Low

Born in Duluth, Minnesota, in the '60s he became, through a string of extraordinary works, the most important singer-songwriter in rock history... No, that's a different story, though not entirely. Fellow citizens of that untamable agitator and accuser, Low share with Bob Dylan a gift for songwriting. The statement might sound simplistic, and the comparison irreverent as well as musically misleading, but let us try to explain. Low possess that archetypal quality found in the DNA of the greatest American songwriters: the ability to pierce and strike the human soul with simple rock songs. The Low universe belongs to an era that produced superb examples of musical solipsism (Smog, Palace Music, Magnetic Fields); the song, then, as an externalization of one's own subjectivity, of one's own way of experiencing events, of one's own sensibilities, sometimes bruised by the shallowness of others' feelings — conveyed in their case by the lyrics, yes, but even more by a constantly depressed and depressive general mood, born of the psalms of the great high priests of human desolation in music (Neil Young, Nick Drake, Joy Division, Swans).

Low are the poets of infinite sadness, of acute and irreversible prostration. Placing their work within a microcosm — that of slo-core and Nineties psychedelia, where the relentless pursuit of an atmospheric sound has often come at the expense of the ability to write great songs (assuming one had that ability in the first place) — makes plain the greatness of a band that managed to combine both. Low's art can be enjoyed both by lovers of the most depressed, understated singer-songwriters and by devotees of the more elongated, dreamlike forms of psychedelia. Low have almost always written songs — however stretched out, great songs, however complex at times — but always with those elements of repetition characteristic of pop-ular musical forms.

"I Could Live in Hope" is the most fascinating piece of their liturgy of suffering, because it manages not to be harmless in its simplicity, while carrying the same expressive urgency as "Goodbye and Hello" (Tim Buckley) or "Five Leaves Left" (Nick Drake). It's an eruption of pure, untouched sonic lava, within a musical universe where American indie rock, having already found commercial success through grunge, was beginning (or perhaps continuing) to morph into more extreme, avant-garde, at times experimentalist, and post- (rock, pop) forms, contaminating itself with electronica, kraut-rock, progressive, free jazz.

Every song on "I Could Live in Hope" is a funeral rite; vocalizations, bass lines and guitar reverb, however minimal, combine into fluid harmonic structures that are relatively easy to absorb. The slowness, inherited from Codeine, is the code that gives these compositions their staggering intensity. We are, in fact, on another level compared to Galaxie 500, Idaho, or even simply Cowboy Junkies. Where the languid melodies of those bands lead into landscapes crossed by rivers of nostalgia, Low's songs hypnotize the listener and violate their soul without them even realizing it; this is music that hurts, capable of evoking the vault of heaven, yes, but also of making the heart bleed. Low's music is Tim Buckley and Neil Young at once, it's Joy Division tearing apart the atmospheres of Mazzy Star, it's the sky enveloping the earth; it's the loudest subsonic music there is.

Describing the songs on "I Could Live in Hope" in detail is a difficult task, because only by listening can one grasp their essence and their healing power. The record is a masterpiece in its entirety, practically perfect in its debut-album imperfection. A menacing yet subdued bass line opens the first "poem"; "Words" drags on for over 5 minutes, buoyed by a listless, Galaxie 500-like melody and Sparhawk's evocative voice, which, while not particularly gifted, manages to give the sonic flow a striking emotional charge. On "Fear", the joint, almost choral singing of Sparhawk and Parker builds a dreamy, Mazzy Star-like atmosphere that is abruptly broken, torn open by a chorus delivered with Swans-like austerity. "Slide" is Mimi Parker's vocal masterpiece; her delicate, enveloping singing is able to hypnotize the listener, guiding them toward otherworldly destinations. Parker's vocal style is a striking cross between Tim Buckley and Hope Sandoval, Grace Slick and Margo Timmins; the result is a sort of ethereal whisper with the same evocative quality as the celestial cry of Elizabeth Fraser. "Lullaby" is a painful ballad of roughly ten minutes that starts slowly but picks up pace, not so much through the drums or bass as through the guitars, which seem to chase one another, weaving, at the same time, a melodic interplay reminiscent of "Picture of You" (The Cure).

Low went on to make exceptional albums, even more experimental ones, but the handful of songs on "I Could Live in Hope" still radiate a poetic breath capable of moving listeners, so intense that it could never be replicated. Let yourself be lulled by Low's lullabies, and you might discover hidden rooms of your soul and sensibility that you never knew you had. What a beautiful thing rock music is...

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01/11/2006