JADE Plays the Game | Paste Magazine

“Through the Wire,” “Royals,” “Video Games,” “Losing My Edge,” “Galang,” fucking “Tik Tok.” These are the brilliant debut singles that have helped shape the last 25 years of music. We can add “Angel of My Dreams,” the inaugural glimpse of Jade Thirlwall’s solo career after the dissolution of her longtime band, Little Mix, to that list now, too. With this current era of focus-group pop banality both rampant and oversaturated, “Angel of My Dreams” is bonkers, zig-zagging through strips of falsetto, vibrating electroclash, and Sandie Shaw’s nearly unrecognizable voice, which gets doubled, halved, chopped, screwed, and funneled into a synthesizer across the first three minutes of That’s Showbiz Baby!’s splashy maximalism.

By the time she wrote “Angel of My Dreams,” Jade was fed up with searching for her first single. “I knew I wanted to do something a bit crazy, but it was really hard getting in the room with people that were willing to not write what they thought would be a radio hit or TikTok viral moment,” she tells me, sitting in her home in London. “I was struggling to find people who were willing to push it.” She’d been in Los Angeles for too long, coming in and out of writing sessions that yielded no results. “I was in a really foul mood when I turned up to the studio.” The stars aligned when Mike Sabath, Pablo Bowman, and Steph Jones got in a room together, after Sabath showed up late and Bowman and Jones brought their own grievances into the studio. “The head of [RCA] had just left, so I was freaking out about that and what that would mean for me as an artist. I was sick of the industry,” Jade remembers. “But we were all in a good enough bad mood to write a song like ‘Angel of My Dreams,’ because we were mourning about the industry.”

Most Popular

She didn’t want to write about love in the typical sense, but as her truth—a woman in her thirties who’d spent, by then, the first decade of adulthood in a toxic relationship with show-business, in a group formed on The X Factor UK in 2011. Jade wanted to write about, as she puts it, “that love-hate, almost tragic desperation that I have to be loved and accepted in the industry.” So it started with a sample of Shaw’s “Puppet on a String” (one of two samples on That’s Showbiz Baby!, the other being the Supremes’ “Stop! In the Name of Love” on “Before You Break My Heart,” in a clip of young Jade singing the chorus), which Jade had tried using in a Little Mix song for years. “We always resented that statement in the press, ‘Oh, they’re just manufactured puppets,’” she admits. “To a degree, I guess we came from an entertainment show and we were put together. It’s semi-true, I was a bit of a puppet, but we always resented it, because we did write our own music. We did stand the test of time. We worked so hard to become credible.” Then came the “I will always love you and hate you, it’s not fair” chorus.

Jade wanted to make a “Frankenstein pop record that no other artists could do” by fusing Motown and Clubland compilations together. She and Sabath, Bowman, and Jones changed the tempo and pitched-up the vocal, because they “wanted it to sound desperate and sad but with this crazy beat.” If you don’t know about Sandie Shaw, you’d never know she was being sampled. Jade was, at first, resistant to getting personal in the verses. “But then I was like, ‘Fuck it, I’ve written so many songs. I’m just going to tell it how it is.’ Honestly, I thought the label would be like, ‘This is mental, no way.’ But to my delight, everyone was like, ‘Oh, my God, you found it. This is the one.’ The relief was everything. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write another ‘Angel of My Dreams,’ because it really was just one of those once in a lifetime moments. It’s the most ‘me’ a song could ever sound.”

Jade has been unraveling the threads of That’s Showbiz Baby! at her own pace, releasing six singles since July 2024. She calls the strategy “sexy edging,” noting that it’s her way of keeping both the longtime Little Mix fans and new listeners equally engaged. “For new fans, they need to hear more music before they invest in it, whereas the old fans will, arguably, be there the whole time, even if they do moan about the album taking so long,” she says, with a grin. She’s been slowly unlearning herself from the recurring pace to which she and her Little Mix bandmates were conditioned to make albums. “I’ve been on that hamster wheel for over a decade, so I’ve really struggled to understand that it doesn’t have to be like that. I do think, for my next record, I will just get it out.” But for That’s Showbiz Baby!, she’s setting a tone, letting her versatility color the statement she wants to make as a soloist. That’s why she’s drip-fed her audience with “Angel of My Dreams,” “It Girl,” “FUFN (Fuck You For Now),” “Plastic Box,” “Midnight Cowboy,” and “Fantasy” for 14 months.

