Latest news with #JacobAlon
Scotsman
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scotsman
Keeping up with the art and science of music marketing
Jacob Alon We are getting an increasing number of visitors looking for local artist recommendations, so much so that we have just created three racks of vinyl opposite our counter for people to look through all the Scottish artists we stock. Sign up to our daily newsletter Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to Edinburgh News, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... Often we are just given the names of other bands the person likes and asked if there is a Scottish equivalent. Up until now we have just given a few suggestions and left customers to look through the racks but it has certainly made things easier having all the vinyl in one place. There is a Scottish section for each letter of the alphabet in our CD racks and customers do spend time going through the racks, asking us about the various bands highlighted under each letter. Given the success with the vinyl we may move them all together as well. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Unfortunately we don't really get many new local bands bringing in their albums these days, so we mainly sell albums by older artists. Some of the more active local bands will look towards trying to get a high Scottish chart placing on week of release for their album, as this can be achieved often by not even reaching three figures in sales and look for a shop to help with that which is something others specialise in. As a shop we have often sold hundreds of albums by a local artists over time but it appears these days bands prefer to sell a relatively small number quickly in the first week and then see their album disappear. This mentality now appears to be the case. whether it is a small band on a small label or an artist who has signed to a major label with distribution through a huge record company like Universal Music. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad We actually still get bands from all over the world who will bring in their album if they are in Edinburgh or a band member is on holiday here, just so they can say we have it on sale in the shop. However, at best a local band will often sell all they can to fans directly and then expect the shops to try and sell more copies which of course is a tough ask. As I have said this is indeed something we can do but there is little incentive if a band does not bring an album in until their sales have dried up online and at gigs. Our policy has always been that so long as we have an album on the release date and can sell it at the same price, then if fans want to buy directly that is fine but they should at least have the option of going into a shop. We have also always believed in getting as many shops as possible to stock an album and have never gone down the route of asking for any sort of exclusivity. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The most recent example of all this is the Jacob Alon album In Limerence which came out yesterday through Universal Music. We have had no contact at all from the record company asking us to support the album, though we did receive out of the blue a batch of posters. We will do our best, but I suspect fans will have pre-ordered the album already.
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
Jacob Alon: In Limerence review – dreamy story songs of myth and melancholy
The title of Scottish indie-folk musician Jacob Alon's delicate debut album may seem ironic: the phrase describes an intense kind of desire, and Alon's music can be shatteringly desolate and lonely, their voice and fingerpicked guitar conveying isolation and introversion with raw clarity. But In Limerence makes a strong case for its name: isn't desire, Alon seems to ask, one of the most incurably lonely feelings of all? These story songs – about youthful infatuation, reckless hedonism and one-sided obsession – are brittle and wounded, each zeroing in on a different strain of disappointment or heartache. Alon was born in Dunfermline, Fife, a city tucked between pockets of forest, and they play up the organic, semi-mystical nature of their music, performing in wings and Midsummer Night's Dream-esque wreaths; In Limerence's lyric sheet is filled with references to the cosmos, mythology and folklore. You can sense their fealty to Sufjan Stevens, who has also performed wearing wings and peppers his queer love songs with dense literary references. But some of Alon's choices still feel frustratingly traditional. Of Amber and I Couldn't Feed Her feature unique samples and unorthodox percussion, but the likes of Elijah and Liquid Gold 25 struggle for distinction among the ever-growing pack of folksy, post-Adrianne Lenker songwriters. Still, Alon's perspective is well-realised, making In Limerence compelling enough to keep you tuned in for whatever's next.
