Few bands turn self-loathing into anthems quite like Crywank. The UK-based anti-folk project, led by Jay Clayton with Daniel Watson on drums and Jules Noel on bass, has built a cult following through their brutally honest songwriting. Their music swings between humor and despair—sometimes in the same breath—blending intricate acoustic melodies with lyrics that feel like late-night overthinking sessions set to music. And while their records feel intensely personal, seeing them live is something else entirely. There’s an unpredictability, an unfiltered connection between band and audience that makes a Crywank show feel more like a communal experience than a standard gig. Their stop in Southampton was no exception.
Johnny Foreigner kicked things off with their signature mix of jittery indie rock and breakneck mathy riffs, their sound bursting with a nervous energy that kept the crowd moving from the first note. Between songs, they kept things lively with their quick-witted stage banter, throwing out quips and even taking playful jabs at Southampton’s football team (earning them a mix of groans and laughs from the audience). Their setlist was the perfect balance of fan-favorites and deeper cuts, with songs like "Johnny Foreigner Vs You," "Cranes and Cranes and Cranes and Cranes," and "A Sea to Scream At" coming through with a mix of nostalgia and urgency. Their ability to seamlessly switch between frenetic, almost chaotic instrumentation and soaring, melodic moments made for an electric opening set. By the time they wrapped up with "Okay 1 More!", the room was buzzing, fully primed for the headliner.
Then, Crywank took the stage, and everything shifted. The trio—best known for their brutally honest, self-deprecating anti-folk—immediately made it feel less like a concert and more like a weird, wonderful gathering of like-minded people. Clayton’s presence was both vulnerable and effortlessly funny, making the performance feel personal in a way that few bands can achieve.
The setlist spanned their extensive discography, kicking off with "Now I’m Sad (Boo Hoo)" before rolling through classics like "I Am a Familiar Creak in Your Floorboards" and "It’s OK, I Wouldn’t Remember Me Either." Each song carried its own weight, some more delicate and introspective, others spiraling into moments of frenzied energy. Even as Clayton poured their heart out in each song, there was a playfulness to the way they interacted with the crowd—at one point, they restarted a song after messing it up, but rather than getting frustrated, they laughed it off, making the mistake part of the experience.
That connection with the audience only deepened as the set went on. Fans swayed along, occasionally calling out jokes and compliments, including one person who called their songwriting "poetic." Clayton, never one to take themselves too seriously, responded by casually mentioning that one of the songs they had just played contained a quote from Invader Zim. It’s that kind of contrast—profound introspection colliding with absurd humor—that makes Crywank so uniquely endearing.
Even offstage, the sense of community was palpable. Rather than disappearing backstage after their set, Clayton spent time at the merch table, chatting with fans as if they were old friends. That accessibility, combined with the deeply personal nature of their music, reinforced the feeling that Crywank isn’t just a band—it’s an experience, one that thrives on the connection between artist and audience.
The night ended with "I Am in Great Pain, Please Help Me," a fittingly cathartic closer that left the room buzzing. As the final notes rang out, there was a collective sense of release—a moment where sadness, humor, and raw energy all coexisted in the best possible way. Walking out of the venue, you could tell that everyone had been part of something that felt personal, whether they came for the sad songs, the humor, or just to scream along with strangers. Crywank’s music may be steeped in self-doubt, but their live show proves time and time again that they’ve built something truly special.
Words: Jason De Medonca
Photos: Becca Wheeler
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