The randomness of her singles afforded Jade a chance to give away parts of herself without being pigeonholed. She was passionate about that, she says, regardless of the consequence. “I’ve done the years of pandering to what I think is a big #1 here, what’s going to work on the radio. I’ve done all that. I’ve clocked that game,” she elaborates. “This is just about me creating stuff that I love.” She could have followed “Angel of My Dreams” with the techno sauce of “It Girl,” because it would have made the most sense sonically, but following a hyper-pop song with a “disco-infused towny song” like “Fantasy” and, then, counteracting that with a “big pop banger” like “FUFN” felt like a more radical, interesting option. “I was intrigued to see what people thought of each thing, because it’s new for me, too,” she says. “It’s all about owning that for myself and not being pushed into any creative decisions I didn’t want to do.”

After Little Mix’s record-setting final Confetti Tour show at the The O2 Arena in London, Jade returned to her flat, sat on the sofa, opened up her diary, and found nothing in it. “I was so scared, because my whole adult life, I’d had at least a year’s worth of diary mapped out for me,” she says. “I was feeling like I didn’t know how to exist outside of that group.” So, in an effort to make herself busy, she went on trips with friends and traveled to whatever city her boyfriend, singer Jordan Stephens, was performing in. “In my head, I was like, ‘Okay, I’m going to quickly write a record. I’m going to put it out there. I have to stay relevant and jump on the hype of the band going on a hiatus.’ But thank God I didn’t, because I listened back to some of that music and was like, ‘Wow, that really was just another Little Mix record.’” And in an effort to avoid retreating into the “universal blanket” that covered the group’s music, Jade forced herself to rediscover the music she loved before The X-Factor. “Little Mix was all about girl power and sisterhood and ‘fuck boys.’ I was like, ‘Well, that’s kind of not my truth anymore,’” she admits. “What do I want to say? It was being in the industry, falling in love, battling my own inner demons.”

14 years ago, Jade, Perrie Edwards, Leigh-Anne Pinnock, and Jesy Nelson all auditioned for The X-Factor as solo artists but failed to make it beyond the show’s “bootcamp” installment. They were then put into two separate groups, Orion and Faux Pas, but failed at that, too. On their third chance, the judges—Kelly Rowland, Gary Barlow, Tulisa, and Louis Walsh—paired the four girls together and called them Rhythmix. After a dispute with a Brighton-based children’s music charity of the same name, the group renamed itself Little Mix in the middle of the competition and, two months later, became the first of its kind to win the series. Their debut single, a cover of Damien Rice’s “Cannonball,” topped the UK Singles Chart a week later and signed with Simon Cowell’s Syco Music label.

Little Mix released six albums in eight years before announcing its hiatus four years ago. Nelson, who left the group in 2020 to mental health concerns, released an embarrassingly hackneyed and obtuse debut single two months earlier. Pinnock released her debut EP, No Hard Feelings, in 2024, while Edwards’ debut album is due later this month. “How often was having a solo career on your mind when Little Mix was still going?” I ask Jade. “Very, originally,” she says. “But, honestly, the minute we got put together, it just went away. It felt right, and I never questioned it for the next ten years. And I think, towards the end, we all started thinking, ‘Oh, might be nice to do our own thing at some point.’” She loved being in a girl band, like the Pussycat Dolls and Destiny’s Child. “For me, at 18, I couldn’t see myself in that kind of group, because I was so nerdy and innocent. I worried about bitchiness or girls fighting for the spotlight. I had my qualms about it but, once I got put with the girls, it changed, because we were all on the same wavelength and we all wanted to be equal.”

