‘Voice of a generation’: musician Jacob Alon. Photo: Rory Barnes
Koko, London, 8 December
Silly season is in full swing and Jacob Alon is playing their part. At Koko in London tonight, the Scot steps onstage with their acoustic guitar like a festive elf: barefoot, tinsel draped around their neck and later, a Santa’s hat. “Look at the size of this place,” they marvel gently, before someone’s ringtone goes off. “We’ve got the tunes on,” quips Alon. “It’s going to be a party”. Of course, most are in on the joke: Alon’s stark folk songs are hardly dancefloor fillers, but they do feel like beautifully wrapped gifts.
Some outliers up in a box didn’t get the memo though: taking the party theme too literally, they talk loudly. Luckily, they are duly shushed by everyone else. Alon’s audience interlocks like a force field against the interruptions. Calls of “We love you Jacob!” and “Voice of a generation!” punctuate the pauses in the set, as Alon changes tuning.
Tonight’s show – Alon’s biggest solo date yet – is the culmination of a huge year that began last November with a heart-stopping performance on Jools Holland, and continued with being crowned the BBC Introducing… Artist of the Year, gaining a coveted Mercury prize nomination and, just last week, making the 2026’s Brits Critics’ Choice Award shortlist. Despite only having two songs out by the start of 2025 – their debut album, In Limerence, followed in May – Elton John tipped Alon for success when he had them on his radio show back in April. “You are destined for huge things,” he said. “I can’t think of anybody I’ve heard who sounds like you.
The songs have a dewy, effulgent quality, like peering up at the sun through the trees in a forest
That Jools Holland performance clearly suggested greatness: here was a singer-songwriter perched on the shoulders of Patrick Wolf, Nick Drake, Sufjan Stevens and other finger-pickingly good folk artists whose music is as intimate as a lover. And yet Alon’s storytelling and persona stood apart: non-binary, neurodiverse, covered in glitter and working out the angst, desire and acceptance of being queer and in your mid-20s. They were raised by a single mother in a council house in Fife and at one point were jobless and homeless before finding a place in Edinburgh’s folk scene. Far from twee or traditional, their songs explore things like shame, antidepressants and the emptiness of the hookup app Grindr (the song Liquid Gold 25 is named after a bottle of poppers). And they’re a vocal advocate for the LGBTQIA+ community, performing tonight with a “Trans Lives Matter” flag draped over their piano.
Connecting it all is the knotty ache of romantic infatuation in all its burning intensity. Live, that theme comes into even sharper focus: Alon’s sensational voice, which glides from heart-choked whisper to gilded falsetto, is innocence and experience tangled in one. You can practically hear the collective sharp intake of breath as they release the acrobatic conclusion of Confession – “Oh, how I loved youuuuu” – about falling in love, and fumbling around, with your childhood friend. Their fretwork is equally as impressive and the harmonics shine: the songs – some acoustic and some with a subtle band tonight, adding a touch of Americana – have a dewy, effulgent quality. They sound like peering up at the sun through the trees in an enchanted forest.
While a recent tour supporting Kae Tempest has no doubt helped to hone their stagecraft, Alon already has the magnetism of someone who’s spent years gigging alone with a guitar and found ways to make time stand still. They’re wickedly funny, too. Despite Koko’s size, there are sweet, intimate moments, like when Alon admits to needing to see the lyrics for a new song, Log, and borrows a mobile phone from the front row to illuminate the page.
One suspects everyone here could watch Alon alone in the torchlight for ever, but the beauty of folk music is in the communal. For a sublime closer, they bring out support acts Tendertwin and Pem, and another of their musical inspirations, the singer-songwriter and composer Douglas Dare, to cover Joni Mitchell’s River. With Dare on piano and the rest sitting cross-legged on the stage layering gorgeous harmonies, it’s a fitting end to Alon’s festive bash, with Mitchell’s lyrics about feeling lonely at Christmas. But it’s also a sign that no matter how grandiose the venue or how far their star rises, Alon is an artist you have to meet on their uniquely brilliant level
