Low
interview by
Guia Cortassa, Stefano Ferreri, Andrea Vascellari, Lorenzo Righetto
We meet Low in Milan on the day the ballots are being counted in the general election; there's a strange electric suspension in the air, a tension that halts every activity, waiting to find out what will become of us. An uncertainty that dissolves the moment I step through the doors of the hotel where the band from Duluth is waiting for me, transforming into a muted calm, very similar to the one conveyed by every note of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker's output.
Mimi will be our interlocutor. With her, we'll take stock of what these first twenty years – and 10 albums – of Low have been, on stage and at home.
The release of "The Invisible Way" coincides with the band's twentieth anniversary. If "C'Mon" can be seen as one of your more pop-rock records, this new release goes back to the minimalist arrangements of your early days. Was that an intentional choice?
I think so. I'm not sure I intentionally chose the contrast, but we wrote these songs and it felt like they simply needed this minimalist production. At this point we felt that after "C'Mon" we could do whatever we wanted, and we tried this sound.
A lot of attention, including in the press release on Sub Pop's website, for the new album is focused on your encounter with Wilco and the collaboration with Jeff Tweedy, who produced "The Invisible Way". How did this relationship come about?
We've known Nels Cline for a few years, we've played with some of the bands he was part of, we've done shows with him, and I think once he joined Wilco he opened doors for us, introduced us to them, until eventually we went on tour together and got to know each other. There was a lot of talk about the possibility of working with Wilco, with Jeff, and finally time allowed it, the window opened, and it worked. We went to their studio, which is really beautiful, the timing was right.
What was it like working with Jeff?
Really great, it's something he's been doing for a long time, so obviously he adds something. He comes in with a different perspective, being a musician himself; he knew exactly where we wanted to take those songs and respected that a great deal, while never being afraid to give his opinion and advice. Plus the studio is amazing, it was a great experience.
Previously you worked with other producers, including Matt Beckley on "C'Mon", who had already collaborated with big pop stars, very far removed from your sound. How did you arrive at that choice, and how did things work out with him?
[Laughs] That experience was also very positive. With Matt, we knew he would add a lot of Hollywood to the recordings. It's a really strange thing, and it's incredible how different producers put their stamp on things — if you pay attention to the arrangement with the intention of listening to both, it can be very exciting.
You sing on quite a few of the songs on "The Invisible Way", and, as many fans claim, the best Low songs are the ones with your voice. Why did you choose to sing so many this time?
I think Alan forced me to! [laughs] We talked about this, whether I should only sing my own songs or all of them. We went back and forth a bit, but anyway, honestly, I felt a bit of pressure, which wasn't a bad thing — in the long run it turned out to be a really good thing, I worked harder and wrote more songs... Who knows, maybe one day we'll only have solo projects, I don't know... But yes, honestly it pushed me to write and sing.
How does songwriting work within the band?
We work separately, we live on different schedules – Alan stays up very late at night and works then, while I have to wake up early with the kids, so I work in the middle of the day, and he does his part at night. Then, later on, we get together to discuss and work out the structure and the details.
Does each of you only sing your own songs, or is there some crossover?
Well, Alan wrote “Holy Ghost” and I think he really wanted to sing it, but at the same time he wanted me to sing more, so I basically snatched it away from him [laughs]. But mainly, yes, I wrote all my other songs myself, and he wrote all of his.
You recorded one of your most intense and emotional records in the Sacred Heart church in your hometown. From the outside, the impression is that the place itself is magical. Was that a coincidence, or did the setting influence you while you were recording?
I think the setting always has an influence; in that case it was a beautiful church converted into a studio, there was so much history there, so much life and death in that place, and maybe a weight, a heaviness, from everything that had happened there. I think that, perhaps unconsciously, being in a place like that comes through: you write the songs elsewhere, then you walk in there and [sighs] something arrives. So I'd say yes, it happened.
“Drums and Guns” was probably your most surprising and controversial work. Do you think the “political” label can be applied to it, at least in part?
I think Alan considers it his protest record, it references war and violence – you know, our country has been involved in several wars for quite a while now, and inevitably the state of the world gets inside you and influences you. It's our protest.
