This week’s artist was suggested by a reader. Thanks, John!
Before we were married, my wife and I drove from Glasgow to Glencoe through the mountains, to take in what we’d heard was breathtaking scenery.
What we got instead was a landscape blanketed in thick fog, with the occasional suggestion of a mountain or a river. One especially magnificent view – the “Three Sisters” – appeared to us as fog in three different shades of gray.
We enjoyed the drive nonetheless; we come from a very flat place, so even the hint of elevation change is pretty majestic to us. But we were just about back to Glasgow when the clouds parted and the sun shone brilliantly over everything. We looked at each other, checked the time, and went back to do it all over again. It felt as if Scotland was testing our resolve. As if we had to prove our commitment if we wanted to see its treasures.
All this is to say that there aren’t too many countries I would describe as “enigmatic” – but Scotland is one of them.
I’m not even sure how a country can be enigmatic. I guess what I mean is that despite being a well-known country (especially considering its small size) and despite being reasonably easy to access, and despite having a history of major contributions to human progress, something about it seems un-pin-downable. Something foundational about it feels perpetually out of reach.
It’s like trying to translate a word from another language that doesn’t have a literal translation. Like you can almost translate it, but not quite.
It’s an English-speaking country. Well, almost, but not quite; the accent is difficult to grab hold of, and a good chunk of citizens still speak Gaelic. Their money is almost but not quite the British Pound. The landscape (when not wrapped in fog and mystery) is almost but not quite Nordic.
The music reflects all this uniqueness, too. From the oddball indie of the Beta Band to the arena-rock grandeur of The Art of Amputation to the firmly-planted Gaelic roots of Kim Carnie, we’ve listened to many Scottish bands here over the years, and they’re all so different…but they’re different in the same way, if that makes any sense at all.
Which it doesn’t. But that’s what makes it so enigmatic.
This week’s song is a collaboration between two Scottish acts, so prepare yourself for double the mystery.
What makes this a beautiful song:
1. For the first ten seconds, it doesn’t seem to be in any discernible time signature. But then Scott William Urquhart’s guitar emerges from the fog and brings order. Urquhart’s playing is crisp and confident, studded with little flourishes that remind me a bit of the song we listened to in week 100.
2. To contrast the intimacy of the finger-picked guitar, Constant Follower adds all sorts of subtle sounds in the background, like the repeating six ascending notes that appear for the first time at 0:38.
3. The lyrics are as simple and poetic as they are opaque: “Sea glass green / polythene / tidal stream / everything pulls me in waves / crash here.”
Recommended listening activity:
One of those “hidden pictures” puzzles. Featuring a Scottish landscape, if possible.