Simulated Reality: JADE Interviewed

In her post girl-group epoch, the South Shields siren is encoding her history in artful songs that explore the paradox of fame. Buckle up, we’re heading to the pop destination of the year.  

“This might be top 10 songs of the year. I fear she’s an inevitable global star,” one Twitter, sorry X user, declares like an oracle. The ‘fear’ is memetic speech for: we should all be braced for what’s about to happen. Pop fans (or the more militant version, stans) with accounts that boast thousands of followers, are the modern-day digital fanzine. Bypassing the panoply of profiles, commissioned reviews and televised interviews, these online spaces have democratised discussions about artists. Their power is mighty, if unchecked: they’ll announce and authenticate which would-be stars are worthy of deification. 

This particular endorsement is reserved for Jade Thirlwall – reintroduced mononymously as JADE – and her orchestrated first steps as a solo artist. The song in question is ‘Midnight Cowboy’, named after the 1969 X-rated film and co-written with serial hitmaker Raye – a rubberised RnB abstraction Jade calls “a taste of freedom.” Tweets like this aren’t isolated. They join a chorus of glowing praise for the 31-year-old and her opening salvo, ‘Angel Of My Dreams’. 

—

—

Jade had been working on solo material for over a year, much of her time spent between London and LA. Bouts of homesickness coupled with a trusted label exec announcing their departure from her label, led to a frustrating but fateful recording session with powerhouse collaborators Mike Sabath, Pablo Gorman and Steph Jones of ‘Espresso’ fame. Together they looped a sample from Sandie Shaw’s ‘Puppet On A String’, with a generous smattering of modulated vocal and allusions to Clubland classics. Once Jade laid down the vocals, she set about trying to convince her team ‘Angel…’ would be her definitive primer. They didn’t take much convincing. “Everyone loved it!” she says nonplussed. “I really didn’t think they’d be on board. We weren’t going for a radio-friendly hit because I was adamant that it had to be different. It didn’t go number one but it didn’t have to.” 

“‘Angel’ really helped get the ball rolling,” Jade continues, “so many doors have opened.” One of those doors is a portal to the high fashion world, with the singer fast becoming a go-to muse for designers. Two days prior to our chat, she was in New York, sat front row at Off-White’s Spring presentation. “It was so fun but chaotic. I feel for the people organising these shows because you’re dealing with so many egos. It must be a logistical nightmare,” Jade says endearingly, as if she’s a tier lower than the A-listers she’s rubbing shoulders with. For the first time in her career, Jade is able to play the protagonist in her own self-styled story. “It’s a harder space to navigate when you’re in a girl group. Designers don’t always want to work with everyone. Now, I can push the boat even further. It’s liberating doing your own thing. Now I’m in it, it feels quite nice.” 

It’s 5.30pm on a Friday, and we’re operating from a studio in Tottenham, London. Jade is comfortably back in her grey sweats, having posed in numerous looks for the CLASH cover shoot. She’s homely and convivial, despite a slightly sapped bearing as a result of back-to-back shoots and transatlantic trips. “Thankfully today wasn’t a four hour glam time like it used to be. We did one the other day and it was very serious, very demure, very mindful,” she smiles, referencing the viral voiceover trend that won’t rest. 

As one quarter of Little Mix – the best-selling girl-group of the 2010s – Jade is no stranger to long days and the unrelenting cycle of releasing albums, fulfilling promo duties, and embarking on a tour in support of it. For a decade, Little Mix’s festival-ready, out-sized sound dominated radio. Their success was in part down to their prolific output: they released six albums in just an eight year span, and were omnipotent until their hiatus in 2022. Unlike other ex-band members that manufacture distance between their watered-down past and the free rein they have as solo artists, Jade invites the ‘Glory Days’ detours down memory lane. 