Should we expect political themes on “The Invisible Way” as well?
Not from my songs... But I'm not sure I can speak so much for Alan... Someone has already brought up the idea of war and violence, but I don't know if I feel it so strongly on this record.
There have been quite a few line-up changes over the years when it comes to bass players. Can you tell me why?
Yes, we've had a certain number of bass players... Well, what I can say is that Alan and I are married, so in a sense we're forced to stay together, but the bass players aren't married to us! [laughs]. The first one we had was very young, he was still in high school when we started the band; after a year, we were touring a lot, and I think he realized it wasn't for him. The one who came after, Zach, was with us for about 10 years, I think, then he chose to start a family. I think that, over 20 years, what's happened to us isn't that unusual. Honestly, I believe – though I can't speak for certain for Alan – that we're carrying this thing forward together, and we invite people to join in: if they want to stay and it works, it works; if they want to leave, they leave.
How do you balance family and work?
Well, we don't! What happens in the band, unfortunately and fortunately, spills over into the family too, into our marriage and our relationship, and you can only deal with it. [Family and work] are basically the same thing. We have two kids, and of course they have their own impact too, their own critical moments. It's all one and the same thing.
Do they come on tour with you?
A little, they used to come more when they were small, now they're in school, it's harder, and it's much more tiring for me when I bring them along! When it's just us, I get up when I want, I eat when I want, but the kids get hungry, they get sleepy, they have a rigid schedule, it's just too much work [laughs].
When you started out, in the early Nineties, there was a parallel movement working against the grain of grunge, built on slow tempos and hazy atmospheres (I'm thinking of Red House Painters, Idaho, Bedhead, Luna…). Did you feel part of that at the time?
I think we felt part of it later on; when we first started out we were very isolated, we were up in northern Minnesota, we didn't have many musician friends, just the odd one here and there. We knew from the start that we'd be different from what most people were listening to, and that was fine, because we knew that's how it would be. Then, through playing, we met other people, friends making music similar to ours, so I think we did become part of that scene, but always remained somewhat apart from it in a way.
Some people called that genre "slowcore." In an old interview Alan said that's the worst definition ever given to your music, going on to say "I hate that word. Anything with the word 'minimal' in it would be more fitting, but I don't think anyone's coined that one yet." Do you still agree with that statement?
Well, the funny thing about it is that Alan himself was the one who used it first! [laughs] A friend of ours coined the term 'slowcore,' Alan mentioned it in an interview, and it stuck from there, so he's the cause of his own trouble! I don't even know, at this point, if it bothered him that much – in any case, people will file things into a category, everything gets categorized, and he had to just accept it. There's nothing to worry about, because maybe you don't want to be defined that way, but at the same time it's a simple way for people to do it.
Could you name any new artists or bands that have struck you recently? Is slowcore still alive?
Yes, I think the genre has broadened, but… my God, I'm terrible, I don't listen to much, and I honestly don't know if I could name anyone right now! But I think the genre is expanding, I don't even know if people still call it "slowcore," but, I think, whatever you want to call it, it's still not very popular, even though a lot of people play that kind of music, maybe under a different label that fits it differently.
Within your genre you've explored an entire palette of sounds and feelings, and your discography traces a path that's coherent and personal, yet also very varied. If you had to sum up that path, do you think any particular part of it represents you the most?
It felt to me from the start like a natural progression – hopefully it has been a progression – and we're both always surprised that we've managed to keep it going, so we've never forced it, we've never sat down to calculate things like "Okay, this will be our next move" or "our next record will have this sound, we need to do this…", it's always been very natural, and that overall vision is the only one I can have, nothing planned, it just flows freely.
Even though it's a side project of Alan's, let me ask you about the new release from Retribution Gospel Choir. "3" is a very distinctive record: two long psychedelic jams, with classic rock and bursts of noise. Why was it released so close to "The Invisible Way"?
I think it was pure coincidence, honestly. They had the recordings ready, there was no planning involved, they knew they'd have to do a short tour, and they knew we had a huge tour coming up instead, so I think they tried to get it out a bit before the Low record, so they could tour it, because afterwards we'd be really busy.
Thank you, Mimi…
Thank you!