Jade was a co-writer on dozens of Little Mix songs, and being in writer’s rooms with many voices was imperative to her career, she says, because she learned “how to adapt to different personalities.” It taught her how to thrive in a collaborative environment, but, for her solo music, she had to learn how to become the main character in every room—to advocate for herself and what she wants to make, after years of Little Mix getting “back into a corner” and pushed towards creative decisions they didn’t fully agree with. “And that took a minute, to be honest, especially when you’re writing with huge producers or songwriters. You can shrink or, if they’re a big personality, you can allow them to take over. But any failure is always better coming from you.” She had “speed-dating sessions” with producers and writers. Some of them were fine, but most of them didn’t lead to much. “But it was essential,” she clarifies, “to find my people who I love working with the most and who make me feel like I can totally be myself and push myself. You can hear that in the album—it’s quite a loud, bolshy, chaotic record.”

But before pivoting to her solo material, Jade explored K-pop co-writes. After working on the TWICE song “First Time” in 2021, band member Nayeon invited Jade to write for her debut EP, Im Nayeon, a year later. She and Erika de Casier, who worked on the last NewJeans album, have made the crossover into K-pop, but American musicians haven’t quite followed suit, despite Pitchfork‘s declaration that Little Mix “captured K-pop’s spirit better than any other Western girl group” four years ago. Jade’s writing in particular stood out, as “Candyfloss” struts with remnants of her own fantasies. “The thing I love most about K-pop is there just seems to be a lot more freedom within it. Pop isn’t a guilty pleasure in the K-pop world. People fucking love it and they appreciate whatever weird shit you throw at the wall, Jade says. “And even when it’s not crazy, they just appreciate pop in any form.” The other girls in Little Mix weren’t fans like her, but she still sees people speak on the group’s culture-blending influence.

SINCE 2019, JADE HAS been gradually rediscovering her Arabic heritage. Her grandfather was Yemeni, her grandmother Egyptian. She never met the latter, and the former passed away when she was 13. “Up until that point, I had a lot of his culture in my life,” she reveals. “He sent me to Arabic school to learn Arabic but, when he died, that whole part of myself died with him. My mom and all of his kids were living in a town up north, and it was very old-fashioned. I think they just wanted to fit in, so they all suppressed their identity a bit.” As a teenager, Jade held resentment for her otherness—for being one of the only brown kids at her Catholic school and getting bullied for it. “That made me feel shame about who I was,” she confesses. “When I became famous at 18 I was put in this band. Nobody knew what I was. I didn’t bring it up, because all I’d known in my teenage years was to be targeted for that. It was scary enough as it was, being put in a famous group at that age—never mind proclaiming my Arab heritage. All I’d really seen in the media was negative stereotypes, so it scared me a bit. I’ve carried that with me my whole adult life—shame for not being the representation that I’m sure many fans needed. And what I needed, as well.”

But it’s getting better. She’s tapping into her roots and relearning Arabic. She’s learning more about her grandparents. “It’s been so beautiful for me to do that again. I feel more in my skin. I feel more comfortable.” She had to undo a lot of conditioning. Her knowledge of beauty standards had been manipulated by the music industry. “The first thing [The X-Factor] did when I got put in the group was blow-dry my hair,” she says. “I remember a photoshoot and they changed my nose in photoshop. I never deemed myself as naturally beautiful.” Now, as a solo artist, Jade is embracing her natural hair and relishing any opportunity to “show people who I am and be proud of that, the representation that I wish I’d had growing up.” During her BBC Radio1 Live Lounge set last autumn, she adapted Chase & Status and Stormzy’s “Backbone” to reflect her Geordie and Arabic identity, even filling some verses with Arabic language. “I was inspired by Elyanna, a Palestinian artist,” Jade recalls. “She did a show in London, singing mostly in Arabic, and it was a sell-out show. I was like, ‘Oh, my God, this was here all along. I just never was taken to those spaces.’”