BBC News
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- BBC News
Jacob Alon: Free-spirited folk singer is one to watch
Jacob Alon's fingernails are something left hand is beautifully manicured in sparkling purple and royal blue. On their right, the nails are like talons, sharpened to a menacing Scottish singer-songwriter nurtured those claws as a teenager, after discovering a dusty nylon-stringed guitar in a cupboard at their grandmother's house."I was always very clumsy with a plectrum," they say. "Growing out my nails changed entirely how I played the guitar.""It probably started with trying to copy Nick Drake from YouTube. I suddenly felt intimately connected to the instrument."It feels like the guitar doesn't stop – it extends into my anatomy. That visceral connection is very special to me."If you haven't heard of Jacob yet, it won't be long. When they sing, time stops. Tremulous vocals curl around the music like smoke, as the 24-year-old, who identifies as non-binary and uses they/them pronouns, traces poetic stories of romantic exploration and broken a writer, Jacob can be equally tender and ruthless. On Liquid Gold 25, named after a brand of poppers, they tackle the soul-crushing experience of queer dating apps like Grindr, singing: "This is where love comes to die."The fragile melody of Confession, meanwhile, captures the crushing confusion Jacob felt when an ex-boyfriend denied their relationship had ever happened."It was such a deep rejection," they recall. "I was so confused that [they] couldn't come to terms with how they'd felt once, under all the layers of tragic, tragic shame that are imposed on you by the world." That feeling of being trapped in limbo, controlled by a confusing dream-like logic, is a running theme of Jacob's debut titled In Limerence, referring to a state of romantic infatuation that the singer's often trying to escape."There can be a darker side to dreams as a prison of fantasy – especially within relationships," they explain."Sometimes you cling to dreams so tightly that you lose sight of the magic of the real world."On their debut single, Fairy In A Bottle, Jacob embodies that idea as a you idolise your partner, you can't really know them, "because you've trapped them in this mythical version of themselves," they explain."You look past all of their flaws, and reasons it would never work."The song is a realisation of that truth. "It's not your fault, it's my disease / And I must learn to set you free." University drop-out The musician learned those lessons the hard way – something that appears to have been a life-long in Fife, with its tawny beaches and sleepy fishing villages, a career in music was a distant dream."I remember a family member telling me, as a child, I'd be a poor fool to ever become a musician. And it stuck with me."Instead, they took the academic route out, enrolling to study theoretical physics and medicine at Edinburgh didn't go well."I was so miserable," they recall. "I'd always found school really fulfilling and satisfying but university was really stifling. I realised that a life within academia didn't foster the same sense of curiosity about the universe that I'd felt going in."It all came to a head when they crashed out on the floor of the university library, while desperately trying to cram for an exam."I remember sleeping between book shelves and the security guards kept waking me going, 'You can't sleep here, go home'."So I'd move to another room and they'd come and find me there too. I remember thinking, 'What am I doing with my life?'"On a whim, they dropped out and moved to London to make music."It was chaotic," they say, suggesting that then-undiagnosed ADHD prompted the move."I had a breakdown and called my mum from the middle of street outside John Lewis, crying, because I didn't know where I was or where to go."But even though London didn't work out, I realised I was going to make music regardless, because it was the only thing that consistently brought my life meaning." So they packed up their belongings, went back to Scotland, and started living in a van while touring the Edinburgh's folk circuit."I'd have to sneak into swimming pools to have a shower," they recall, "but that was really a time of gestation and discovering my voice."In the beginning, they mostly played covers – anything from Leonard Cohen to traditional Gaelic songs. But one night, in Edinburgh's cluttered and narrow Captain's Bar, a friend encouraged Jacob to play an original song they'd written for their younger sister, Stella."It's such a rowdy bar but people just stopped and fell silent and listened," Jacob recalls."Normally, I don't like it when everyone's looking at me – but it was such a powerful moment. It gave me a sense of self-belief that I'd never felt before."Soon, Jacob was consumed by writing new material, pouring their feelings onto the page while scraping a living in a local coffee and heartfelt, the songs charted a bumpy arrival into adulthood – forging a queer identity and figuring out what they wanted from life and relationships, while navigating a period where they were ostracised by their family."It was a very difficult time for my biological family," says Jacob, choosing their words carefully. "I was running away from a lot of pain. Fortunately, we're in a much better place now."The naked vulnerability of those songs set Jacob apart. Within months, they'd gained a manager and signed to Island Records. Last November, with only one single to their name, they were booked to appear on Jools Holland. On screen, they possessed a bewitching stillness, performing barefoot in a pair of golden feathered trousers like some sort of musical the surface, though, they were a bundle of nerves."I'd been playing a series of shows in the days before, and my voice had gone - but in the moment, something took over," they a moment that brought them back to childhood."I used to be a competitive swimmer when I was young, but I also have Tourette's."Sometimes, my tics would be unshakeable right up until the moment they said, 'On your marks'. Then, all of a sudden, this stillness would come over me.""I was really worried it would crop up on Jools – because sometimes when I'm playing live, something will start ticking in my hand. But again, that stillness came."It's hard to imagine a better metaphor for the way in which Jacob's music can soothe and heal. It possesses a magic that places them alongside folk nymphs like Nick Drake, Joni Mitchell, and Sandy is already incoming, and fast, but Jacob's learned the lesson of their own lyrics: This is a dream they won't get trapped in."A couple of billion years from now, the sun will expand, engulf the earth and maybe we'll be long gone – but there's a beautiful, optimistic nihilism in that," they explain."What's happening is happening now, so I just want to appreciate it, while I can feel the sun on my skin, and I can meet lovely people and converse and connect."
