“I want people to know that I stood for something”: Joy Crookes on her new album, Juniper

“The more music I make, the closer I get to who I am as an artist and Juniper is a reflection of that,” says Joy Crookes, while taking a drag of her cigarette on a Brixton rooftop. It’s a sunny afternoon in August when I meet the 26-year-old singer-songwriter, and we’re weeks away from the release of her aforementioned sophomore record, her first project in four years.

The Brit-Award nominated artist first shot to fame following the release of her debut album, Skin, in 2021, with her single, ‘Feet Don’t Fail Me Now’ garnering over 100,000,000 streams to date. But, Juniper is more than just a follow-up to this Mercury Prize-shortlisted debut, it’s a reckoning after time away from music that brings together both the chaos and clarity from a turbulent time for Crookes.

“This album reflects a two-year period that was very hedonistic, introspective and involved some very ugly healing,” she says, explaining that between Skin and Juniper, she took a step back while wrestling with mental health. The singer has been candid about struggles with depression, and this candour – as well as her humour, relatability and down-to-earth charm – feels rare for an artist of her calibre and acclaim, but are what makes Crookes one of Britain’s most distinctive voices, both musically and personally.

On Juniper, her honeyed vocals flow across her now-signature blend of alternative R&B, neo-soul, acoustic flourishes and jazz, paired with searing and candid lyricism covering everything from love and relationships to personal struggles and politics. “I’ve always used music to figure things out,” she says. “It often reveals answers to me, and I’ll send my friends songs, and they’ll respond like, ‘um, you OK?’ and I’m like, ‘yeah, I’m just figuring things out!’”

In a few words, she describes the record as “insightful, funny and having a sense of musicianship,” and that balance is captured best in her track, ‘Perfect Crime’. She not only wrote and produced the record but also directed the video – a riotous shoot filmed in Dhaka, Bangladesh atop moving trains, motorcycles and boats. The decision to film there, she says, was about reclaiming her heritage. “Building a relationship with Dhaka on my own terms, and without my family, was something I’ve always aspired to as a member of the diaspora. I just wanted to go there, be myself, f**k around and show people what Dhaka is. It felt political, personal and joyful. I’m glad I could show another side of Dhaka and challenge misconceptions.”

Crookes is of Irish-Bangladeshi heritage and grew up in South London, identities which are apparent in her creative expression and lyricism. From adorning herself in South Asian jhumkah earrings and hair for her performances to shooting music videos on the Tube, Crookes describes herself as “lucky” to be immersed in such rich, contrasting cultures and describes growing up in South (which she still calls home) as the “stitching” of her identity. “What I love about South London is that there is always a door for you to feel welcome,” she smiles.

Growing up as an only child until age nine, Crookes often spent long hours in libraries and record stores, immersed in stories and records. Her parents’ eclectic tastes – from Leonard Cohen to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Prince to Sinéad O’Connor – shaped her own musical DNA. She recalls buying reggae records in Elephant and Castle and teaching herself chords from YouTube tutorials on a cousin’s Argos guitar. “I never thought I could do this as a career,” she admits. “I still feel like I don’t really know how the f**k that happened.”

As one of the only female artists of South Asian heritage to break through British music, her presence in the industry is often seen as a cause for celebration amongst her fans, but, Crookes is also wary of becoming a token. “Representation is flawed in the sense that one person can’t represent any entire community. That’s not fair on any complexities of my community, so I want to do something that is just honest.”

That honesty is apparent in her record ‘Carmen’, which interrogates beauty standards and cultural expectations in a love song of-sorts to the girlfriend of a boy she once had a crush on. “It’s easy to think ‘that person has something I want, and I want to tear that down’. But, why do that when you can approach from a place of adoration? It’s like a love song to her, while saying ‘When will I get that opportunity to be wanted as much as she is?’

“Carmen applies to all girls,” Crookes continues. “I could be a Carmen to someone else, as could you, because colourism can play a part and dark-skinned girls get it harder. I recognise that I have things that others don’t, so I’m aware of my privileges.” That evident awareness and outspokenness is what resonates with so many of Crookes’ fans, but, it also comes with risks. “Because I’m a big mouth, there are going to be opportunities cut off from me, but I’d rather be that artist than one who is complicit.”

Politics, too, isn’t something Crookes can step away from. “I was born political, I didn’t choose to be. I’m not Matty Healy. I don’t have time to be an artist like that.” Watching world events, particularly the war in Gaza, she feels compelled to speak. “Watching a genocide every day and being Bangladeshi-Irish, I don’t know how I can turn my back on that. I don’t think I’d be the artist I am without the history my family have endured.

“I just have fire, and it takes a f**k tonne of empathy to write music, so why would that not extend to place like Palestine and people like the Palestinians,” she continues. “If it can happen to someone else, it can happen to you. If I have a plate of food, can walk peacefully down the street and cuddle my cat, I feel guilty because we’re in such a strange time. There is violence in silence.”

Her activism also extends to the music industry. She calls for more accountability, unionisation, and mental health support for up-and-coming musicians. “Music probably needs its own #MeToo movement. We all know someone who has been raped or assaulted, but we don’t know any perpetrators. Acting had a mass awakening, but it needs to come for musicians too.”

With success in the music industry comes fame, but Crookes has no interest in celebrity for its own sake. “I’m not deeply interested in fame, I think it’s disgusting. I know some musicians want to be famous, but I’m uninterested and just want to make good music.” Her passion is instead for connection – with fans, with her art, and with the causes she supports. A newly-announced War Child ambassador, she speaks of wanting to leave a legacy beyond music. “When I was younger and people asked what I wanted to be, I said, ‘I don’t care if I work in Tesco, I want to help others.’ I’m lucky that music has served that purpose.”

On what’s next for Crookes, she reveals she’s already working on her next album. “It feels like I’m unpeeling another layer of reflection and learning. I use music to understand rather than to escape, I respect and love artists who don’t put themselves in their music, but I always think about what’s going on in my life and how I want to deal with it through music,” she closes. “My music is personal.”

Juniper is out now.