***
(S)low core, minimalist pop and the music of the people: America in a band
7:20 pm is a rather odd time for an interview.
But that's the time slot I was given when I asked to interview (over the phone) Alan Sparhawk, singer and leader of the Low.
After all, you have to adapt, and at such a hectic time for the Duluth band, between promoting the new album, “C'mon”, and preparing for a long world tour, it's inevitable that you have to accommodate the interviewee's needs in some way.
Of course, an intercontinental call at this time of the evening, at the tail end of an intense and exhausting workday, still caught up in the tiresome thoughts of everyday life and surrounded by wary, vaguely skeptical colleagues, is hardly likely to help create the atmosphere, the spark, that's usually needed to turn a cold string of questions into a pleasant, engaging conversation and an exchange of views of some interest to the reader.
To make matters worse, there's the thought that in Duluth, Minnesota, it's just past noon and, while I don't know the Sparhawk-Parker family's eating habits, I can only assume Alan will be busy setting the table or making a plate of pasta (?) for his kids. In short, even picturing a rock star (albeit a cult one) caught up in household chores (and, as a result, somewhat annoyed by a phone call intruding on family life) does nothing to help in the necessary quest for the right atmosphere.
But so it goes.
I try to isolate myself, dial the long number on the phone keypad, and wait.
The phone rings for a long time. The recorder tells me forty interminable seconds have already gone by when, from the other side of the ocean, a voice finally answers: “Hello”.
Hi Alan…
Hi, how's it going?
I introduce myself. I'm a bit embarrassed. The voice, which reaches my ear somewhat muffled, doesn't sound particularly friendly. I remind Alan of a previous interview we did, at the Auditorium in Rome, for his project Retribution Gospel Choir.
All I get is a rather long silence. Then:
Yeah, I remember, for Retribution Gospel Choir. How are things over there in Rome?
All good, thanks. I know we'll only have about twenty minutes to talk, so maybe it's best to get started with the questions…
Alright. Let's begin then.
I've often heard and read that you don't like interviews, and that your answers tend to be quite short and curt, even if very direct. Do you do that because you feel there's no need to use too many words to explain a concept? Or is it because you'd rather express yourself only through music?
(another pause... a sigh) Well... I try to explain myself sometimes, but in the end it often becomes frustrating and not at all satisfying. So it's true. I prefer to let the music speak. I don't know... I don't care much about interviews. It can be very strange to talk about what you've written, also because sometimes you can't even explain exactly what you wrote and why. So a song really is the best way to say whatever you want to say. I don't know... I admit that my way of writing is pretty cryptic, and I really can't find much satisfaction in trying to explain what my lyrics are about.
Okay. That, of course, means this interview is going to be pretty hard for me...
I hope not. But that'll also depend on you.
(Nervous laugh) After a couple of years with Retribution Gospel Choir, did you find anything different in going back to writing and recording as Low? And what was it like finding yourself working side by side with Mimi again?
I couldn't say exactly, but going back to thinking about Low is always a very natural process for me. It's an entirely natural thing to return to Low, because of the way Mimi and I sing together and the way we write songs. Not that it's easy: it's always the same kind of tough struggle, something distinctly familiar.
Without a doubt, working with Retribution Gospel Choir lets me experiment with different things that, in some way, end up influencing how we record with Low, for instance. I don't know, I think it's also a kind of reaction: with Retribution we play in a very aggressive way and we also improvise a lot. With Low we never do that, it's never been part of our creative process. So, to get back to your question, working with Low again is a bit like looking at the flip side of the coin: less improvisation, but I finally feel back in control, like I have clear ideas and a sharper sense of what I want.
For many years I've collaborated with lots of different people, lots of different bands, projects far removed from Low, and every one of those people, every one of those contacts, has taught me something more about what Low is, about what I want from Low.
In our previous interview you told me that folk music is the music of the people, that it's the way people express themselves. Can we say that you play folk music?
Yes! Absolutely.
When people say folk music, a lot of them think of acoustic guitars and a man and a woman singing, a fiddle. But that's just a convention: folk means people. Folk music is the music of the people, however it's played or sung.
