Romy, Mid Air review: The xx singer’s debut album is a lightning bolt of queer bliss

Joy and pain make brilliant partners on the dancefloor, and this is a truth that Romy Madley Croft not only understands but commands. She is a third of the force behind The xx’s soft-focused,  R’n’B hymnals; her voice, so unmistakably her own, has always carried an intimate tension that could bring you closer to other bodies as well as to yourself. In the six years since the trio’s latest record I See You, her bandmates Jamie xx and Oliver Sim have released solo records, natural expansions of their own particular magic – but when it comes to Romy, we’ve had to wait.

Her 2020 debut single “Lifetime” arrived in the end-times to give us a breathless rush of euphoria, brushing fingertips with 90s rave nostalgia to evoke a sense of togetherness in isolation. It was a statement of intent that Romy then shied away from, receding into the shadows to write hits for Mark Ronson, Dua Lipa and King Princess as a devoted student of the dancefloor. Now, finally, Mid Air is here, a love letter to the otherworldly freedom of the club.

It all begins with “Love Her”, produced by titan of the dancefloor Fred Again, one of Romy’s closest collaborators on the record, who beautifully mirrors her instinct for tenderness. “It’s not that I’m not proud/ In the company of strangers/ It’s just/ Some things are for us,” she ventures cautiously, not from a place of shame but from an introvert’s protection of her inner world. But as the beat transmutes into an ode to Balearic trance, she begins to lose herself with it; her voice becomes feather-light, weightless to the point of becoming altogether free. It strikes a perfect balance of emotion and danceability.

Romy cut her teeth DJing in London’s queer clubs as a teenager, and on this record she gives herself permission to write a happy ending – not only for herself, but for the love stories on those dancefloors – without being mired by shame or punishment. Each track follows her falling a little more deeply in love with “her”, rather than the vague outlines of “we” and “you” as is the preserve of The xx.

“Weightless”, assisted by Stuart Price, who collaborated on Madonna’s Confessions on a Dancefloor, draws on transportive, teeth-chattering synths that bottle a lightning bolt of queer bliss. “Enjoy Your Life”, produced by Jamie xx, is part disco-driven floor filler, part defiant manifesto. “I don’t care anymore/ Think I’m in love/ With her” is the realisation Romy finally reaches on closer “She’s On My Mind”.

It’s an album that captures that headrush of hard-earned ecstasy, and Romy makes it so easy to surrender to it.