For that same Live Lounge performance, she brought “Fantasy” to life by totally reshaping it, replacing beats and stacked harmonies with violins and background singers. And, as the song unfolds, her streaking falsetto erupts across the front of the mix instead of the background. I ask her about what role reinvention plays in her methodology, and she calls herself a “student of pop.” “I don’t want to get bored, either, but at the same time, I can read the room,” she continues. “I’ll know if an audience just wants the normal versional of a song. But in a space like Live Lounge, that’s my opportunity to totally rework something and show people my artistry—show people that I’m not just going to do a standard cover or singalong. That’s not what I do.” The approach serves as a reminder: Jade is a vocalist. It’s also a bit of fan service—an opportunity to prove to her diehard fans that, every time they buy a ticket to a different show, they’re getting a different show.

When “Fantasy” came out, Jade sold on-theme butt plugs as merch, along with a jockstrap, her biggest-selling store item. Why a butt plug? “Why not?” she says. “‘Fantasy’ is about sexual liberation, of course there’s a butt plug. I know my audience, and I gotta give the people what they want. I have fun with it.” But it’s not about selling butt plugs, it’s about the expression that comes by making them in the first place. For “Fantasy,” a kink-positive song that refuses shame, Jade also made color-coded bandanas for every kink signal. “I don’t think Little Mix could have brought out a butt plug,” she laughs. “I’ll just put in my team’s group chat, ‘Guys, I’m thinking of doing a lube for “Fantasy,”’ and I can just see them rolling their eyes.”

Jade’s all-inclusive merch table is a mirror to her solidarity entirely. Since Little Mix, the LGBTQIA+ community has rallied behind her and her music, and she’s reciprocated that affection by working in service and tribute to queer voices and queer culture. “When I perform, I see what music means and how it can make someone feel,” she says. “It’s been a part of me since I was a little girl.” She grew up in South Shields, Tyne and Wear, in a northern, working-class town with “a bit old-fashioned views.” But she and her family would take their holidays in Benidorm, where she got her first taste of drag culture. “I was like, ‘That’s the thing I want to be into. They’re so much better than my dolls I’ve got at home. These divas are it. That’s what I want to be when I grow up.’”

She continues, “I was always in musical theater spaces and, especially where I’m from, it was a well-kept secret that so many of those people were from the community but maybe afraid to come out. As a teenager, I understood the meaning of that. Maybe through me feeling like an outsider too, as an Arab girl in a white space, I understood that feeling. When I moved to London when I was 18, my gay friends took me out, so I was heavily involved in the queer club space. That’s how I became a woman. It was all a very basic-bitch allyship of turning up the spaces but not really understanding the importance of that. So it was important to educate myself and learn how to be better and use my voice—not to speak for the community, but to stand beside them. If I get it wrong, I’m happy to be told that, so I can learn from it. My solo music, it’s predominantly for the LGBTQ community. I wouldn’t be as successful as I am if it weren’t for that. And I’m aware of that and I’m grateful for that. And, honestly, if that’s the only fan base that I have for the rest of my career, fucking fantastic. I don’t care. That’s it.”

Jade isn’t afraid of melodrama or high-diva excess. That’s Showbiz Baby! is provocative, heavy on contrasting ideas, tastefully egotistical, and ripe with shit-talk. The title itself reads like an aside, like a mogul slagging off a wide-eyed singer’s concerns; “Natural at Disaster” sounds like a diss aimed at Jesy Nelson. And, in a music industry where cringe is the most-feared currency of all, Jade’s embrace of playful, purposeful pop music feels more sincere than ever. “I am quite a dramatic person,” she says. “My brain’s very chaotic. I think I live for the drama. And, as a pure pop fan, more is more for me. I want the costumes, I want the choreography. I want the artist to mean something, I want them to have a strong identity. I want all of it.” That translates best in her juxtapositions, like “Natural at Disaster,” a “rude song” with innocent-sounding production, or charging the emotional upheaval of “Plastic Box” with cunty beats. “Unconditional,” a song about Jade’s mom’s mental illnesses, is full of euphoric, sugary disco—a real tits-shaking number, if you will. “Every single song on the album is something I’ve wanted to say, and sometimes it does feel quite vulnerable,” Jade says. “That’s my way of expressing myself, which translates in real life, too. If I’m telling someone about my traumas, I’ll probably laugh while I tell you. That’s my vibe, and the music should be no different.”