The Guardian
29-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
One to watch: Jacob Alon
Every so often, a new voice comes along with the alchemical combination of fragile beauty and poetry that has the power to seemingly stop time in its tracks. It's the magic that has made alternative music pillars of Jeff Buckley and Laura Marling, and it's a quality that Fife-born Jacob Alon emits in every note. Rooted in the delicate, finger-picked folk tradition, there's a timelessness to Alon's work. But their queer stories of slow self-actualisation and romantic exploration also contain frequently devastating, consistently gorgeous moments that throw modern reference points and a knowingness into the mix. Previous single Liquid Gold 25 is named after a bottle of poppers; Sertraline wryly ends Alon's forthcoming debut album, In Limerence, with a nod to one of the UK's most prescribed antidepressants: ('You're tired/ Well who isn't, babe/ That's the price for being awake.') Performing their first single, Fairy in a Bottle, on Later… with Jools Holland shortly after its release, Alon – barefoot and wearing a pair of gold-feathered trousers – had the quality of a woodland nymph, or a being vibrating on a slightly different plane to the rest of the studio. In Limerence – a reference to the limbo state of unrequited love – cements this celestial quality on a record with all the hallmarks of a modern classic, from an artist clearly at the start of something special. In Limerence is released on 30 May via Island/EMI. Jacob Alon tours the UK and Ireland from April to July
Yahoo
26-01-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Scottish singer Jacob Alon: ‘A cardiologist wanted to make an example out of me. I wish I'd slapped his face!'
Jacob Alon might have been a doctor, were it not for the 'c*** of a cardiologist' who chose to humiliate them in front of their classmates. Yet the Scottish musician, 24, is still deeply invested in matters of the heart. Having released just two songs so far, already they have demonstrated a gift for examining love through a queer lens. As a writer, Alon is fearless – their songs like sacred hymns, washing away shame and self-loathing by confronting those feelings head on. As a singer, they are extraordinary – in possession of one of the most remarkable voices of their generation. It was only last November when Alon performed their debut single 'Fairy in a Bottle' on Later… With Jools Holland, barefoot and adorned in golden feathers and a scarlet cowl. With their tumble of dark curls and glitter-dusted cheeks, Alon brought to mind some fantastical creature of Arthur Rackham's imagination. When they sing, it's with a voice redolent of Jeff Buckley or Big Thief's Adrianne Lenker, soaring from a chest-deep croon into a piercing cry. Today, at a hotel bar in Groningen – a fog-drenched town in the Netherlands – Alon, who is non-binary, is more casual mid-tour, the golden feathers replaced by jeans and a jumper. In conversation, though, they retain their romantic way with language, speaking in the same half-beat rhythm in which they sing. Alon is excited about the imminent release of a new single 'Liquid Gold 25', named after the brand of poppers and inspired by a recent hook-up on the dating app Grindr. A debut album, we hope, is also on the way. Lyrically, 'Liquid Gold 25' speaks to Alon's wish to dissociate, and to those destructive impulses born from our desire to feel wanted. 'Covered in spit, you submit to feel closer to anything that keeps love alive,' Alon sings, over a lolloping guitar hook and patter of the hi-hat, then, later: 'There's no kissing, he sinks his teeth inside/ For this is where love comes to die.' 'I was thinking about the cycles that can be common in the queer community of downloading Grindr, deleting it in periods of low self-esteem, seeking validation then experiencing repulsion, longing, loneliness…' Alon says now. 'It's definitely possible to have a healthy relationship with these things, but very often the culture on that site tends to be more toxic. It feels like self-harming a little bit, the way you seek it out knowing you'll come away feeling low.' Raised in Fife, with its yawning coastal paths and clusters of fishing villages, Alon was a self-described radge (Scottish slang for a tearaway) before they found music. Aged nine, they asked their mother to teach them a song on the piano. That song was 'Right Here Waiting', the forlorn Eighties ballad by American singer Richard Marx; Alon's performance of it earned them second place in a school talent show. 