Sons of Noel and Adrian 18/02/2009

A choir of booming voices, whistling, a multitude of instruments, a man with an incredible, indescribable, deep, low voice and a background of passion. Sons of Noel and Adrian are from the Midlands, there can be eleven members, there can be five, all have the ability to embed themselves into every note they play. They now reside in Brighton, which is where Mr Mumford and Co, met them and took them flying in their tour bus. On this night, the collection of men entered the stage, lumberjacks, thick rolling hair and sensitive, yet confident smiles as they set up their instruments. A violin started playing, long languorous notes, and silence was set upon the audience. Next a beautiful, light guitar rode next to the violin, and then the unique voice came streaming from the voice of Jacob. They all cantered for a while before drifting dreamily off with one long, slow flap of a bird’s wings, taking you gliding over the hills and oceans. This particular song I am describing here is named Inside Olympia, yet every song they played had the same ethereal quality. Whilst each musician was performing throughout, it seemed that each member was in their own sphere, the music was taking them to somewhere very private. They would sway their heads, closing their eyes they would point their faces down to the wooden floors, or up to the lights. The lead singer, Jacob, had a small frown on his face as the words came from him, with thought and precision. This crease would release as the notes built up to a massive musical outburst from the group. They all stamped their foot in time, reverberating it around the underground blackness, and moved wildly about on stage, like impassioned lovers.



The loud strumming of the guitar, the feisty violin, the double bass, banjo etc. it is the gold pot at the end of the rainbow, the colours streaming in. It is romanticism, country people meeting the city lights, it is the ocean, the trees, the love and the excesses. Pure and delicious, Sons of Noel and Adrian should wear a little sticky Organic label; from the pastures of England and the coastal sweeps, the weeping willows and the buzzing bees, sprout these musical hearts, and take you to their land on a hush of a breeze.