Springbank 10 — Earth and Salt in Balance
By Rafi Mercer
There is a rugged honesty to Springbank 10. It doesn’t dress itself in polish or glamour; it speaks in the language of earth, salt, and oil. Campbeltown, once the beating heart of Scotland’s whisky industry, now has only a handful of distilleries left. Among them, Springbank has become a cult name, admired by connoisseurs for its traditional methods and unyielding independence. Its 10-year-old expression is not an entry-level dram in the marketing sense — it is the foundation, the one that explains what Campbeltown still means.
Founded in 1828, Springbank remains family-owned, one of the few distilleries in Scotland to carry out every step of production on site: malting, distilling, maturation, bottling. The result is whisky that tastes singular, marked by craft rather than committee. The 10-year-old is often the first introduction, but it is no soft handshake. It is whisky that demands attention, earthy and maritime, carrying echoes of the town’s seafaring past.
In the glass, Springbank 10 glows amber-gold. On the nose, there’s brine, malt, damp earth, and a note of engine oil that has become its signature. Take a sip and the whisky broadens: sweet malt and fruit at first, then salt, pepper, smoke, and a distinctive oily texture that clings to the palate. The finish is long, slightly drying, with a persistence of salt and spice that feels elemental. It is whisky that doesn’t pretend; it delivers Campbeltown’s truth.
Springbank’s style is divisive — some find the oiliness odd, others find it addictive. But in the Tracks & Tales Guide to the Top 50 Whiskies, that individuality is precisely why it belongs. Whisky is not just about elegance; it is about character. Springbank has character in abundance, carrying forward a tradition that once defined an entire region.
Its musical parallel is Mulatu Astatke’s Ethiopian Jazz Volume 4. Like Springbank, it is distinctive, grounded in place, yet global in influence. Astatke’s Ethio-jazz blends traditional Ethiopian scales with jazz structure and improvisation, creating a sound that feels both rooted and exploratory. Listen to the hypnotic grooves and modal saxophone lines, and you hear something earthy, repetitive, insistent — music that feels elemental, as if carved from the night itself. Springbank 10 drinks in much the same way: direct, grounded, unforgettable.
In a listening bar, the pairing is magnetic. Pour Springbank 10 and let Astatke’s band play: the whisky’s salt and oil sit against the rolling, looping rhythms of the music. Both have a texture you can almost touch. Both reveal new depths the longer you stay with them. They don’t aim for smoothness; they aim for truth.
Springbank 10 is not a whisky for beginners — but it is one of the most important to encounter. It teaches you that whisky can taste of its place, that methods matter, that integrity leaves its mark on the tongue. It proves that some flavours, like some records, aren’t designed to please immediately; they’re designed to endure.
And perhaps that’s the next step: not just to drink Springbank 10 at home, but to make the journey to Campbeltown itself — a town of salt air and stone quays, where the distillery still runs as it always has. Or to find a bar that understands it, that serves it alongside music as grounded as Astatke’s hypnotic jazz. Because some whiskies, like some albums, reveal their full resonance only when you find the right room for them.
Rafi Mercer writes about the spaces where music matters. For more stories from Tracks & Tales, subscribe, or click here to read more.
