You could call Adrian Crowley understated, sombre or subtle, but the best way to describe the Galwegian is to state the obvious. Adrian Crowley is a grown man. His voice takes up permanent residence in a soothing baritone, his melodies never stray far from home and his simple guitar work is as steady and as constant as the continents. Maturity comes in spades as the singer-songwriter guides you through his group of well-crafted songs collectively known as the ambiguously titled album I See Three Birds Flying.

It goes without saying that lyrics are front and centre here. Whether it’s the self-mocking ‘The Saddest Song’, the self-depreciating ‘Juliet I’m in Flames’ or the sarcastic ‘The Mock Wedding’ Crowley’s skill as a lyricist is evident. I doubt I will be the first reviewer to mention the great Leonard Cohen, but the reference makes a lot of sense. With some simple imagery and a handful of metaphors Crowley poignantly invites you into his very self, Crowley the writer, Crowley the lover, Crowley the broken. In the lyrical highlight of the album, ‘Juliet I’m in Flames’, he clearly and calmly warns his would be lover to "steer well clear". Again Crowley shows his maturity here, never disappearing down the rabbit hole of complex symbolism or producing lyrics from a tear-stained diary. No, that is the trade of younger, less masculine, songwriters.

Although lyrics aren’t the only place where this album shines. Throughout I See Three Birds Flying there are two constants, namely his gentle finger-picked guitar and his deep, stark voice. Both of these serve as beautiful vehicles for Crowley’s sober songs but the true musical wonder lies in the eclectic orchestration. Strings swell in and out of early tracks like the sound of a past lover’s ghost and the trembling horns that serve as an introduction to Red River Maples shake and quiver with an uncertainty juxtaposed with the clear headed and resolute vocal delivery. The clavichord swoosh of ‘At the Starlight Hotel’ stirs you like waking from a bad dream and the subtle bursts of guitar feedback in ‘Juliet I’m on Fire’ hint at the existential crisis masked by the ice-cold delivery. Yet again, Crowley never falls into the patterns typical of his younger contemporaries. Nowhere do you witness the music become unhinged and burst in to a flurry of distorted guitar or an electronic air raid.

This album is thrilling in its level-headedness, shocking in its sobriety and exhilarating in its calmness. A fine Irish album.

Review by: Ferdia MacAonghusa