Do you think "C'mon", your new album, is the closest you've ever come to folk music (in the "traditional" sense)?
Ugh... I really don't know. I can't compare it to anything else. Not to the other things we've done, nor to the classic idea of folk music, but either way I think it's pretty "pop", and since pop music is still a kind of "folk" music, we can say that "C'mon" is folk.
And besides, we're definitely "folk": the reason is that we're musically "uneducated", we're self-taught, we learned everything on our own. We never knew what the "right" way to write a song was supposed to be.
Sticking with definitions for a moment, how do you feel about the term "slowcore", which has been stuck to Low ever since the start of your career?
That's fine by me. You know, people need labels to understand things quickly, to learn something easily. In the end I do the same thing when I read a review quickly: I go and look at the genre, I need to divide things into categories, just like everyone else. Obviously nobody would love being labeled in any way, but it's not a problem for me. It doesn't bother me the way it used to. After all, it's a good way to describe what we do.
I read somewhere that, all things considered, you'd actually prefer Low to be labeled as "minimal"…
Yes. I think a good part of me follows what's called minimalism, albeit in a pop context.
"Minimalist pop" would be just fine. But maybe that's asking too much.
I could use that label for the review of "C'mon"…
Go for it! Maybe you'll start a trend and others will use it too.
Over the course of your long career you've worked with producers of the caliber of Kramer, Steve Fisk, Dave Fridmann and Steve Albini: what did each of them bring to Low's music, and what criteria do you use each time to choose the producer for your albums?
Right from the start we've always worked with producers who had their own voice, their own style, and that has helped us a great deal in some way.
We've always known what we wanted, but working in the studio with someone from outside the band, someone you know has their own way of seeing things, has always made the recording process more interesting, the project more appealing.
I think the choice always comes down to a matter of respect: I have to respect and believe in the person I choose to produce Low's albums. I need to be able to trust that whatever their idea and their way of seeing things is, they care about what we do and can bring out the best in the recordings. And in any case I'm always there during the recordings, so it's never going to happen that a producer completely reshapes our music however they please. Still, with "Drums & Guns" we did try using different sounds and a different approach, and it's still us. Personally I'm not at all afraid of working with "extreme" people - if anything I find it more interesting and stimulating. At the core, in any case, there's always Low.
"Drums & Guns", besides having a different sonic approach, was also in some ways a very political album. "C'mon" seems to come from somewhere else, from a different kind of inspiration. Do you feel it's a more personal album? More intimate?
Yes, absolutely. It wasn't an intentional choice, but it seems to me that the songs we wrote after "Drums & Guns" were all more personal, all more grounded in the people we love and who surround us, in the situations we've been through. "Drums & Guns", on the other hand, was more of a search. We tried to find a way to stand up in front of people and tell them what we thought, particularly about war, about violence. About humanity in general. That kind of song works sometimes, and sometimes it doesn't.
This time, though, it was a much more personal affair altogether, no doubt about it.
On that note, even though you've said you don't like explaining your lyrics, there's a line in "$20" that really struck me: "My love is for free, my love". Does it have something to do with the fact that nowadays you can buy anything, except feelings?
(A pause)… Yes… For me… for me it's something that has to do with… with my soul.
I believe and hope that everyone's love is free, that it can't be bought. At least true love: we should understand that it has to be given without expecting anything in return, and we shouldn't try to buy it.
Since "C'mon" is a more intimate album, I feel compelled to ask you something "personal": how does it work being a "rock" family? You once told me that touring with GBV felt a lot more like being a rocker than traveling around with your wife and two small kids. Back then you were "allowed" to do what real rockers do... And what's your kids' relationship with Low's music like?
It's not an easy question to answer, but I can tell you that trying to separate your family from what you do in life seems like a waste of time to me. I believe your family should always be part of what you do. Sure, with GBV it was something more like being guys in a band, something more typically rock'n'roll, something that had to do with going hunting with friends — where I'm from, all the guys used to go hunting. And it's true: with Low it's simply being with family.
As for the kids' relationship with our music, well, I know they like what we play, especially the catchier songs, and they really like what I do with GBV. It's actually lucky that they like our songs, since they're pretty much forced to hear them an awful lot while we're working on them.
