Just got the Low Christmas CD in the mail today.  It is really beautiful and sad.  Some really nice songs,  5 originals and 3 standards.  “Just Like Christmas” starts the disc off and is a little weird because it is the fastest song I’ve ever heard Low put out.  “If You Were Born Today” is from the Wurlitzer Jukebox 7” they put out in 1997 and also appears on Low’s live album One More Reason To Forget.  It is an incredible song about Jesus and quite possibly the most moving Christmas song you’ll hear in a long time.

And that’s where my comment about the album being sad comes in.  Low, being Mormons, have no real understanding of who the real Jesus is.  Jesus is not the spirit brother of Satan and He is not a being who was created.  Jesus is the Creator.  He is God (John 1:1).

OK, enough preaching.

I would highly recommend picking this up (from Low’s mail order, live shows, and select distributors)  It is a nice change of pace from all of the happy, upbeat (read: “cheesy”) Christmas albums out on the market.  If you’re like me and feel depressed (and Low) during the holiday season, this will fit your mood nicely.

Written by Eric Kesner.

Songs For A Dead Pilot is Low’s 5th album, their first since being signed to Kranky Records (which was probably where Low should’ve been all along).  Anyways, if you’ve read my other reviews of Low’s music, you’ll get a general idea of what they sound like.  Sad, haunting melodies played as slow and lathargically as possible, with male and female vocals that either stir you or seduce you.  With many of the bands that I listen to, you either love them or hate them.  And in most cases, that’s fine with me.

However, with Low’s music, I cannot understand why people don’t like them.  Perhaps it’s the fact that Low, is slow and sparse and to most people, that means “boring.”  But I’ve always found Low’s music to be suffused with a warmth, a sense of feeling and emotion that, because the music is so bare, is not smothered by showmanship and rock-star egos.

However, even I’ve been taken aback by Songs For A Dead Pilot.  From the very beginning, this album doesn’t sound like Low.  “Will The Night” almost sounds more ambient than anything.  It’s a beautiful swirling piece in which the distinctions between vocals and instruments blur and become a solid mass of melancholy sound.  Melodies and words are barely discernable, but they’re drowned beneath Loveliescrushing-esque sounds.  It’s similar, in sound, to the masterpiece of “Do You Know How To Waltz?”, the 14 minute pinnacle of Low’s previous album.

Songs For A Dead Pilot is colder and more challenging than anything that Low’s previously released, and this feel is best embodied by “Down By The Wires.”  The first time I listened to this song, I thought my CD player was skipping because the changes are so abrupt, almost violent.  The song is so empty and sparse, especially for the last 6 or 7 minutes, (the track is over 13 minutes long) when guitarist/vocalist Alan Sparhawk practically drags out chords from his guitar, leaving them to stand there, alone and naked.  The last sounds you hear are the chords fading and then the reverberation of strings.  If anything, it would be a classic Low track.  But there’s no emotion, and then the song drops down dead.

The song that probably recaptures the “old” Low is “Hey Chicago,” a slow that sounds like “Over The Ocean” revisited.  Here, Sparhawk and drummer/vocalist Mimi Parker complement eachother vocally, sounding as world-weary as ever.

If anything, this album is probably the culmination, the climax of the sound that Low achieved on The Curtain Hits The Cast.  Even thought I find I Could Live In Hope far more listenable, Songs For A Dead Pilot and The Curtain Hits The Cast probably remain the ultimate Low albums, the ultimate achievement for the band that many consider to be the “slowcore” band.  But is this a good thing?

Anyone looking for a good introduction to Low might want to wean themselves on I Could Live In Hope or Long Division.  With Songs For A Dead Pilot, Low plays each song in a very deliberate manner, as if each song survives from one chord or brushstroke to the next.  Each chord sounds like it could be the last, stretched as far as possible.  Each note or brushstroke played like a step in a funeral procession—deliberate and stately (“Landlord”).

In many ways, this is the hardest album for me to listen to, simply because it is so plodding and deliberate.  I feel like I’m listening to Low on their last legs, like everything is being drained from them.  I think this album is definitely something that only serious fans of the band will get into, but even they’ll be challenged.  This could be the album that Low has been trying to achieve for sometime.  After listening to it, I felt empty; not empty in the sense of having left unfulfilled, but in the sense of having lost something.  But to the uninitiated, it’ll probably be the most boring thing they’ve ever heard.

