The Son(s) – George & Harm (2011)
Frankly I could make up any lies I liked about The Son(s) because they’re wantonly mysterious buggers, or he’s a mysterious bugger. But one thing he (or they) cannot keep under wraps is his (or their) general brilliance.
I believe the story goes that The Son(s) were an Edinburgh-based trio, and now they are a one-man operation in the North East of Scotland.
I envisage a handsome, bearded bard, basking in a Highland bothy, playing his balmy psychedelia and ragged Americana when he isn’t swimming naked in lochs, or chopping wood with brawny arms, or building fires with rugged hands. Perhaps he is clad in a tight-fitting plaid shirt – I mean obviously I’m just pulling ideas out of the air here.
The Son(s)’ eponymous debut album is out Olive Grove Records on March 7 and it’s gorgeous. If there’s any justice in the world it’ll be consumed en masse by fans of Bon Iver, Fleet Foxes, Gruff Rhys, Robert Wyatt and dare I say Pink Floyd.
Then The Son will have to expose himself; come out of hiding and into the limelight.
You can form an orderly queue behind me.