that session.

When you get to the end of the song, you're speaking about how your power is something that people can't take away from you. Is that where you feel like you've gotten to in your life? 

No, but I would love to be [at] that point. I'm not just there daily at all. I'm a human being like everyone else. I have survived things I never thought I would—friendships, relationships, and other situations that test our tenacity. And in those cases, I'm reminded of my power. But as a young artist in my early 20s, I would be lying if I said that was something I had on lock because I don't.

Aside from picking clothing for music videos or performances, what role does style play in your everyday life?

Ever since I was young, fashion has always been a part of my identity. When I ask myself "How do I be myself every day?" it always is answered when I'm putting clothes on in the morning. I feel this desire to care about what I'm wearing because representing who I am on the outside is a way I can practice being myself. 

So for you, style is very much how you show who you are to the world.

And how I navigate myself day-to-day, what I'm feeling at that moment.

We have to talk about your approach to music videos. From "Feet Don't Fail Me Now" to "Trouble," the visuals are not only next-level, but you're also able to nod to your heritage in a way that is so stunning. How important is it to incorporate your roots into your work?

My criteria for music videos is that it has to be memorable, and it has to elevate the song's narrative. I know that sounds very wishy-washy, but whenever we come up with any ideas, those are the two things that are always in my mind.

Do you feel like your relationship with music is the same as your relationship with fashion—that it's the best way you're able to communicate ideas or feelings? 

Music is the main one and then whatever comes around that—so performing, style, just generally being creative. But also, I love things like buying furniture, which is also creative. It's just not like showing out to the world, but [it's also] having something that brings me joy.

Music is a challenging industry, so besides your hobbies, how do you keep yourself grounded through the experience?

Generally, it's hard for me to say I'm grounded as much as I'm always in my head because of anxiety. I think people always ask "How do you stay grounded?" on the assumption that stepping into the limelight means you're starting to believe you are the shit. But I'm very much always moving from a place where I probably could benefit from being more positive. And I'm never really moving from a space of ego. I see music as my job, and parts of the industry are a lifestyle, but that's not my everyday life. I still see friends and spend time with my family doing normal things. I've always been a daughter. I've always been someone's cousin. None of that has changed because of the career I've built.

Where do you envision your career going next?

I want longevity; that's my biggest goal. It's hard to know where you go next with such a precarious job, but the hope is to create another album and continue performing.

You're still rising in your career, so I can only imagine how many barriers of entry you've encountered, both at a new artist and a woman of color. How do you keep yourself motivated when doors aren't opening or your career isn't moving the way you want? 

It depends on what the situation is. For women of color, there will always be gatekeepers or challenges every time. I hope it changes, but sometimes, you have to realize that the motivation may not always be there, which is also okay. You may have to accept the fact someone put you down or you're not feeling inspired, but that's a part of the journey.

Do you feel like you're in a place where you are accepting whatever happens next? 

I think that, as someone who had no control, I've tried my hardest to maintain control over situations like my work. I've learned it's better sometimes just to let things go, and c'est la vie. Even if you don't always love the skin you're in or where you're at in your life, there's power to be found in accepting where and who you are right now.

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