Dance music and nursery rhyme allusions aren't the most expected pairing, but that's why
Crooked Man is such an apt name for
Richard Barratt's house music project. His path through the music industry has certainly been winding: he began as a DJ in '80s Sheffield; pioneered bleep techno with
Sweet Exorcist in the '90s; and produced music with and for acts such as
All Seeing I and
Róisín Murphy in the 2000s and 2010s. As
Crooked Man,
Barratt (along with engineer
Dave Lewin and songwriter
Mick Ward) combines all of this experience on the project's transcendent full-length debut.
Barratt was inspired to return to house music partly because of his work on
Murphy's percolating 11-minute single "Simulation," and some of that song's influence appears on stately tracks like the whispery, dub-inflected cover of the Northern soul classic "I'll Be Loving You," or "Preset"'s bubbling cauldron of beats and bass.
Barratt turned his back on house in the '90s when it became too fashionable and fashion-oriented, and
Crooked Man's version of it is resolutely his own. Style isn't the same thing as fashion, and
Barratt serves up a witty reminder of this on "The Girl with Better Clothes": when vocalist Rachel E intones "She's the original, all the rest are fake," it can't help but feel like a metaphor for his career. On this song and the stunning opening track, "Coming Up for Air,"
Crooked Man balances pop and dance, and style and substance, perfectly. In fact, the polished presentation only strengthens the political undercurrent running through many of these cuts, whether it's the biting satire of "Scum (Always Rises to the Top)," the grinding groove of "This Machine (Kills Me)," or the suave yet heartfelt lament "Fools and Fanatics," one of the album's finest showcases for
Pete Simpson's soulful vocals. Even on
Crooked Man's most traditional-sounding tracks, such as the euphoric finale, "Happiness," there's some of the elegant unpredictability of songs like "Try Me," where the lack of a four-on-the-floor beat is more powerful than a claustrophobic rhythm. A striking beginning to this chapter of
Barratt's career,
Crooked Man bears the stamp of artistic confidence that takes years to develop.