Joker Starr

Joker Starr's hardscrabble rap music feels like it was recorded inside a worn-out winter coat. He hails from Slough, a commuter town just west of London known for its aggressively grey skies and proximity to the planes, trains, and motorways that take you anywhere else. In December 2024, UK property website Rightmove surveyed 35,000 people about their hometowns and dubber Slough 'the most miserable place to live in Britain.' That kind of sensationalism generates clicks and a couple of days’ worth of online chatter, but doesn’t portray the resilience that’s deeply embedded in the residents of these downtrodden burgs. The press blurb for Starr’s 'Sidenote' casts it as a loose collection of jams without a unifying concept, but after a few listens, you can pick up on a strident sense of determination: Joker may trudge through his day-to-day, but he keeps his eyes fixed to the heavens, understanding that beyond the leaden cloud cover is a bright blue morning.

The deceptively simple production across Sidenote mirrors Joker’s grim environs. It’s a collection of washed-out loops and drums that crack like brittle knuckles, but the textures mask earwormy melodies that burrow deeper with each repetition. Imagine walking around on a drizzly winter day, the sky and ground the same colour, yet the light still bright enough to notice the various colours people paint their front doors, the gradations in the concrete, the pockmarked roughness of every brick in a garden wall. There’s a muted psychedelia throughout Sidenote, like the shivering, Mamman Sani-esque organ that snakes through “Same Old Flow,” or the damaged-tape Rhodes chords in the title cut. “Cold so Bold” is a jigsaw puzzle of overdriven bass, chiming synths, and flanging guitar, all of which combine into a menacing groove that wouldn’t sound out of place on any Griselda release.

Joker’s riveting mic presence makes these songs that much more enveloping, each word oozing into place like lava lamp bubbles. With a delivery that sits somewhere between Evidence’s laconic slow flow and Root Manuva’s mellifluous inflection—but a voice deeper and gruffer than either—Joker touches on topics like his search for God and his insatiable need to create, all while coolly touting his skills.

What truly makes Sidenote hit, however, is its sense of community. The record was a product of the isolation of the Covid-19 lockdowns, but it doesn’t come off as myopic or lonely. There’s a feeling of working-class camaraderie, a slew of folks mired in the same circumstances, draping arms over each other’s shoulders. Every track has at least one guest, and every rapper seems fully in alignment with Joker’s vision. The only way out of dour conditions is to lean on one another, which he articulates on “Cold so Bold”: “Only ask the mandem to rap on this record/ Plenty food, everybody can eat if God bless it.” The sunshine will always find a way to break through, he seems to say; you just have to have faith.