I'm often surprised by their ability to pick up what they hear and memorize it right away. I wish I'd had that ability when I was a kid.
Speaking of your childhood, there's a track on "C'mon" ("Witches") where you tell a story involving a dream and witches, and the fact that your father urged you to "go back" and fight them with a baseball bat. Is that some kind of allegory?
It is, in a way. But it's a story that actually happened. Once, when I was still a kid, I got up and couldn't sleep all night, so I think I used the witches as an excuse to justify myself, but my father told me I had to solve the problem myself, that I had the power to personally deal with the witches, maybe with a baseball bat. It's a pretty strange concept, I admit. It's kind of an image that's always stuck in my head. Either way, it's always represented something for me. I don't know if I was trying to say something or use a metaphor, but I felt the need to tell this story that's stayed with me for so long.
Listening to the last track on "C'mon", it's now official: you're the most in-tune family in America. Hearing your kids sing along was pretty moving!
Really? Thank you for the compliment. We thought about it for a long time, because we didn't want people to think it was silly or too self-celebratory, but then it seemed to come out well and it all felt so spontaneous...
Robert Plant recorded two covers of Low songs. Have you heard them, and what do you think?
I've heard them, of course. I'm a fan of his, and it was a huge honor for me that he covered my songs. It was also a huge surprise. A really beautiful thing, though. A few weeks ago we went to see him play and met him after the show. He was very kind, and it meant a lot to me. But what can I say? It really was a surprise. I have no idea how he could even have come across our music! Suddenly someone from his record label came and told us: "Congratulations, Robert Plant wants to cover one of your songs." We were caught completely off guard, even though we'd heard rumors that Plant still listens to a lot of music, and a lot of "new" music too. So maybe he heard us somewhere, or someone gave him one of our albums. I really should have asked him, actually. It would be nice to know who did us that great favor.
Since OndaRock is a webzine, we're always curious about musicians' relationship with the web. Do you think it's affecting the way artists make music?
I think it's undoubtedly changing the way people see music, the way they approach it — for instance, the fact that almost everyone now is drawn to individual tracks rather than albums, even though, maybe on a more underground level, there are still the diehards, the ones still hunting for vinyl, who want something tangible in their hands.
So we've probably all lost something in terms of sales because of how easy it's become to find music online, but that's fine, it doesn't worry me too much. As for me personally, I think back to 1983, when I was in junior high school and was actually pretty good at programming on the Apple: it's been at least fifteen years now since I've touched a computer. For me, the web hasn't changed much!
Looking back on your long career, do you feel satisfied with what you've done and achieved? Is there an album or a song you love more than the others? Or something you wish you could have avoided?
(long pause, now customary)… I don't think there's anything I really wouldn't have wanted to do.
Naturally there are things that, looking back, you feel turned out decidedly better than others, things I'm always satisfied with. I mean, having Robert Plant cover two of your songs is definitely something that makes you proud, that makes you ask yourself some questions as a "creator" of songs. After all, anyone who writes songs would hope to be respected and loved for what they write, and above all hopes their songs are heard by as many people as possible. So things like this are the kind that make you think: "Ok, now I can die."
Actually, looking back, the thing I'm proudest of, the thing that satisfies me most, is that for more than ten years I've been able to raise and feed my kids thanks to my music. It might sound silly or irrelevant, but it's clear that it happens because people appreciate our songs and care about us. It's wonderful to see that people are so kind and warm toward us, and we're very grateful for that.
It's really lovely that you feel grateful toward those who follow your music. I myself have all your albums and I feel flattered by your words. Although I think you've given your listeners a lot more than one or two meals…
If you bought our records, you helped feed my kids. Why shouldn't I be grateful to you? It's gratifying to know we've managed to give something to someone. And because of that, we really do feel connected to the people who follow our music.
One last question. Have you ever thought about giving up music? And do you think there's still something worth making music for? What keeps motivating you?
Hmm… I don't know, but I'm afraid the thing that motivates me most is this child that still lives inside my brain, the one who still tries to understand and to be understood. It's probably some kind of flaw in my brain, but I know it's always there. It must be some sort of character issue—maybe I need to do something to grow up—but I'm still here trying to decode what it's telling me, trying to understand it, and I don't think it will ever go away.