That vibe bursts open on “Plastic Box” especially, which Jade wrote (with Lauren Aquilina) at the beginning of her relationship with Stephens five years ago. “I was obsessed with him,” she admits. “I was freaking out that he wasn’t obsessed with me yet. I was at his house, and I found love letters he’d sent to one of his exes about how in love he was [with her] at first sight. I was spiraling. And, instead of telling him what I’d seen, I wrote that song.” It was important for her to do that, to include a toxic viewpoint on her album. “You want someone all for yourself like they’ve never been in love with anybody else,” she concedes. “Obviously, now I’ve healed and I’ve done the work on myself. But I was really in my own head, because I hadn’t had feelings like that before. All the big pop artists we’ve loved over the years are the ones where we’ve seen their vulnerability in their music. They’ve all had that moment where they’re so much more than just a girl with a shiny costume on, dancing on stage.”

Jade is a pop diva now, an “it girl,” as That’s Showbiz Baby! suggests. I ask her what a label like that means. “It means you have to give your life to it,” she says, without hesitation. “We’re the superheroes of the pop space. The people need us, especially when you’re younger.” She remembers not just the walls in her childhood bedroom being covered in “pop girlie posters,” but the dolls of Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, and the Spice Girls—larger-than-life vanguards who “taught me how to be a woman and how to have an opinion”—that sat on her bookshelves. “The best pop girls are the ones who play the game,” Jade notes. “You have to have that Hannah Montana vibe going on. You have to have two personalities. I don’t think any huge pop female artist is dumb. They’re all a lot smarter than people will give them credit for, especially when they’ve stood the test of time. If they know how to reinvent themselves for every era, they know their audience—and that’s down to their merch, to what they’re seen in, and how they interact with their fans. The perfect pop diva owns their shit and doesn’t shy away from their flaws.”

Perhaps an antidote to the great divide, “pop star” means the same thing in every language. In my brief lifetime, I’ve been lucky enough to see dozens of them mean the world to someone around me. You can’t really describe what that’s like. You just have to be there and remember it. “In the rock world, you have those die-hard fans that follow bands around, but I think, in pop music, communities are literally made from it,” Jade says. “So many Little Mix fans are lifelong friends now. They still come to my shows and they’ve been fans since they were eight years old. You’re a part of their childhood and then their adulthood, and I think that’s such a powerful, beautiful thing. Even now, in my thirties, me and my friends still sit and watch pop videos every single weekend. We live and breathe it. It’s integral and essential to, well, me.”

In their 10-year lifespan, the popularity of Little Mix didn’t translate so well in the United States, despite them moving 75 million units worldwide and out-selling every American girl group act in history not named the Supremes. “We never quite got over the last hurdle of breaking it. There were definitely times where we were so close but, I think for various reasons, it didn’t happen,” Jade reckons. “I don’t think it was our doing, I feel like we could have made it if we’d stayed [in America] and done more over there. I still see it now, on TikTok there’ll be a viral video of someone being like, ‘Oh, my God, you all failed Little Mix.’ And I agree.” But on her own, she won the Brit Award for Best Pop Act this year and is ascending into intercontinental relevance, and she’s being embraced by fans of her old group and Little Mix agnostics alike. “I love the idea that just my music alone is getting a reaction,” she gushes. “Every time I fly over [to the United States], I can sense it getting bigger and bigger. It’s a dream of mine to make it over there, because the Little Mix girls deserved it. I still want to do it for us.”

Matt Mitchell is Paste’s music editor, reporting from their home in Los Angeles.

COVER STORY | JADE Plays the Game

The English musician spoke with Paste about Little Mix’s hiatus, the responsibilities of being a pop diva, selling butt plugs as merch, rediscovering her Arabic heritage, and her long-awaited solo debut, That’s Showbiz Baby!