There’s a magic in Jacob Alon’s words.
Last Friday saw the Sunny transformed into an other-wordly realm through the mesmerising indie-folk sound of Scottish singer-songwriter Jacob Alon. I regrettably missed Pem’s opening set (time blindness is real). However, their infectious energy was not lost on the crowd; a faint buzz fuelled by great music (and booze) hung in the air in anticipation for Jacob’s one-of-a-kind performance. Jacob’s entrance at 9pm flooded a new warmth into the room. Soft-spoken and sweet smiles, they’re somebody who wears their soul on their sleeve.
It goes without saying that performing on a stage surrounded by eager gig-goers is an incredibly intimidating feat. In this vein, Jacob’s announcement that they weren’t having the best of days was incredibly refreshing to hear. By opening up emotionally to the audience, Jacob deepened their vulnerability onstage while remaining authentic. Their words quietened the crowd, potentially stirring inspiration to forsake “the show must go on” mentality for integrity. I went to this gig sober and solo, so Jacob’s efforts to reassure the crowd that we were in a safe space were well and truly needed.
In fact, Jacob Alon’s show was perfect for those longing for the live music experience but perhaps without the company to bring with them. I’m often guilty of dragging friends along to gigs with me (thank you Saabiriin), but there is no harm in enjoying live music solo. I often feel more connected to an artist when I’m alone, and the experience feels more unique to me in a way. And in a cosy venue united by a love for music, you’d be far from feeling alone in the Sunflower Lounge.
Jacob Alon’s ethereal voice, accompanied by their guitar, beautifully entwined feelings of angst, love and awakening, emotions that define the queer experience. Jacob is a talent that deserves to be known, and I felt particularly grateful for the opportunity to hear their music live. “Zathura” was one of my personal favourites, a song about their childhood pet chicken, named after the 2005 sci-fi movie. I also love that film, and songs dedicated to pets always strike me deeply — I’ve cried to Lorde’s “Big Star” more times than I can count. The unconditional love you have for your pet, sewn with the childhood nostalgia of growing up with them by your side, is a unique kind of love not always professed in song. “Liquid Gold 25” also struck a chord with me, a tale of navigating queer identity against the rampant tide of hook-up culture and hedonism that has enveloped our generation. Queer loneliness is a truly raw experience that any queer person can relate to.
The fairy-tale-esque storytelling of Jacob’s music particularly stood out to me. My main thought during their set was how I’d liken their lyricism to poetry. As if having heard my thoughts, Jacob read aloud an original poem of theirs, to the gentle strumming of their guitar, tying together their talent for writing with a remarkable stage presence. The refrain “just five more minutes” conjured up messy nights out remembered with rose-tinted glasses, platonic love reserved for your best friends, and the feeling of reeling off life in your twenties. Every nostalgic fibre in my body wants just five more minutes back at uni with my friends, before the world of never-ending applications and LinkedIn. Jacob’s brilliant, heart-wrenching writing and beautiful voice brought the magic of Fife straight to Brum’s best indie venue, and has stayed with me ever since.