At this point we should hope you never manage to grow up…
As long as it doesn't kill me in the end…
Thank you. I was a bit tense, but in the end it was really thrilling and interesting talking to you.
Thank you, and I hope we'll get the chance to talk again. I think by the end of November we'll be back in Italy on tour. Let's hope we can meet up then. Thanks for calling me. Peace.
And so, a little over twenty minutes were enough to leave my workplace and find myself sitting at a table in a room in Duluth, Minnesota, face to face with a true icon of indie rock.
Thanks, Alan! And save me some of that pasta you were cooking for the kids, or a nice venison steak. Or whatever you like. After all, whatever you and Mimi have been feeding us all these years, we've always devoured it eagerly.
(25/06/2011)
***
| Slowcore liturgy
by Magda Di Genova and Nicola Minucci The first person I meet when I arrive at the Rolling Stone is the band's tour manager, who introduces himself in a very relaxed manner (I don't think I've ever met a more relaxed tour manager than him) and tells me he's going to go get Zak Sally right away. A couple of minutes later Alan Sparhawk shows up, looking at me, setting down the last bite of the ham sandwich he's eating on a table that's none too clean, wiping his hand on his trousers and introducing himself: "Are you waiting for Zak? Look, he's running a bit late, but he's coming." Only a few moments pass before Zak finally walks through the door. He's carrying an old leather bag, holding the rim of a plastic cup of scalding hot coffee between two fingers, with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose. After setting the bag down on the floor and the coffee on the table, he shakes my hand, apologizing for being late (by a whole 4 minutes!). My first impression is a good one: Low are a polite, easygoing band. A friend of mine would like to know if you like David Bowie, in particular the album "Low". No, I've never listened to "Low". Really? No, never. I really like David Bowie, but I can't say I've "studied" his entire career: he's done so much! Your latest record is called "The Great Destroyer". Who is the great destroyer, and why did you choose such a violent, provocative title? The idea of the great destroyer is a kind of character that kept recurring in Alan's lyrics. This isn't a "concept album", but maybe it's a kind of idea for one, a sort of good character and a bad character; something like that, or something that can't really be defined as such at all; just a cluster of ideas. I can tell you that what we do has something "intuitive" about it: we can argue about things all day and all night, but as a band we prefer things to make sense to everyone. That's how we know when a song is finished, when an album is done, or when we've found the right title. You touched on one side of the songwriting process, but how do songs actually come together in a band like yours? Sometimes Alan has a whole song already and an idea of how it should sound. Other times he has a song but isn't sure how it should sound. Other times still he only has part of a song, and we all work on it together, as a band. Is it easy to have your say on a song Alan has written? Sometimes it is. Alan plays us his song, we get it, we play it, and everything turns out fine. Other times it's harder, you know, sometimes a song takes years before it takes shape. Sometimes it's simple, other times it's difficult.
