Alasdair Roberts’ songs are difficult to digest. Like a large pill you can’t quite swallow, that lodges toward the back of the throat, they are dense, layered, poetic ballads coupled with a forcefully picked acoustic guitar, abrasively fragile vocals and a thick Scottish accent. His new self-titled album is not the kind of thing you put on while washing dishes. But it’s the kind of album you go back to again and again, trying to parse the lyrics, trying to understand why these songs grate at the base of your spine. Roberts will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new feature on him.
Roberts: Alasdair Gray is a major figure in Scottish arts and, more specifically, within the city of Glasgow, where he has lived for many years. Lanark is Gray’s most famous novel; it is a complex and multifaceted work, and so difficult to describe, but on one level, it is essentially a sort of Bildungsroman in which the city of Glasgow, transfigured and reimagined, plays a major part. I’ve lived in Glasgow for almost 20 years now, having moved there in 1995 to study (although, mostly because of the attractions of the city’s vibrant music scene; I was a poor student). In these past two decades, I have come to identify very strongly with the city (although, of course, not having been born and raised there, I will never be a “real” Glaswegian). I first read Lanark shortly after moving to Glasgow, and I re-read it again just last year, finding and understanding new things in it with the benefit of my advanced age and with several more years of Glasgow living under my belt. It’s a book I often recommend to people looking for some high-quality, distinctively Scottish modern fiction.
Video after the jump.
