ADRIAN CROWLEY: SOME BLUE MORNING
(Chemikal Underground) ★★★★✩
As the days shorten and the temperatures plummet, there is perhaps no surer companion than a new Adrian Crowley album. Laden with evocative imagery and teeming with sullen atmospherics, the seventh release from the enigmatic Galwegian is one to lose yourself in – the aural equivalent of a good book by the fire.
As ever, the most immediate thing here is Crowley’s voice: a deep, rich croon which resonates above a base of gently plucked guitars and prominent strings. He may be only in his mid-forties but comparisons to Leonard Cohen’s wonderfully-weathered baritone are now obvious.
From the declarative strides of the opening title track to the lovely closing lilts of Golden Palominos, Crowley excels at setting scenes. Throughout, he ruminates on life in distinctive ways, delivering introspective, often self-deprecating yarns that are deep-in-thought but never ponderous. This deeply poetic album is littered with memorable turns-of-phrase that will have you scrambling for a highlighter and the lyrics booklet. Nowhere is this more apparent than on The Wild Boar: a surreal, seven minute centre-piece that’s part folk-tale, part spoken word piece, with Crowley, as ever, the unmistakable narrator.