'That moment felt really special – performing was a really electric thing,' Alon says. From there, they went on to form bands with names like The Pleaser Tweezers and Tramadol Nation – playing silly songs to make their friends laugh – but harboured no real ambitions of a career as an artist. 'I think it's quite a Scottish mentality, but especially in Fife, there's a low ceiling on what you can dream for,' Alon says. 'I always felt that being a musician wasn't possible for someone like me, and that I should be realistic.' Certain family members discouraged them, too, and so Alon opted to study medicine in Edinburgh instead. 'I really struggled to fit in, even though I loved so many parts of it,' they say. 'The university environment is f***ed up. But I think what made me most miserable, and I didn't know it at the time, was living someone else's dream. I had music in me – a voice, an honesty – that hadn't bloomed yet.' They smile, a little. 'I'm still blooming.' It was that incident with the 'c*** of a cardiologist' that put Alon off medicine for good. 'I think he wanted to make an example of me, to make me feel small,' they recall. 'He succeeded. I felt awful, and I didn't fight back. I wish I'd slapped his face!' They returned to class after his outburst, thinking this would be their life from now on. 'It forced me to take a step back and realise I didn't want to be in this environment.' Alon stuck it out for the rest of the year before switching to theoretical physics. Then Covid hit, and with it another round of existential second-guessing. 'It was the same thing, where I realised I was miserable. Like, 'What the f*** am I doing?' I'm meant to love this, but I hate it'. So, they quit and, for the past few years, have found the songs pouring out of them. One such being 'Confession', an extraordinary track of delicately plucked guitars and Alon's gossamer voice. 'We were only fourteen/ Wild, wide eyes/ Pledging our virtues between holy crimes,' they croon. 'We'd drink ourselves naked/ Swallowing the shame/ Stirring in the silence/ Tangling our brains.' I had music in me – a voice, an honesty – that hadn't bloomed yet They became a regular on Edinburgh's folk scene, singing with grizzled sea dogs and young pups in the Captain's Bar while scraping a living in a local cafe. Alon signed with a manager and then to Island Records, who paired them with producer Dan Carey – which might seem an odd choice to those who know the Speedy Wunderground co-founder for his work with scowling rockers like Fontaines DC and Black Midi. But it's a stroke of genius to those familiar with Carey's earlier work, on songs such as Sia's 2004 piano hymnal 'Breathe Me' or Emiliana Torrini's 2005 album, Fisherman's Woman. Alon crashed with Carey while working on new music, of which an overarching theme will be limerence: the state of intense romantic longing for someone who often does not reciprocate. Those who have experienced limerence will know it can lead to obsessive thoughts – an infatuation that overlooks any flaws or, indeed, turns those flaws into an attractive trait. 'It's nice meeting people who are in the know, because it feels like an inner circle of self-awareness,' Alon says with a laugh. We should all get tattoos, I suggest. 'Therapy is helping but also making art – it's like getting something out of you,' they say. An exorcism, then. I mention a feeling of being haunted by the idea of someone, as though they're lurking around every corner of your mind, just out of reach. 'Yes, and the glimmer hits and you see them suddenly, then project this fantasy onto them,' Alon says. 'Ultimately you have to accept that this person is dead… because they never existed. It really feels like you created and then killed this thing.' It's a precious gift that Alon has, bottling these indefinable feelings, then releasing them with the sweetness of a sigh. It's a kind of magic, even. Jacob Alon plays Hoxton Hall in London on Monday 27 January and King Tut's Wah Wah Hut in Glasgow on Friday 31 January
