Low are a truly special band. Formed as a joke at the height of grunge’s high-gain heyday, its hard to imagine early audiences in 1993 considering this Duluth, Minnesota trio even existing eighteen years later, never mind selling out prestigious venues. But then again, rock 'n' roll has a habit of taking funny turns like this.
Frequently pigeonholed into a niche little sub-genre dubbed “slow-core”, Low are simply unique. The band’s melodies are rich and nourishing, but unlike Ida, stop short of coming over as sickly sweet. Sparse arrangements grow and rejoice in reverb, but in a way that’s more nuanced than Codeine’s dramatic use of dynamic range and reverential feedback. With an avant-rock savvy to match Labradford, Low can easily satisfy the most fastidious of Wire readers yet still write songs that sound like songs. That’s not to say any of these other bands aren’t great in their own ways, because frankly, they are. It’s just that over nine albums and another nine EPs, Low have earned a reputation for themselves as musically fearless and ultimately, peerless.
With that in mind, you’d be forgiven for thinking expectations would be high for tonight’s performance of songs from their latest album, C’mon. After the hushed crowd politely take their seats in the 2,000 capacity venue, the band walk on stage, heads down, all dressed in black. Barely noticing the audience, frontman Alan Sparhawk plugs in his Les Paul with a disgruntled buzz, fiddles with his little amp and shakes his head a bit before launching straight into a long, slow, distorted riff which can only be likened to Beat Happening covering a Harvey Milk tune. All of a sudden, these piercing shards of amplifier squeal wash away to reveal Nothing But Heart. As the song gradually builds up, it becomes clear that the vocal harmonies of Sparhawk and drummer Mimi Parker are still as powerful as ever. Only this time, they soar with renewed fire in their bellies and a forceful feeling of pressure and release (a trick the band later repeats on Majesty/Magic).
At the other end of the scale, songs such as $20 and Done are coloured with a distinct tone of weariness - giving them an extra fragility than their album versions - whilst Especially Me and Try To Sleep are invigorated with an almost hypnotic heartbeat-like sense of pulse and propulsion.
As far as Low records go, perhaps the biggest surprise of C’Mon is its general lack of surprises. Witches boasts a cranky distortion reminiscent of 2007s Drums and Guns. Sparhawk’s echo chamber guitar on Nightingale harks back to 1995’s Long Division. The album’s closing track, Something’s Turning Over is not unlike some of the bands acoustic covers captured on 2004’s A Lifetime of Temporary Relief. And that’s no bad thing. C’mon’s solid, confident, songwriting makes this album serve as a perfect introduction for one of the most important (yet overlooked) bands of the last twenty years by showcasing everything they’ve learnt along the way. Thanks in part to live keyboardist Eric Pollard and new-ish bassist Steve Garrington, tonight’s encore of older classics such as Laser Beam, Two Step and (That’s How You Sing)Amazing Grace, are subtly re-worked and freshened up but still retain the sacred minimalism that made these songs so special in the first place.
Low have never been ones to hang around the same places for too long. And that, dear readers, is the essence of their charm. At the very least, they make music that is interesting, at the very most you’re almost certain to fall in love with them. Either way, based on tonight alone, it seems fair to say that in another eighteen years from now, they’ll still be selling out venues somewhere.
In the meantime, watch some of their videos:
Words - I Could Live In Hope (1994)
Shame - Long Division (1995)
Over the Ocean - The Curtain Hits the Cast (1996)
Will the Night - Songs for a Dead Pilot (1997)
Weight of Water - Secret Name (1999)
Dinosaur Act - Things We Lost in the Fire: (2001)
Canada - Trust (2002)
Death of a Salesman - The Great Destroyer (2003)
Breaker - Drums and Guns (2007)
Try to Sleep - C'Mon (2011)
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