—

—

Admittedly, ‘LM5’ is the album she feels will endure. “It wasn’t the biggest-selling album but it’s still being talked about as one that was ahead of its time. Me and Leigh-Anne really came into our own as writers. It’s just unfortunate it fell victim to label dramas.” Jade’s referring to the haphazard label takeover, when the group was moved within Sony Music to RCA’s UK imprint for future projects just days prior to the album’s release. For her solo stint, Jade met with different labels before opting to continue her creative tenure with RCA. It was essential that she was the one steering these meetings. “I had material recorded at that point, and I was telling execs this is who I am,” she says. “The difference now is, I’m very much aware of what this all is. I can’t be surprised or hoodwinked anymore, because I’ve experienced it all.” In the process, Jade had to unlearn unhealthy industry practices she’d been conditioned into thinking were the norm. “RCA told me to take my time figuring out who I was. I almost struggled with it because that’s all I knew. I mean I even have a wellness fund now… that’s how far we’ve come.” 

Much of our tête-à-tête is punctuated with generous ‘thank yous’ and ‘byes’ to the departing creative team, Jade’s Geordie accent coming through in slow, deliberate ululations. Her pride in her Tyneside roots, and Britishness, is something she wants to continue to honour even as she aims beyond the localised success she enjoyed with Little Mix. “I’m really proud to be a British artist and it will always be my priority to appeal to my audience here,” she affirms, “but we never quite got to the US with the band. I feel the shift when I go over there now, especially with the LGBTQ+ community.”

‘Angel Of My Dreams’ brings the hardcore raver to the fore with its thrumming electro-pop churn. The club as a site of emotional release and a safe sanctuary matters to Jade, who bought the lease to a near-defunct hometown nightclub “for next to nothing” years ago. “It was a shit hole before,” she says plainly. “It was called Glitterball. Just think sticky floors and broken glass everywhere.” The threat of a once popular local space for club dwellers being bulldozed and turned into a gentrified restaurant chain galvanised Jade into educating herself about the hospitality sector. “I thought the music industry was tough! Have you watched The Bear? That’s what it feels like to keep that place alive.” 

Jade reminisces on her move to London all those years ago, when her “chosen family” took to her Heaven and other queer-friendly club utopias that inspired a different kind of spiritual, after-hours experience. It’s that dual feeling of security and euphoria that Jade wanted to bring to her hometown. “It’s probably the only LGBTQ+ friendly space in my town,” says of her club haven. “I didn’t want people to travel as far as Newcastle for a good time.” Jade’s love for the queer community stretches back to her early Little Mix days. Continuing to cultivate a judgement-free zone for them in songs that honour their stories, and impact on pop culture, is something she doesn’t take lightly. “There’s no denying they’ve got me to where I am now. I’m conscious of creating music for them in a way that doesn’t feel opportunistic. I don’t write saying I need to but it’s a big part of me and my repertoire.” 

Jade has the aura of someone who has spent a long time processing the psychological toll that comes with navigating the reality competition/big label industrial complex. ‘Angel…’ melds her childhood aspirations with lyrical lashings of industry reckoning; no homegrown pop song released this year manages to shatter the illusion whilst arriving at a new epiphany. Honouring her past has meant exposing the lurid reality of coming-of-age on screen, of being morphed by a corporation that demands regular appearances and a regular flow of content. “I liken it to a relationship because it gave me so much but also took too much,” she says with a hint of trepidation. “It’s a show that says as a 25-year-old you’re too old to be a pop star. That seems like the perfect age to go into this. You don’t have the tools to express yourself when you’re 17. I wouldn’t do it that way again.” 

CLASH gets a preview of a future single, titled ‘That’s Showbiz, Baby!’. It captures the hardwired, industrial-pop energy of a vintage Richard X production, only grimier and more febrile. I ask who the acidic line at the end – ‘It’s a no from me’ – is aimed at. “I’ll let you read between the lines,” she retorts with a grin. The song is a decadent homage to RnB-pop provocateurs – a “melodramatic” anthem whereby Jade purges her own experience being exploited as a pliable, young female artist. “It’s ‘Angel’s’ cunty little sister,” Jade describes. “She goes bigger, harder and deeper. ‘Showbiz’ was an easier one to write because I knew what I wanted to say. It’s what pop should be: playful, confrontational but still a bop.” 

