Start-Track at Show: Lupen Crook @ The Albion Room, June 20, 2026

It’s a hot and humid night on the south-east coast of England. We’re in the garden of the venue, bar, recording studio and former hotel known as The Albion Room. Belonging to The Libertines, the space itself instantly garnered cult-like status, due in no small part – no doubt – to its owners, which caused quite the buzz before it even opened its doors. Its tiny basement venue, The Wasteland, is our destination for the night. 

On the table adjacent to us sits maverick musician and alt-folk anti-hero Lupen Crook and his artistic and romantic partner Willow Vincent. Like us, they are enjoying the elongated day and the slowly encroaching night – it just so happens to be the Summer Solstice. 

In due course and with the remains of the day still just about lingering up above, the pair take to the stage. Lupen toting his signature 12-string Gibson (strung up like a 6 string, with half a dozen missing) and Willow playing an Omnichord, of all things. (I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in real life!) 

Opener “WMLN” is delicate and measured and feels at first glance like traditional English folk: Breezy, whimsical, and earnest. Listen in though, and it becomes apparent that it’s a tale of despair, desolation, and desperation. With lyrics like “This could be a really great depression / if I could spend it with you” and references to The Velvet Underground, its warmth and artistic vision is undeniable. The room is pin-drop quiet, and as the song grows larger and more buoyant – thanks to Willow’s Omnichord, which sounds like an accordion mixed with a Rhodes piano – it feels absolutely majestic. With only around twenty lucky people in the room, this feels like a real moment, shared lovingly between privileged souls and kindred spirits. 

The next song – “Rolling Stones” – is made from much the same stuff. Observational lyrics come across as potently poetic and anything but prosaic. The song is striking in its stark, soulful beauty. “Like rolling stones up a hill”, he sings, and his distinctive voice sounds better than it ever has, like there’s been real evolution there (although, in fairness we haven’t seen him live for 15 years, so that’s more than understandable). The song borrows a line from AC/DC: “It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll”. But it feels much more like The Decemberists, or more specifically, the songwriting prowess of their frontman Colin Meloy, if he was English rather than American. 

Speaking of Englishness, up next is “People’s Prayer”. Lupen introduces it as a song about “living on this strange island”. Painting vivid pictures with his words, he sings about drinking, freezing, churches, war graves, butchers, crows, and more. It’s at the same time haunting and charming. Dark, foreboding, and enchanting, it feels cinematic and scenic. You can imagine it playing over a final scene of a gritty British drama. This is powerful, impactful stuff. 

Another new song follows (we’re told the set is made up mostly of them). “FOOL” is gentle and lilting, cautious and characterful. We’ve always thought of Lupen Crook’s music as unconventionally beautiful and wonderful, but an acquired taste, perhaps. This new stuff seems quite the opposite. You struggle to fathom how this music could not be universally loved, lauded, and appreciated. With his capo on his fifth fret, the overall tone of this song is higher and lighter than those that have preceded it. Willow is more animated on this one, contributing more than she has thus far and adding a layer of depth that these songs clearly value. It also contains the lyrical highlight of the night: “I sleep with the same ghosts that stained Tracey Emin’s bed linen”. 

He introduces the next song with the externalised thought “I think this song is about self-help”. Cats For The Cure is built around a muted, grungey sounding chugging strumming pattern. Willow changes instruments and adds colour and texture with her microKORG synthesiser. For the most part the song doesn’t deviate much from the main motif and feels more like a mantra than music, but eventually, it bursts into life, freeing itself from its self-imposed shackles. “All of my friends are cats for sure” goes the last line… 

“SATELLITES” begins with the line “I’ll never make the rent”, which is a struggle I’m sure a lot of us can appreciate. We’re reminded of “Mother’s Little Helper” by the line “I told the doctor please, gimme more of these”, as later he sings of satellites falling from the sky, stars shining, drinking wine, and getting married. Again, it feels like the precision with which he builds worlds is almost overwhelming. “Jesus weren’t a saviour – just a Pagan on the run”, he croons and – not for the first time – we marvel at his artistic ability. 

Up next is an older one. “The Dirty Mile” is formed around a lovely, delicate arpeggio and a small selection of chords. It’s the kind of song that needs no more. With a classic chord progression paired with a perfectly measured vocal performance, it’s captivating and compelling. He’s an artist that’s nigh on impossible to equate to another. We’re reminded again of the more macabre moments of The Decemberists’ catalogue, perhaps blended with the overall tone of Graham Coxon’s acoustic stuff and Syd Barrett at his most palatable. None of these comparisons quite do this justice though. Willow really lets loose on this one, making sounds like possessed stringed instruments being played whilst falling tumbling down into a poisoned well. 

“If You Love Me Come The Morning” is the next song, and is subtle musically but striking lyrically. “If you love me come the morning, when I am leather-faced”, he croons, before moving on to comparing his eyes to plums and referring to himself as a bastard. Again, the chord progressions feel classic, almost Ray Davies-esque, or perhaps reminiscent of Conor Oberst’s writing circa I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning. He pours his heart and soul into the delivery and holds the room in the palm of his hands.

He sings about a “bleak midwinter in July” on the next song which feels familiar and comforting, like a warm duvet or an old thick jumper. He refers to “Eerie England” (the title of the tune) and laments how “there are no more heroes, as far as I can see”. We’re further reminded of the Great British lineage of songs to which he deftly continues to add. 

“Where The Crow Flies” is the set closer and is sparse as it begins. It feels sinister, as many moments before it have, but also eminently beguiling. The strumming pattern on this one is interesting: Crook flits between long, wide, sweeping strums and finger picking. Lyrically and melodically it feels a bit like a nursery rhyme blended with a traditional folk song, fused with a cautionary tale. “Stay young, shine bright, kill crows” goes the most memorable line. 

The small but appreciative crowd bay for more and the duo willingly oblige. They perform one additional unnamed tune which we’re told isn’t a good closing song, but we’ll gladly, giddily take it. It’s as perfectly poised as the rest of the set has been with a fine balance of light and shade, distinct peaks and troughs and roller coaster dynamics. It’s amazing how much the pair can conjure with so few components. Lupen sings about a character who “wears a leather veil” and who “wakes with a smile coz she knows that love is real”, which sounds really sweet and saccharine, but we can promise you it is absolutely not. Dark and brooding, it feels almost hypnotic and intoxicating and, as the set comes to a close, we really wish that it wouldn’t.

What a night! In what was only about 50 minutes, we feel like we’ve been on a journey over oceans and through skies, round the corner and round the bend. Praise be to whoever you chose to worship: It seems there’s a new Lupen Crook record on the horizon and it can’t come soon enough.

Written by Black Rainbow Collective