- Critic score
- Publication
- By date
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UncutWith Spoils, Alasdair Roberts has delivered his finest work to date. [May 2009, p.95]
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There is a clarity of musical and lyrical vision here that is rarely found in modern music.
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Part-Incredible String Band, part- Lal Waterson, but mostly magnificently unique.
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A Scottish singer-songwriter with a number of spare and lovely folk albums, Alasdair Roberts goes for the mad prophetic gusto on the strange and visionary Spoils.
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MojoIts successor emanates a similarly yeasty authenticity, stretching songs into epic ballads, its acoustic guitars, bass and drums ornamented by a lattice of deftly plucked and strummed things. [May 2009, p.105]
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The way Roberts' often high-pitched brogue wraps itself around sentences is pretty as hell; his voice has never sounded better, nor has it been recorded this clearly before.
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Not only, then, is Spoils a splendid introduction to Alasdair Roberts’ repertoire, it is also a fine way to get your feet wet in the British Folk kingdom.
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Despite the cool harpsichords, glockenspiels, flutes and dulcimers, it’s Roberts’ mournful voice that leads the songs to their rightful resting places.
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There are plenty of fine moments in all the songs, whether it's a sudden burst of harmonies, or unexpected instrumental flourishes, from behind the singer.
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Though it doesn’t hit the peaks of No Earthly Man, his 2005 foray into the pure history of the ballad, Spoils easily holds its own.
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While homegrown folkies such as Laura Marling are happy to lose themselves in twanging bluegrass and Americana, it’s refreshing to hear a Brit ploughing up our own verdant folk history. Scot troubadour Alasdair Roberts does just that.
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Spoils contains enough perverse and engaging lyrical quirks to make it worthy of investigation, and who can resist lines like: “And here’s the dowry of the leper/ A walnut shell and a peck of pepper” (from 'Hazel Forks').
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FilterSpoils delivers a series of eight meandering folktales, which wouldn't be out of place in a pub, and more likely borne from your average drunkard than a drunkard literary giant. [Spring 2009, p.106]
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Roberts is then left essentially targeting an audience obsessed with novelty, but his ammunition is weak.