The streets of Belleville gently awaken. It is cold, the sun shows itself on the facades and makes us squint our still tired eyes. At the bottom of the corridor of the Palais du Commerce, just above the silent Java café, the large glass window radiates. In a handful of arpeggios, Adrian moved before our eyes through the arcades of the Starlight Hotel. A voice that has thickened throughout his albums guides us slowly through room after room, until the opposite wall where the street takes over and business resumes. A few minutes later, in the hall, the singer sits on a chair to tell us our fortunes. All those who listen know he sees the truth, and that each of his premonitions will be confirmed in the coming weeks.
For over fifteen years Adrian Crowley has shaped his songs without a career plan, without a media strategy, while never revealing anything. His last album, released by Chemikal Underground, featured haunting strings with brass and choirs that envelop the singer’s voice without ever affecting the simplicity and elegancy of interpretation. You can understand Adrian has little to envy of more well known artists simply by watching this fresh February morning for yourself. You’ll be surprised he is not more well known outside his circle of loyal fans.
Translated by Dylan Hofstetter