The Afro Nick’s “Get There Before Noon” is a cryptic, soul-stirring anthem for the misfits trying to outrun yesterday.
By: Robert Solomon
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The best songs feel like they’ve always existed—like old postcards tucked behind the fridge, or dreams you keep having without ever fully remembering them. “Get There Before Noon”, the latest single by The Afro Nick, is one of those songs. It sounds as if it was carved out of time—raw and cryptic, yet fully formed. A meditation, a warning, and maybe even a redemption arc, all in one.
The Afro Nick, born and raised on the Greek island of Crete, writes like someone who’s lived multiple lives. You hear it in the repetition, the restraint, the subtle unraveling of the lyrics. His earliest memories come from gypsies strumming guitars in narrow streets under Mediterranean skies, and those memories have found new breath in his music. He’s not here to make perfect songs—he’s here to make necessary ones. Now based in Los Angeles, he crafts music for those who move against the grain: outsiders, wanderers, and those still trying to name the ache inside them.
“Get There Before Noon” isn’t urgent in the traditional sense—it’s not a race against time, but a quiet wrestle with it. The track opens with a hypnotic rhythm, as guitars shimmer like distant mirages and drums shuffle with that half-stoned confidence of a band that knows exactly where not to be. It feels loose, but it’s far from careless. This is the kind of song that rolls down the road with the windows half-open, letting dust and doubt seep in like sunlight.
Lyrically, The Afro Nick writes in open loops. The chorus—“I might be insane / but all you have to do is get there before noon”—is repeated like a mantra, a thesis, a dare. The line means everything and nothing. It’s not a destination; it’s a philosophy. Morning as a metaphor, maybe: for youth, for clarity, for the chance to start over. Noon is the cutoff—after that, it’s just noise and shadows. The lyrics blur the lines between personal realization and communal disillusionment, like an indie rock koan for a generation stuck somewhere between spiritual yearning and societal exhaustion.
There are echoes of early Beck in the song’s slack-jawed genius, a bit of Kevin Morby’s desert-folk mysticism in the guitar work, and something undeniably reminiscent of Devendra Banhart’s oddball elegance. But make no mistake: The Afro Nick has his own thing going on. It’s in the hair, the name, the cadence, the refusal to explain too much. His voice is equal parts confession and confrontation, like someone scribbling thoughts on the back of a cigarette pack and then singing them through a cracked mirror.
By the time the song closes, you’re not sure if you’ve been comforted or confronted. And that’s the point. The Afro Nick doesn’t write music to reassure you, he writes music to remind you that you’re alive. That you’re here. That the clock is ticking, and you’ve got to move. “I got to live this life, not yesterday,” he sings, and it hits harder than any chorus you’ve heard all year.
In a time when most indie rock tracks feel overly polished or algorithmically optimized, “Get There Before Noon” is gloriously human. It frays at the edges. It repeats itself. It doesn’t always make sense. But neither does life. And somehow, that makes it perfect. So set your alarm, lace your boots, ignore the noise. You might be insane. Hell, we all might be. But all you have to do… is get there before noon.
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