The sound has changed compared to your previous records, and I even read a statement from Alan: “You want a rock record? Here's your goddamn rock record.” Aha. Here we go. How did that come about? Ooohhhh!… I find that a very “harsh” thing to say. See, you make a record and after that you can't control everything that happens with it. We didn't set out to make a rock record, we didn't even want to do something particularly different from what we'd already done - we just tried to play our songs. We always try to be honest, to take what we've learned and apply it. I still don't consider it a rock record. I think the Queens Of The Stone Age record is a rock record, the AC/DC record is a rock record too. I like those records, but I think “The Great Destroyer” can only be considered a rock record within the context of Low's own discography. So it wasn't a choice, it was something that came naturally. Yes, at the end of the process, this is the result. We didn't say to ourselves, “Let's make rock songs”, we said, “Let's try to play our songs properly”. Some people even see it as a turning point in your career. Is it? I don't know… We'll see. I'm not really sure what a “turning point” even means, jeez! Let's do this: I'll ask you again in four or five years. You'd hope every band has a turning point in its career. Then, you know, you can get better or you can get worse. You have to face a couple of decisions, and we've faced a couple. The only thing you can do is make sure you're happy with what you do. This is the first record you've made for SubPop. How did you choose them, and how did you get in touch? I don't really know, it's simply a bigger label. Before we recorded for a tiny label (Kranky): there were just these two guys. For such a small label, they did a great job. Obviously we knew SubPop from back when we were just listeners ourselves, and then, over the years, we did a few things together. Jonathan and others at SubPop were fans of ours, and in the end they convinced us that we should be known by as many people as possible. A small label like Kranky is interested in putting out music for people who love music, but Sub Pop wants to put out records that are available to anyone who's interested. Major labels tend to shut you up, but Sub Pop is different. We were really worried at first, but that's passed, and for now things are going really well. After working with Kramer and Steve Albini, you asked David Fridmann to produce your new record. We got to know Dave and his friends, and we thought it would be interesting to work with them. We liked his work and he liked Low. We just could never get our schedules to line up, and by the time this record was nearly ready, he was available and everything worked out. Mimi doesn't sing much on this record, even though she's improved a lot over the years. Mimi has always sung beautifully. Anyway, she sings a lot on this record. It's not something we planned, we didn't want to "force" anything. This is more of an Alan record, but at the same time it's a record by the three of us as a better band. Sometimes being a better band means distancing yourself a bit, or making decisions that aren't obvious. We could guess that the next record will be Mimi's, where she'll sing everything - it could happen. And then she was having her second child, so we can't say she wasn't busy during that time. I was really surprised to see that one song is titled "Death Of A Salesman". It actually has nothing to do with Arthur Miller's play itself. Do you feel like you're Miller's "traveling salesmen"? It's been a long time since I read Miller's play, and I think it's the same for Alan. From what I remember of the text, the song has nothing to do with what Arthur Miller's play is about - I think the song is more about what the play was dealing with: asking yourself what you're doing with your life, and why you're doing it. At first I thought it was a song inspired by the play. No, it's about a person who... Who questions themselves? Maybe. For this record you finally managed to shoot a video. Is it true that Alan would like one for every song on the album? Be... We'd all love that. Sounds like fun, I think you should do it! I know! We'd love to, but we're on tour for four months. We have a lot of ideas, but we just keep being on tour all the time. We're busy. It would be great if it happened, but at the same time, we've also got a life to live and music to play. I really hope it happens. We don't really have people we can tell: “Do this!” and they just do it. Basically it's just the two of us, and we don't point fingers at each other saying: “Do it”, we look each other in the eye and say: “Do you feel like doing it?” because somebody has to do it. We're not that pretentious a band when it comes to that. We can still say it might happen, though. It might. You opened for Radiohead. [very pleased] Yes! How did it go? I remember the Italian crowd wasn't exactly kind to you. Really?! That was an amazing time for us, so I don't have any bad memories of it. Usually people yell “Boo” at you and “Get off the stage!”, but the Radiohead fans were pretty open towards us and gave us a really great experience. I don't remember anyone being terribly cruel. So you're telling me they weren't talking that much during your set. Not as much as you think. So it was just my impression, because I kept having to shush people. Yeah. We weren't the band people were there to see, they were there for Radiohead. And besides, we never play shows that big, so it was far from