Out of all of Jade’s high-quality, high-octane releases, ‘Fantasy’ is the runaway hit. Throughout, Jade is rapt with lust, laying out in patently clear terms all the roles she’ll play for her lover. It’s future S&M, nu-disco glory that projects glitter and strobe lights from earwoom hooks that are waiting to be screamed in arenas. “You can hear Diana Ross on it but it’s my version of disco,” she says animatedly of her crowd-pleaser. “It’s about sexual fantasies but feeling safe enough to explore it with someone you desire. It’s naughty but also nice, airy and effervescent.” 

Jade is editorially-precise. She has an ear for recontextualising samples, and knows at what opportune point to throw a sonic curveball in the listener’s face. In the hands of a lesser musician, the intricate mesh of references would implode, but with Jade, subversion is the point. That’s where her reframing of “the machine” and “the show” comes in. She toys with personas, shifting vantage points between the star, the voyeur, and the master puppeteer. The era’s iconography further illustrates how emboldened Jade feels creatively; her visual moodboard a Frankenstein patchwork of prime Britney, Madonna, Hun culture, comic books, musical theatre and an overarching tribute to the anarchic spirit of Brit progenitors. 

This era is about re-discovery, not just of Jade’s musical idiosyncrasies but her lineage. Her grandfather Mohammed arrived in South Shields from Yemen in the 1940s, and it was there he met Jade’s half-Egyptian grandma Amelia. Jade’s growing familiarity with her MENA background comes through in her appraisal of Palestinian artists like Nemahsis. “She’s just a very good musician,” Jade gushes. “I’ve been especially invested in her journey. Being a Palestinian artist today shouldn’t be groundbreaking, but they’re out there speaking their truth despite being constantly shut down and silenced. That feels groundbreaking to me.” 

Some artists choose to stay insulated from the volatile world they inhabit. Not Jade Thirlwall. As her star continues to ascend, her will to connect widens and stretches to disenfranchised groups and the urgent crises of our time. “I’ve been reading The Ethnic Cleansing of Palestine by Ilan Pappé,” she tells me. “And It’s Not That Radical… by Mikaela Loach, who has become a friend. She opened my eyes to how the Global South is affected in acute ways by the powers-that-be. It’s important for me to learn as a pop artist in this industry. I want to stand for the right things and I want to advocate for the people who need a platform.” 

“I have to plug Avoidance, Drugs, Heartbreak and Dogs.” Jade continues her list of recs, referring to her partner (one-half of indie-rap duo Rizzle Kicks) Jordan Stephen’s coming-of-age memoir; a searing, often humorous excavation of his experience living with ADHD. “I read the finished book like everyone else. It opened my eyes to what men go through in silence. I’ve never had an ADHD partner before, so I had to do the work.” Earlier this year, the pair celebrated their four-year anniversary. Stephens’ impact on Jade is palpable; he eased her concerns about going solo, and they even wrote new material together. More than that, she credits Stephens with being her biggest champion. “Jordan is not intimidated by what I do,” she shares. “He loves being with a powerful woman in the industry, and I can’t tell you how rare that is. Jordan is pure chaos and I’m more calm. I needed someone to compliment me.” 

Jade is in a creatively fertile, high-yield chapter of her life. There’s an abundance of music she’s drip-feeding to the public, the anticipation mounting in a prolonged but carefully-staged build-up to a debut solo album landing next year. “I’m fine-tuning everything and thinking of possible collaborations as we speak,” she shares. “But I’m eager to get back into the studio again. I’m feeling energised.” It took some adjusting, but she’s embracing being a mutable pop star in a functional, fan-centric era. “Back then, it was all about the singles, and they had to do well. Now, there’s a certain freedom about releasing because you can drop when you want. If something doesn’t land, that’s fine, just drop something else.” 

In her ever-evolving, shifting reality, Jade is staking her claim as our next solo pop star. And she won’t settle for anything less than doing the absolute most. “The entire process of making this album has been about honouring who I truly am,” she concludes. “I want the listener to feel empowered the way I’ve been empowered. I want them to feel you can be multiple things at once. I’m an outspoken pop girlie, I want to prod the bear and push boundaries. I want people to feel it’s safe here, to truly be themselves.” 

—

As seen in CLASH Issue 129. Order your copy here.

—