REVIEW: JD Cliffe - misfit.

JD Cliffe’s debut EP ‘Misfit’ opens with intention. This isn’t a project trying to win over everyone or play it safe. It’s a body of work that swings between grime, punk, R&B, and indie without asking for permission. JD Cliffe is done playing nice.

If you’ve followed JD Cliffe’s rise from northwest London’s underground to now, you’ll know that compromise has never been his thing. His music’s always been about pushing at edges and refusing to settle. On ‘Misfit’, that refusal becomes the whole point. He said it himself last year:

“One day, I just woke up and said, ‘You’ve got to express yourself in whatever way you want.’”

That directness runs through everything here. The EP isn’t polished or smooth. It’s raw and scrappy and emotional in a way that feels deliberate. This is a project that’s meant to sound like it’s being built in real time. You can hear decisions being made on the spot, vocals stretching against production that sometimes fights back, and lyrics that feel like they’ve been pulled from a live wire. The result is an EP that carries real urgency; even when it misses, it’s swinging hard.

‘Buss Ur Head’ already made noise last year. It was loud, abrasive, and totally fun, crashing thrashy guitar riffs into grime bars with zero restraint. That energy continues through ‘Misfit’ in waves. Some tracks explode instantly. Others unravel. ‘Don’t Let Me Go’ is the core of the record. It’s where Cliffe shows how much ground he can cover without losing his grip. Soft, spaced-out vocals drift over instrumentals that feel like they’re ready to burst apart at any second. It’s got tenderness, but also bite. He pleads with a partner not to “crush my ego” or “break my heart,” and then swerves straight into a shot at “fuck boys talking online all day” who idolise Andrew Tate. It’s personal, then political, then completely vulnerable again, Cliffe never lingers in one mood long.

There’s a risk in trying to do this much on a debut, but Cliffe pulls most of it off because he doesn’t force it. ‘On My Mind’ strips everything back. No double-time flow, no punchlines, no noise. Just a quiet, two-minute track where he lets his voice sit in the space and be heard. It’s the kind of song that a lot of rappers wouldn’t even attempt, but Cliffe makes it work because it doesn’t feel like he’s trying to prove something. He’s just being honest. Same goes for ‘In Arms’, which sounds like it was recorded in a half-lit room and barely touched after. There’s a fragility to it, but also control. The track doesn’t build to anything big, it just sits in the moment. It doesn’t need to be more than that.

Then the energy spikes again. ‘It’s Up’ hits like caffeine. Maths Time Joy’s production cooks up a hot mess of distorted guitars, slamming percussion, and flashes of electronic noise. Cliffe raps fast, tight, and slightly unhinged, like he’s fighting the beat and enjoying it. He says he’s “the face of the movement” for indie-grime, which might sound like a reach until you actually hear what he’s doing. It’s grime, but it’s also not. There’s guitar distortion, structure pulled from punk, and a melodic layer that R&B artists would usually claim. It’s messy, but it works. That’s the EP’s biggest strength, it knows how to sit in chaos.

Lead single ‘Lying To My Face’ probably sums up the project best. It’s sharp, direct, and carries this steady emotional pulse underneath. “It’s OK / I’ll make it anyway” becomes less of a lyric and more of a mantra by the time it fades out. You can hear it in Cliffe’s voice, he means that line. The production never overpowers the message, which makes it hit harder. You can throw this track on in any mood and it’ll connect. That’s rare.

There’s one weak point. ‘Hills Have Eyes’ featuring DRAM feels like it wandered in from a different project. DRAM is usually great, but his contribution here feels muted and misplaced. Cliffe brings energy, but the beat never lifts off and the track just sits there. It’s not terrible, but it doesn’t do anything that the rest of the EP isn’t already doing better. Lyrically, too, Cliffe’s usually sharp pen takes a dip here. Lines like “Life is hard like BBL” and “Treat it like contactless, I gotta tap” sound like placeholders. He’s proven he can write with more depth than that, so these bars stick out for the wrong reasons.

But even with the slip-up, the record doesn’t lose its shape. It’s supposed to be a little rough. It’s called ‘Misfit’ for a reason. Cliffe isn’t trying to be the cleanest, most consistent artist out. He’s trying to reflect what it feels like to not belong, to push against form and see what happens. That gives him space to try ideas that don’t always land, but that’s part of what keeps the project alive.

There’s real personality here, which you can’t fake. Too many debut projects feel overthought or stuck in trends. This one doesn’t.

Production-wise, there’s a nice balance. Some songs are full and aggressive. Others are stripped down to almost nothing. That shift gives the EP a pace that feels unpredictable but never aimless. It moves quickly, without losing momentum. And Cliffe’s voice holds it all together, versatile enough to change shape across genres, but always recognisable. He doesn’t rely on features or guest producers to carry the load. Apart from DRAM, this is his show.

There’s also something important about how this project feels emotionally. A lot of UK rap still leans into bravado and performance, which has its place. But Cliffe lets his insecurities breathe. He talks about heartbreak, disappointment, mental pressure, without sounding self-pitying. There’s a line between emotional honesty and oversharing, and he walks it well. When he talks about ego, it’s not in the abstract. You believe him. And when he flexes, it doesn’t sound empty because you’ve heard the vulnerability, too.

You can hear the years of underground grind in these tracks. You can hear the late nights, the missed calls, the moments where he probably nearly quit. That gives the music weight. It’s not coming from a place of theory, it’s coming from lived experience. And you don’t need to know his full backstory to feel it. The music does the talking.

Cliffe isn’t trying to save UK rap or reinvent punk or chase radio. He’s just trying to say something that feels real to him, in the way that feels right. That’s it. That’s the whole play. And it works.

‘Misfit’ isn’t perfect. It’s not trying to be. That’s what makes it good. It’s the kind of project that you can throw on and hear something new each time. It’s short enough to loop and messy enough to reward repetition. It’s raw, but it’s alive. And that’s a lot rarer than it should be.

If JD Cliffe sticks to this course, experimenting without overreaching, staying emotionally grounded without turning sentimental, and trusting his own instincts, he’s going to keep making music that matters. Maybe not always to everyone. But definitely to anyone who’s ever felt like a misfit themselves. And that’s worth a lot more than fitting in.