Photograph Jenny Lewis
“If I had described my music I would say that it’s unfashionable and ridiculous.”
Meet Lupen Crook, potentially the biggest star to come out of the small provincial town of Medway in Kent since, well, Billy Childish. When I met him in a genteel London pub he is wielding his trusty acoustic guitar as if it is an extra limb and frantically smoking roll ups. “I started playing music when I was about seven or eight years old,” he says, “and I started playing live in pubs soon after.” Live is where Lupen is most at home. His vagabond world of theatrical ballads is haunting, emotional and cracking with raw energy – his persona swinging from happy chap, to fragile urchin, to scathing drunk in an instant. The audience is left utterly ill at ease and yet unable to tear themselves away as Lupen seems to actually become the songs rather than just singing them. By contrast when he is encountered offstage he seems a little lost.
“I enrolled at art college but I dropped out cos I wasn’t mature enough and I messed up, “ he tells me, “now there is no fucking hope in hell that I am ever going to be employed in a proper job.” Luckily for us it looks as though a career in music is for keeps. Nevertheless, he always paints all the artwork for his releases. “It’s shit,” he claims, but is easily cajoled into providing a bit of artwork for the magazine.
“Where are my fucking keys? I ain’t had sex in weeks. I’ve been thinking of taking you in your sleep, because it turns me on,” and “Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking, I’m bit of a bastard when I’m drinking,” sings Lupen on Here 2 B Friends. Not exactly the kind of lines you’d use on a girl if you wanted to impress her – they might even have the reverse effect and would likely send any girl running, possibly to the police. Luckily twenty four year old singer/songwriter Lupen Crook has a very stable girlfriend, and doesn’t seem to have any such qualms about writing these twisted lyrics – he freely tackles those prickly themes of identity, death, cancer, sex, aids and rape in bleakly sparse, yet beautiful music.
Perhaps surprisingly, bands like AC/DC and Iron Maiden had a great influence on the young Lupen. But then there’s nothing expected about this strange and often troubled musician. Listening to his current single Love 80, or the fantastically gothic machinations of his anthem of darkness, Halloween, from last year, it’s hard to know where Lupen gets his inspiration. “I like writing stories, but I am only an observer,” he explains, “I am mean’t to be in a place where you cannot see me, writing accounts of whatever might cross my path. The whole point of producing music is to communicate something to others; songs can do pretty much the same job as books in that respect.” On the sense of darkness and foreboding that seems to pervade many of the songs, he says, “I am inspired by the words we play on and secrets we keep. The psychosis that we are all to often forced to ignore and dampen down as something I try to welcome with open arms.”
The question of favourite songwriters really flummoxes Lupen. “I can never recall the songs, singers, authors or artists that have been favourites of mine. But I like those who apply themselves for no reason other than if they don’t they will face a personal fate that is worse than any death – it’s important to have that insistence about anything creative.” He does, however rate Radiohead: “I think that Radiohead are a really honest band. I trust them completely. They’ve kept themselves moving around the table, which is a hard thing to do.” He also likes Graham Coxon; “He said a really good thing the other day – actually it’s well depressing: ‘Anyone who thinks they can change the world, just tell them to go to Brighton and stop the tide coming in.’”
Lupen has newly become a father, and clearly dotes on his little girl, but it’s hard to imagine how so much intensity (and possibly depression?) fares in a familial situation. Let’s hope he doesn’t worry too much about his artistic ideals when dealing with the little mundanities of life. “I think you should always create work from the heart, and only when absolutely necessary should you let the head get a handle on what is going on. Logic should only be introduced into a situation when the heart has had it’s fill,” he opines. He’s keen to get on the road with his newly started family – unfortunately he has yet to persuade his record label of the efficacy of providing them with a touring caravanette – his touring bus cum home of choice.
On the recent release of his debut album Lupen says: “I feel as though I have finally tied a knot in the length of lace in my life,” he explains. “Now I can start searching new areas for inspiration.” He would like to call his next EP Caterpillar’s Friend. Does he like caterpillars? “Yeah, they’re ok, they turn into butterflies.” I point out that butterflies only have a very short life, and he replies that “they have a good life. They flit about pointlessly. Then they die. It’s a well good life.” And on that indecipherable note I will leave you to contemplate the weird and wonderful life of Lupen Crook.
Amelias magazine Issue 5/May 2006