BRUNO MAJOR

I knew very little about Bruno Major when we shuffled into the Spiegeltent.

It’s an intimate space and we crowded around a tiny stage set with guitars, a piano and some mics.

With no introduction and zero fuss, out walked this diminutive young guy, clean-cut but not overly polished wearing jeans, white t-shirt and a leather bomber.

So far, so underwhelming.

There was some polite cheering before he launched into a 50-minute set of the most divine, original rhythm and blues songs—just Bruno, no backup singers, dancers or band.

Most of his lyrics were based around love and loss, with particular emphasis on the loss.

Seeing this young man sing with such eloquence about heartache brought me to tears, but hearing all the other young men in the audience singing along with him, really brought me undone.

It’s like Bruno Major is giving a generation of guys permission to feel the ecstasy of love and the agony of what happens when things unravel.

And he’s saying when things do unravel, it’s bad but it’s all gonna be ok.

His voice is soft and has an almost whispery quality to it.

His guitar playing is superb, tackling tricky chord changes with ease.

Bruno reminded me of a young Jeff Buckley putting his life on show for all, rejoicing in the beauty and wallowing in the grief.

Despite the, at times, melancholy melodies, Bruno managed to keep the show light by cracking jokes and talking about what motivates his songwriting.

He quipped that when he broke up with his girlfriend he was absolutely heartbroken, but is ok now because he loves the song he wrote in reaction to the breakup, more than he ever loved the girl.

The savior of modern music lives and his name is Bruno.