RIP Danielle Moore: Crazy P's beloved figurehead who personified the power of dancing

Before Crazy P’s Danielle Moore was a singer or a songwriter or a DJ, she was a dancer. On her own or with a posse, she danced. Everything she subsequently went on to do, sprung from this one simple, but meaningful, act.

Dani – who passed away on August 30 – brought all of that experience to every stage performance she ever did. She believed in the idea of dancing as a deliberate act of community or a salve for personal anguish and the numerous benefits that came with moving together on a dancefloor. It was this experience that enabled a shy and otherwise under-confident woman to perform as though she owned the stage. “I often think of myself as a dancer,” she once told me. “And what would I want to hear now? What would make me dance? This feeling that you don’t have to speak when you’re dancing. It’s an unspoken language. You don’t have to be anyone to dance. You can you can be anyone and everyone.” She knew, instinctively.

That’s where it all began for Danielle Moore. Marooned in a sports marketing job she didn’t like or believe in, dancing was her release, firstly at The Haçienda – a life-forming experience – and subsequently anywhere in Manchester that looked fun (but especially the Electric Chair). Her first gig was in her bedroom, the room two of a shared house after-hours spot, where she’d play records, goof about and do Shirley Bassey impersonations. A duo then called Crazy Penis, noticed and asked her to audition as their singer. “I’ll be honest with you, I was shitting it,” she told me. “I’d never been in that environment before.”

Three hours later, they’d written their first song together, the appropriately named ‘You Started Something’ (which currently has more than 1 million streams on Spotify).

The band have been a tight knit unit ever since and are now eight albums deep. As families go, they were definitely more Shameless than the Kardashians, but that’s what made them so approachable as an act, and as people. Of course, they’ve always had an ear for tune, but the true secret of Crazy P’s success was this friendship. Most bands of a certain vintage are usually demanding their own dressing rooms and talking to each other via lawyers, yet Crazy P actually seemed to like each other. “It feels like a bit of a family affair, that’s for sure,” Chris ‘Toddy’ Todd, told me recently. “Of course, we have our moments and that’s normal. But we love hanging out, love going on the road, especially with the band. It’s like traveling with your best mates.” It’s also what makes Dani’s death feel even more poignant, and so hard to process.

Although the real life Danielle Moore was nothing like her prowling, domineering stage persona, it’s been thrilling over the years to see her grow into an incredible performer, a significant ingredient in the band’s success, particularly as a live entity. A key part of that was what she wore, which became increasingly bold, colourful and brash. It was her armour. “It is about the performance,” she argued. “It’s feeling like what I’m wearing is stepping into my alter ego and doing something that I don’t do in everyday life. The costumes recently have made me feel really feminine or really bold or really strong so it’s a statement for sure. I’ve had a little help recently with a friend who’s been amazing so I think it’s really important that you step into something as a front-person on stage that makes you feel good.”

Over the past few years, Danielle’s anger and frustration at what was happening in the world had become much more pronounced, particularly post-Brexit. Her personal account on Instagram became a platform for anguished outrage at how the UK was being governed, against racism, and, more recently, the genocide in Gaza, something that was expressed most vividly in her lyrics which had become increasingly political, as on ‘We Will Fuck You Up’ (the title says it all) or ‘The Witness’: “Fuck this shit / The robots are in power Come give another hour,” she sings expressively.

“You’re not gonna change it in your lifetime,” she said. “But it’s really about spreading love from a small place.”

This little story she told me about her early days at the Haçienda, perfectly sums up her sense of fun and love of dancing. “One night, I felt the urge to dance downstairs and no-one else was dancing apart from me and this girl,” she said. “We kept looking at each other and glancing and I was like, ‘Yeah!’ and really going for it with fancy footwork and stuff. After about half an hour, I went to shake hands with her. It was a full-length mirror."

In our last recorded conversation a couple of months ago, she was already looking to the future. “There’s a lot more to come,” she told me, “and I love that. I love that I’ve not tapped into a lot of stuff. I love the fact that I’m growing in confidence.” The tragedy is we’ll never see the product of that growing confidence.

When her death was announced on Monday morning, the outpouring of love was universal, because anyone who had ever known or even fleetingly met Danielle all had the same experience. "She gave us so much and we love her so much," said her bandmates. "One of the most beautiful souls has left us," wrote Róisín Murphy, who Crazy P recently supported. “One of the best in music, an amazing person and an amazing singer, performer and songwriter. She touched everybody she met with light and love." The feelings expressed by all her met her said the same.

Danielle Moore was an unforgettable woman, generous, empathetic, engaged, often hilarious and always friendly. The world she’s left behind seems smaller and less kind without her in it.

Bill Brewster is a DJ and writer, follow him on Twitter