The Harrisons

The sound of Yorkshire rising, Harrisons’ songs clamour for attention both musically and in the content of what they have to say; things observed from the streets where they grew up and dealt with typical Yorkshire no-nonsense. Townies. Drugs. Fighting. Boredom. All the bottled-up tension that becomes the raw material of the best. But what separates Harrisons is their enviable sense of community, the idea of four lads in a band; that rare essence that those like Oasis have been striving to stuff back in the bottle since day one.

They have a band dynamic that stretches beyond just a tightness of sound, but back to their shared roots as best mates for most of their young lives. Adam ‘Jubby’ Taylor explains, ‘We all just like the same music and we all dress the same and I suppose it bonds you together when there’s loads of dickheads and that round here.’ Being raised ‘surrounded by dickheads’ has given Harrisons a purpose and a point to prove; when they sing about ‘stupid twats in Burberry caps’ you can be sure they’ve had first-hand experience of the uglier side of the steel city. They’ve been put in hospital for just daring to be who they are.

It’s clear that Harrisons aren’t afraid of doing things their own way, whether through necessity or whim. All have to juggle the demands of day-to-day labour (‘we’ve all had rubbish jobs, joinery, fixing gutters and that’) with the music they hope will forge them a career. They went busking in France last summer rather than stepping up to the musical rat race back home (‘we did 3 months in St. Tropez playing American Pie and raking it in!’) until they were eventually ejected by the local gendarmerie.