The disc’s title 
                  contains two elements – the title of the George Mackay Brown 
                  poem that inspired Kenneth Dempster and the idea that all four 
                  quartets are written by Scottish composers. Maybe one could 
                  quibble with the idea that they’re in some way thereby “from” 
                  Scotland. Does a composer have to live and write the work in, 
                  say, Dundee for it to be “from Scotland”. Can it be “from Scotland” 
                  if you’re Scottish but writing it in a studio in London? Normally 
                  these things are of no interest to me but the notes seem to 
                  be pursuing some kind of agenda so let’s get the nationalistic 
                  stuff out of the way here and now. 
                Four quartets by 
                  four composers, then, and all Scottish by birth. Dempster’s 
                  work is the most recent, dating from 2005. It’s rather abrasive 
                  but moves fluidly with Ivesian use of hymnal material; plenty 
                  of abrupt sonorities, though those hymnal quotations have a 
                  “discrete” quality to them that rather revokes them from absolute 
                  integration into the fabric of the writing. The fact that they 
                  become rhythmically assailed does ally them to Ives but the 
                  Scottish fiddle elements and eerie sawing points to another 
                  possible source of invention, Bartók.
                James Clapperton 
                  has lived outside Scotland for much of his adult life. The 
                  Great Divorce derives from the title of a C.S. Lewis book. 
                  Slowly moving modal lines take in a steady and incremental detail. 
                  Folk-like exchanges – little monologues really – fleck the score 
                  increasingly at this point. It’s highly contemplative and still; 
                  which makes the cello’s angular extroversion at 14:30 all the 
                  more surprising. 
                Judith Weir’s 1990 
                  Quartet pushes for what she calls “on the string” lyricism. 
                  Each of the three movements is based on a Spanish romance (first 
                  two) and a Scottish ballad (for the finale). The writing has 
                  her accustomed grace and generosity – in the central movement 
                  it also embraces earthier, vocalised beauties of its own. It 
                  sounds very rewarding to play – and equally rewarding to hear, 
                  should we ever get the chance in concert.
                Finally there is 
                  William Sweeney’s long Third Quartet  - almost as long as the 
                  other three put together. Sweeney is another who seems to have 
                  assimilated some Bartók – those short, jagged restless motifs 
                  sound cut from the cloth of the later quartets. It becomes clearer, 
                  later, that some of these mosaic-like rough themes also have 
                  their own folk-like elements – something of a motif for this 
                  entire disc in fact – in ways that fleetingly recall Janáček. 
                  Spare, single lines attest to a certain bereft quality and the 
                  sterner writing is clenched; solo moments abound and weight 
                  distribution retains interest. The increasingly jazzy cello 
                  motifs in the finale compel interest as well. For all its length 
                  there’s no fat here - everything counts and counts well.
                So wherever they 
                  were written these are fine works by four excellent composers. 
                  The Edinburgh Quartet – I don’t know where they were recorded 
                  or when – plays with tactile and bright commitment; no warming 
                  cocoon and fully attuned to the acerbities of the writing. So 
                  not always pretty – but invariably on the money emotively.
                Jonathan Woolf