It's taken them nearly a decade, but we finally have Eagleowl's debut album on our doorsteps. The post-folk troubadours haven't been keeping us with bated breath that whole time though, with two wonderfully crafted and well-received EPs and a single under their belt; they're won over a cultish following. Hailing from the misty, rolling countryside of bonny Edinburgh, this duo-turned-foursome-turned-sextet have eschewed the more flowery approach they utilised on their EPs (including the foregoing of glock), in favour of a more string-based sound. There's a cache of guitars, violins, cellos and basses giving their pastoral noises a beating heart, ensuring that the 'lethargic pop' they've conjured doesn't slip into the realms of drear or boredom.

An album that takes so long is a dangerous release. On one hand, you have years and years of toil brazenly injected into the music, you've got time to iron out every minor kink and focus on every detail - in short, you can perfect it, mbv proved that absence does make the heart grow fonder, and that sometimes a massive wait is worth it. However, much like Chinese Democracy, there are occasions when nitpicking over every note can result in an overwrought, overproduced mess with no direction and a mean narcissistic streak - it becomes a self-inflated egofest. Fortunately for Eagleowl, due to their insistence on keeping things threadbare and jettisoning excess baggage, This Silent Year is very much unlike Axl Rose's bloated child.

Serenading violins welcome opening gambit 'Eagleowl vs. Woodpigeon' and cautious lolloping string stabs keep the rest of the sounds flowing to schedule. It's definitely folky, bringing with it a kind of American country charm. It's a response to Calgary indie rockers Woodpigeon, whose Mark Hamilton (and subsequently the rest of the band) have frequently collaborated with Eagleowl, even going as far as to release a track entitled 'Woodpigeon vs. Eagleowl (Strength In Numbers)' as an ode to their friendship.

They've been frequently compared to Low, Smog and Mogwai due to their sprawling, morose sound featuring a smorgasbord of gloom-based noises, torpid pace and post-rock structural experimentations. Take finalé 'Too Late In The Day', a desolate 12 minute whopper with cinematic strings (the opening is remarkably similar to Hans Zimmers cello in the opening to The Dark Knight) that slowly develops into something enormous, wall-of-noise-y and fantastical. This is folk like you've never seen it before.

'Summerschool' is a languid, almost rousing slab of chill, replete with Fleet Foxes daintiness and proper British folk noises - it recalls lolling by a weedy pond in summer, attracting flies and revelling in the shade of a weeping willow while drinking special brew with your mates. 'Not Over' is all raw guitars and cracking croonerations, laced with more impeccable harmonies and flourishes of tearjerk string-led feelings. The pizzicato pluckings sound like bubbles popping, giving a weird synthpop effect to the interweaving tentacles of looming folk. 'Laughter' is a bit of a misnomer. It's pretty sad.

Despite a lot of the record being filled by aural pleasures that make you want to hang your head and weep, there's actually an awful lot of moments that scream hope. For every moment of glum on This Silent Year, there's a silver lining bringing you images of tranquil summers or glints of happiness. It's not overt, and perhaps it won't be everyone's interpretation, but that's okay – it has the ability to elicit multiple responses. Surely that, if anything, is the mark of a great record.