The heart of the matter
Dave lets us in on part of his tasting regime
His voice is slightly awry. Strong, yet fragile, it possesses a flawed purity, giving it a welcome honesty. It allows the words to come across more as timeless narratives, nakedly emotional, binding myth and reality. Alasdair Roberts makes the old ballads sound new and therefore stranger than they already are. His own songs have the same quality. Once heard, they are hard to shake off. As a result, Roberts and that old bard Robin Williamson are on heavy repeat as I work.
The binding spell of the music creates new connections in this listenerâs head. Williamsonâs âThe barleyâs hum will fuel the tongueâ, that must be about whisky.. mustnât it? The same goes for Robertsâ âFirewaterâ, a song about the impossibility of understanding someone, âhow can I ever know you?â he asks, then adds âwhere is the firewater?â It is this (whisky.. in my reading) which will help him in his task, allowing him to build âour library of aethersâ.
It might not be referring to whisky at all, though what any song is âaboutâ is always a moot point (though one should never point moots). It is what the reader or listener takes from it which matters. The making personal is the most important element.
How can I ever know you? The songâs question nags away.
Itâs at its heart, itâs at the heart of this whisky writing lark. How do we explain this aethereal substance? How can it be categorised? By score, though thatâs erratic and ultimately meaningless; by database, .....
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By Dave Broom
Section : A dram with Dave Broom
Page number : 12
