Following her Mercury Prize-shortlisted debut album Skin, Bangladeshi-Irish singer Joy Crookes was thrust into the spotlight – and into what she describes as a “mental health crisis between albums.” Now, after a four-year hiatus, she has returned with Juniper, an album forged in reflection and reinvention. Across its tracks, Crookes confronts generational trauma, explores queer identity, unlearns habits and processes heartbreak, while piecing together who she is when no longer defined by another’s gaze. If Skin introduced Crookes as a sharp observer of herself and society, Juniper adds depth to the portrait, resulting in a wonderful chronicle of introspection rooted in neo-soul, with threads of hip-hop cadences and cinematic orchestration.
1. Brave
The slightly behind-the-beat groovy rhythm immediately signals that this album is a different beast to its predecessor. Where Skin felt buoyant and confidence-boosting, Juniper invites the listener to slow down and listen up. “And I learn, and you learn to keep up a fighting stance/ Will I see the day I don’t feel the need to defend myself?” Crookes questions amid understated instrumentation, signalling a project unafraid to explore the struggle to stay open-hearted in a world that often feels like an adversary. But her velvety vocals leave space for light to seep in, should she choose to be brave: “Love’s trying to be my friend.”
2. Pass the Salt [feat. Vince Staples]
Intricate percussion and a bold bassline set the edgy backdrop for a tonal 180, reintroducing Crookes’ familiar playful spark. Four years on, she emerges radiating with even greater self-assuredness: “Giving face like a tiger kitten/ Can be quiet and still confident,” while Vince Staples’ assertive rap verse adds the cherry on top of this standout funk-jazz track.
3. Carmen
Sensual vocals and lofty harmonies ride over a romantic piano chord progression, drawing us into the magnetic allure of the character of Carmen. Crookes threads a tapestry of admiration and envy, declaring, “I wanna be wanted like Carmen.” She confronts the pervasive influence of white beauty standards that continue to dominate societal notions of desirability: “Brown skin European with my London eye/ I get envious of that vanilla type.” Even as she recognises the unjust structural forces shaping desire, Crookes allows herself to feel the very human craving for admiration, reflecting on this tension with tender self-awareness: “You go classic like Coco Chanel/ Is it bad I want that for myself?”
4. Perfect Crime
Marking the album’s shortest track, ‘Perfect Crime’ introduces intrigue with its smoky textures, dubby echoes and head-nod groove. Lyrically, it captures the bravery of slipping back into the cocktail of vulnerability and power that comes with dating, evoking what Crookes has described as the moment of “being a couple of pints deep at the pub with your mate and making the Hinge profile”. With its infectious hook and colourful percussion, this is a moody anthem for the dancefloor.
5. Mathematics [feat. Kano]
An intentional slow-down, ‘Mathematics’ unfolds as one of the album’s most intimate and exposed moments. “Tired/ Crying on the dancefloor/ I’m pretty but I’m miserable,” Crookes confesses as the nostalgic arrangement of piano-and-strings frame her half-conversational vocals. Kano’s verse, distinguished by syncopated flow and internal rhymes, injects a rhythmic tension that beautifully balances out the song’s mournful drift.
6. House With a Pool
In a compelling collision of buoyant sonics and difficult truths, Crookes slips into a protective, big-sisterly tone when she cautions: “She brands it “love” so desperately/ But baby girl, that ain’t no two-way street.” Her delivery is rich with melismatic curls that lend the track elasticity and elegance. Following a soulful warning against the trap of lopsided devotion, the outros’ bright piano licks mask the sting of the message.
7. I Know You’d Kill
Razor-sharp and fast-paced, the seventh track bubbles with creativity and bravado. “No, I didn’t mean to meet you with no violence/ Come on, baby, I’m a real tender tyrant,” Crookes declares, leaning into witty paradox, and tagging it with a drop of wisdom: “Follow my mother’s advice, ‘Find that ride or die.'” The trumpet and saxophone flourishes amplify Crookes’ intimidatingly bold vocal delivery with even more theatricality, making this track a show-stopper.
8. First Last Dance
Synth-pop melodies and gentle guitar strums steer the album away from its neo-soul essence. Although breaking the sonic cohesiveness, the track is also a welcome breather from the record’s otherwise low-lit, hazy landscape. In a soaring, balladic mode, Crookes is positioned amid pop-pacing and shimmery instrumentation, making her persona lighter and more untouchable. While still spotlighting romantic separation – “Though I don’t like you, at least I got a friend/ […] Now it’s high time you let me go” – this time, she has the upper hand.
9. Mother
Where it may lack some of the album’s more memorable sonic character, ‘Mother’ makes up for it with emotional intensity and thematic weight. Crookes’ confrontation with her maternal line addresses trauma, abuse and inherited pain. “God knows what we carry from our history/ Hurt in the bloodline, I’m gonna break,” she chants, both an acknowledgment of her complex wounds and a vow to end that cycle for future generations. The refusal to submit to a predetermined fate is palpable not just in her delivery, but in the song’s firm beats and layered harmonies.
10. Somebody to You
The track drifts on a floaty, addictive chorus, undercut by grainy backing layers to give it some bite. Amid nostalgic production, Crookes’ personality is reminiscent of her Skin-era: poised and self-confident. “Pedestal, I put you up way too high/ Who am I when I’m outta your sight?” she asks with genuine curiosity, aware of the dangers of assigning too much value to another while neglecting yourself. Yet when she trills “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine,” her phrasing lands with full conviction.
11. Forever
Opening with warm piano and unguarded vocals, the track showcases minimal production and a raw, aching vulnerability. Where ‘Somebody to You’ communicated a genuine readiness for rediscovering identity outside of a relationship, this one plunges into heartbreak at its ugliest: the refusal, or inability, to let the person you love go. Tender and ballad-like, it’s heart-pinching in its simplicity: “Whether you’re with me or not/ Remember that we traded love/ And that’s forever.”
12. Paris
The final, longest and most unique track on the record eases into rhythm gradually, blending moody R&B with trip-hop textures. Its syncopated groove feels intoxicating, tugging the listener slightly off balance as multiple sonic threads weave around each other. The track centers repressed queer longing, with Crookes considering her bisexuality and the weight of religious guilt: “When it comes to pride/ I’d raise my heart to a girl or guy/ But I believed I was a sinner.” Refusing to turn this struggle into something tragically beautiful, she strips away any romanticism with unflinching frankness: “Nothing sweet about that.”
