THERE is a song on Arooj Aftab’s new album called “Whiskey”. In keeping with the overall theme of Night Reign, it’s more about deciphering the mysterious codes of the nighttime – do they really like you or are they just drunk? – than it is about Aftab’s love of whisky. But she wants to make it clear that she does also love whisky. “I really like Macallan,” she confides. “I want them to endorse me, but they only endorse very old-fashioned men, the kind of Rotary Club guy. Actually, they’re like, ‘We don’t need to endorse you – you basically buy so much Macallan, we’re fine.’ I like a good Scotch, but lately all my whisky-drinking friends have switched to mezcal for some reason. They say it’s way smoother, the hangover is less and it’s less crazy.” She looks unconvinced. “Less crazy?
Has anyone ever seen me after two things of tequila? I’m a maniac.”
There are few artists you’d rather spend a sunny afternoon in London with than Arooj Aftab. Far from the dubiously exoticised “Sufi goddess” of some write-ups, she’s much more complex and intriguing and real: a singer with a devastating voice making adventurous music of rarified beauty who also swears like a trooper, enjoys a drink and can hold forth entertainingly on topics ranging from 18th-century poets to Netflix comedies.