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: I’d like to draw the attention of MAGNET’s readers to the work of the English musician Mary Hampton. I think she’s one of the most interesting songwriters currently working in Britain. There’s a singular grace, wit and intelligence to her work, which goes deep into the history of song and into her various other interests and preoccupations, which are demonstrably wide-ranging. She sings her finely wrought lyrics in a beautifully nuanced voice with a combination of fragility and confidence, usually accompanied minimally and tastefully by tenor guitar and her own distinctive instrumental arrangements. As well as her own songwriting, Mary is a fine interpreter of traditional song—both her own songs and her versions of older ones can be heard on albums such as My Mother’s Children and Folly.
Video after the jump.