our minds to even think about trying that. When you released your first album (“I Could Live In Hope“, 1994,) the world was in the grip of a genuine grunge explosion: the most “fashionable” bands used “noise” to express their anger and discomfort. Did you feel like the “true rebels” of those years? Actually, for the first album I wasn't part of the band yet, there was another bassist, John Nichols. Anyway, it was a strange period for music, because “grunge” didn't become “grunge” until someone gave it that name: before that, there were just bands playing here and there. That's where things started to go wrong: there was this new movement and everyone was saying, “Hey, look at this.” I think at the time Alan, Mimi and John wanted to try something different just for fun, maybe as a kind of game: “Let's see how slowly we can play” and then, all of a sudden, it wasn't just fun anymore: it became a very powerful way of making music. We're not rebels… No, absolutely not, it's just that “noise” had become fashionable, and if you're a “strange person” in a society of “normal people” you're seen as a “monster”, but if you're a “normal person” in a society of “strange people” then you're the “monster”. That was the point of my question. Yes! But once grunge caught on, everyone wanted to do only and exclusively that. Before, on the other hand, everyone wanted their band to sound different from the others, and that's a very different thing: for example, Galaxie 500 played alongside Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr., and they each had a different sound from one another, and that's a good thing, it's right to have a sound of your own! Instead of listening to another band and saying, “I want to sound exactly like that”, before, people listened to other bands and said, “I want to make music that's mine”, and that's completely different. I think that's where Low come from, and it's not about wanting to be different from everyone else, but about wanting to make something that's an expression of yourself and not of someone else. Mimi and Alan are Mormons, and I imagine a lot of people ask how much that influences the music and the lyrics. Does that get annoying? I suppose it was, at first. I think it's an aspect and a subject that's been brought up more by other people than by Alan and Mimi. Alan never starts an interview by saying, “You know, we're Mormons.” It's a very important part of their lives. This isn't a band where they're Mormon and I have to be Mormon too for us to understand each other. Everyone wants to be happy, everyone wants to live a peaceful life, everyone wants… We could say everyone has the same fears and the same dreams, and as far as I'm concerned, this question could be put to you exactly the same way as: “How does wearing glasses influence your music?” Exactly! Besides being musicians, Low also have a record label (Chairkickers Union) and you run a sort of publishing house (La Mano). Can you tell me about it? My publishing house has just released this (she pulls a comic book out of her bag titled “Diary Of A Mosquito Abatement Man” by John Porcellino) and I'll be putting out a few more titles soon. It's easy to imagine musicians founding record labels, but what made you think of founding a company that publishes comics? I'd been dealing with the American small press for more than fifteen years… and… you know, when I was a kid I never thought I'd become a musician: I wanted to be a comic book artist and… and I still do (we laugh). |
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This article is an English translation of the original Italian text by Lorenzo Righetto, published on OndaRock.it. It was translated with the help of artificial intelligence, under the editorial responsibility of OndaRock's editor-in-chief, Claudio Fabretti.
Low on OndaRock
Discography
| Low (Ep, Summershine, 1994) | 6 | |
| I Could Live In Hope (Vernon Yard, 1994) | 9 |  |
| Long Division (Vernon Yard, 1995) | 7.5 |  |
| Transmission (Ep, Vernon Yard, 1996) | 6 | |
| The Curtain Hits The Cast (Vernon Yard, 1996) | 7 | |
| Songs For A Dead Pilot (Ep, Kranky, 1997) | 5.5 | |
| One More Reason To Forget (live, Bluesanct, 1998) | 6 | |
| Owl Remix Low (Vernon Yard, 1998) | 6 | |
| In The Fishtank (Ep w/ Dirty Three, In The Fishtank, 1999) | 6.5 | |
| Secret Name (Kranky, 1999) | 7 | |
| Christmas (Ep, Kranky, 1999) | 5.5 | |
| Bombscare (Ep w/ Spring Heel Jack, Tugboat, 2000) | 6 | |
| Things We Lost In The Fire (Kranky, 2001) | 8 | |
| Paris'99-Anthony, Are you Around? (live, P-Vine, 2001) | 7 | |
| Trust (Kranky, 2002) | 7.5 | |
| The Great Destroyer (Sub Pop, 2005) | 7 | |
| Drums And Guns (Sub Pop, 2007) | 7 | |
| C'mon (Sub Pop, 2011) | 8 | |
| The Invisible Way (Sub Pop, 2013) | 7.5 | |
| Ones And Sixes (Sub Pop, 2015 ) | 8 | |
| Double Negative (Sub Pop, 2018) | 8.5 | |
| HEY WHAT(Sub Pop, 2021) | 8.5 | |
MilestoneRecommended by OR
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Low
The Great Destroyer
Low
I Could Live In Hope
Low
Trust
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Drums And Guns
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C'mon
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The Invisible Way
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Ones And Sixes
Low
Double Negative
Low
HEY WHAT
Low
The Great Destroyer
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original design & development by
Edoardo M. Cappuccio
Edoardo M. Cappuccio
redesign by
Gabriele Brombin
Anna Quaranta
Gabriele Brombin
Anna Quaranta