“South of madness and north of a better place.” This is where I have been asked to travel to, and meet with a man who, despite an army of awkward and evasive designs, fake names and unworldly expressions, presents himself with an unbearable honesty. As his sits skewed with his wiry frame and gypsy rag sensibilities, it strikes me that this man is strangely at ease with his own mismanaged thoughts, and it amuses him today to see me struggle with the coarse ensemble of personality traits that he presents. I feel claustrophobic and confused in his presence, and may never know whether or not Lupen Crook’s claims are serious or simply in jest; whether our brief discussion will have him lay bare his most treasured and precious possessions of mind, or play me like a fool for reasons I can only hazard to guess are for his own selfish amusements.

His debut album, ‘ACCIDENTS OCCUR WHILST SLEEPING’ is he says a “record of events that have for years lain silent in the sanctuary of my mind. It is a record of events, a collection of ideas, serial symptoms of my insistent imagination”; and his half-glazed eyes then meet mine across the way, and I lose concentration, recalling a lyric from this debut, a lyric that may or may not make clear both plan and personality: ‘is it silly or serious?’ Probably both…

Lupen Crook is just twenty-four years old, but can claim to have been many things in his life. All of them have been lived in the south of east England where he has long been “held by the valley that holds tight these towns”, a place that “has the power to possess and persuade you to never leave”; and so Lupen Crook has not, settling instead with girlfriend and baby daughter, unsafe and unsound in his cave. His description of the Medway Towns is riddled with the same aggressive tendencies as his songs, “a place that once thrived with a riot of sailors”, he explains, “sea sorts sowing oats into our young southern daughters, there are but blood lines and unfortunate expressions left now, tanning booths and violent boredoms that linger on the surface of these streets.” But rather than expose each fracture line and fashionable asset that lie hidden in his past, Crook would far rather I stake claim to these suppositions, for it is clearly my job to both ask and answer each question whilst the curious Crook perches, featherless and fortuitous in each of his matted manners and nervy words. The music he has written is uncomfortable and in places wildly unfashionable, he admits “perhaps I have endangered myself,” and I agree that he may well be walking on dangerous grounds.

The general reaction to his music could be either one of widespread hysteria or complete indifference. However, though the record and its content may well seem schizophrenic in style, its sceneries and cinematic virtues are playful and melodic. Suddenly something that was at first uncomfortable seems enjoyable and even easy on the ear. The contradiction of this evolving illusion is a common thread that runs throughout his debut album, and many other threads have been sewn throughout the lining of both these complicated beings. Crook is unwilling to expose meanings behind individual songs, will only insist that “if ‘ACCIDENTS OCCUR WHILST SLEEPING’ is an awkward album, that sits sorely on said ears, then it is a success,”; because, as he professes, his perspective is clearly awkward, “my attitude is a symptom of our malignant reality.” Scary stuff indeed…

Whether or not I’ll become a fan of this artist or his record, it would be unfair and untruthful for me to say. It is not something I can easily ignore, its substance and symphonic progressions being both ambitious and easily recognisable. Whether or not his style as a songsmith will prove too rich for those audiences who require a standard stereo setting, he is prolific and uncompromising enough in his eccentricity and more than eager to be heard first rather than ever seen. He describes his role as one who sits “outside and out of reach, as observer; writer of sick notes and summons.”

Lupen Crook’s stained fingertips press hard on a cigarette paper. As he forces the edges together I notice two hands, ten tips and an arm laden with the tell-tale signs of someone whose past is likely a colourful and curiously tragic one. The point is this; there is no need to prize these pieces of mind from Lupen Crook’s fingertips or tempered head. If one was to be so inclined they could find all the answers and an institution of others in the music itself.

Sebastian Falls

Artwork by Lupen Crook