After releasing a debut album, In Limerence, at the end of May, the singer-songwriter from Fife has toured with Kae Tempest, played Glastonbury, made the shortlist for the Mercury Prize, been named BBC Introducing Artist of the Year and, it emerged this week, is in the running for a BRIT in 2026, after being nominated in the Critic’s Choice category. Oh, and Alon was also The Herald Magazine’s first cover star of the year.

And so this sold-out gig – the first of two in Glasgow – was something of a celebration. Certainly for the audience who toggled between hushed awe and rowdy approval.

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And there is clearly much to celebrate. Alon is an electric performer; their guitar-playing both delicate and insistent at the same time, the songs often breathtaking in their emotional nakedness and that voice, both soaring and seductive. In a fervid moment – as the vocals took flight once more – I had the heretic, hyperbolic notion that Alon completes the holy trinity of Scottish pop voices alongside Billy Mackenzie and Elizabeth Fraser.

That said, Alon’s thrilling one-offness offers a challenge too. When the rest of the band came onstage – after a few songs of just the singer and guitar – their joint efforts initially rather tamped things down; not because of any failings of their musicianship, but because the sound was suddenly more conventional.

That said, by the time Alon essayed Confession – a song about young queer love and loss, and one of Alon’s best – you could hear just how much the three musicians added; filling out and enriching what was already powerful.

In some ways, this was a slightly messy gig. Tuning the guitar proved problematic, there were a couple of fluffed lines, and when Alon started to perform a newly written song – the first time they’ve ever played it live – they had to stop and start again after forgetting the lyrics. “I’ll need to practice that a few more times,” the singer admitted, smiling.

Artist and songwriter Jacob Alon in their hometown of Dunfermline (Image: Newsquest)

Alon is not a raconteur for the most part. Spoken introductions were kept to a minimum. “This is all about Grindr,” they do tell us before singing Liquid Gold. That was one of the longer introductions.

But at the end of the evening Alon offered up a speech that was both angry and loving.

“The past two years the world has been absolutely mental,” they began. 

“It’s hard sometimes to be joyful in such terrifying times. The genocide is still going on at the hands of Israel in Palestine.

“If I think about it for too long I just want to fold and fold and fold away until I’m smaller than a speck of dust. But we’re still here. We still have our voices.

“It’s all connected as well. The erasure of trans rights and queer rights, the targeting of minorities, racism, it’s all part of the same thing. It’s all a distraction to keep the wealthiest wealthy and keep us down.

“I know that feels very obvious to a lot of us, but it doesn’t make it any easier to cope with.”

What can anyone do in the face of this? What Alon does, I guess. Use your voice.

And so the singer stands alone and sings Fairy in a Bottle, their breakout tune, and that voice rises one final time to the vaulted roof. It’s a privilege to hear it.