Long Distance Swimmer - Adrian Crowley Album Review

Adrain Crowley

Album Review

Home-made wonder: literally.

We normally associate music recording in some lavish studio. Not this one. Dog-sitting at his sister's house in Dublin for a week, Adrian Crowley chose to do Long Distance Swimmer DIY style. A fortress of mattresses (built especially to soundproof the living room, so he says) enabled him to crack-on undisturbed, though it must have been quite a strange sight. This low key beauty has a heart warming charm and simplicity that ushers in 2008. This is a real musos album which richly deserves a bigger audience, and may well do, if it's picked up by the right people at the nation's radio stations. So come guys. Some reviewers have called him miserable. Damien Rice gets the same treatment. Nevertheless, Crowley does a pretty good job here. His hushed vocal style and easy paced music is a, sort of, hybrid of Richard Hawley and fellow Dubliner Rice, without the Orbison comparisons, drama and deep deep melancholy. It's more of an Elliott Smith and Nick Drake affair really. It's not big on laughs, but music and singing are perfectly matched.

Starting with the gentle intro of Bless Our Tiny Hearts, it flutters by and it's sweet stuff too, despite his characterless vocals. The pace quickens on These Icy Waters which means he's stretched more in the signing department. This song reminds me of a 80s hit, which escapes me right now. Then it's back to the acoustic guitar for the Americana tinged Star Of The Barbour: sweet melody in abundance. A similar template ensues for Temporary Residence with splashes of horn to perk it up. Jewel in the crown is the minimalist and gorgeous Victoria, again treading onto Hawley's vocal bag. For Harmony Row, Crawley seems to break sweat, though you won't see much perspiration. Interestingly enough this could be right out of Beirut's masterpiece Flying Club Cup of 2007, with again, a dash of restrained brass for effect. Dropping into snooze control, it's yet more minimalism on Leaving The Party. Even the string-bending is kept to a minimum. Drums (and a beat) opens a stately Brothers At Sea, but as expected, it's all under control.

As it began, Crowley leaves us with more sweetness - soft jangly guitar and strings providing the background for him to drop in yet more characterless singing. Despite its predominantly one dimensional trip, it never becomes boring, which is quite an art.

File under: Album number 4. Understated gem.

Elly Roberts