In the world of music, there are very few certainties.  Trends come and go, styles change, and the kids are always listening to something new (which is even more controversial and hated by parents than whatever the previous generation listened to).  However, all of that is just thrown out the door when it comes to bands like Low.  No matter what the case, one can always trust Low to release music that leaves the listener puzzled, befuddled, and bedazzled.

If you’re unfamiliar with Low’s music, words like “sparse,” “minimal,” “haunting,” and anything else used to describe sublime, beautiful experiences usually leap to the lips of those in love with this Minnesota trio.  The foundation of Low’s music lies in using as few notes as possible, relying on what’s not there to communicate the beauty of what is there.  Sounds awfully Zen, doesn’t it?  But all of this has been said over and over again, so why repeat it?  If I were to sum up this review in two sentences, it’d be “If you like Low, you’ll love this album.  If you don’t, this album might change your mind.”

On Secret Name, Low has actually written songs that can be appreciated by anyone, even those who would normally find Low’s seasonal pace maddening.  Part of the reason is the fact that Low has opened up to investigate new musical terrain.  We saw hints of this on The Curtain Hits The Cast with the use of keyboards, and on Songs For A Dead Pilot with the use of strings.  Those two additions are even more prominent, with Low intertwining them in their normal trio of guitar, bass, and drums.  But even though they’ve enlarged their palette, they’ve tightened their songwriting.  All of the tracks on here clock in under 6 minutes which, for any band but Low, would be an eternity.

Unfortunately, it also means that some songs aren’t left with room to develop.  And that means that some of these songs will never be remembered as Low’s finer moments (I can’t believe I actually wrote that).  “Don’t Understand” with its strange loops and plodding percussion never rises above it’s own rhythm and “Days Of…” has an almost too-lethargic (which is usually never a bad thing) Mimi Parker singing but never really going anywhere.  Even the opening track seems a little slow when compared with what follows.

Now that we’ve got those out of the way, we can focus on happier stuff.  And we’re left with some of the most beautiful music this trio has ever written.  Where to begin?  Should I talk about the delicate “Weight of Water” with it’s crystalline melody and Ms. Parker’s powerful vocals?  Or the gentle acoustic ballad “Soon,” which features one of Alan Sparhawk’s best vocal performances?  What of the religious beauty of “Lion/Lamb” or the redone drenched-in-strings “Will The Night,” both of which sound like they should’ve been on This Mortal Coil’s “Filigree and Shadow”?

It’s on songs like these that Low may have made their greatest leap, writing music that’s as gorgeous as ever, but in a format that even the casual listener can enjoy.  Some tracks may leave the new listener bewildered, but I challenge anyone to not find the beauty ultimately contained in these recordings.

One More Reason To Forget was recorded during a live performance in Louisville, KY, on November 6, 1997.  Clocking in at just under an hour, this CD reveals Low to not only be an incredible live band, but definitely an unusual one.

Given Low’s glacially slow music, haunting vocals, and sparse atmospheres, you wouldn’t think that they could create the presence that they do.  There is no banter between the band and the audience, none of the usual things you’d expect from a live album.  But the fact remains that Low is incredible live, simply for the fact that their music is just as moving and haunting live as it is recorded.  I would even hazard to say that Low’s music isn’t really experienced until you see them live.  The intimate nature of their music practically begs it.

One More Reason To Forget showcases Low in their native element, and features some of their most beautiful songs, and some of their most harrowing.  “Be There”, “Condescend”, and “Landlord” are all taken from Low’s latest studio recording, Songs For A Dead Pilot, Low’s most barren and emptiest recording to date.

“Be There”‘s dirge-like drums and church organ add to this song’s alienation.  On “Condescend,” Low is joined with Ida Pearle’s violin, adding a mournful counterpoint to Alan Sparhawk’s guitar and Mimi Parker’s detached vocals.  The vocal harmonies of Parker and Sparhawk have always been of great delight, and it should surprise noone that they are spot on here.  Their harmonies are as crisp and beautiful as always, especially on “Over The Ocean”, one of the best tracks from The Curtain Hits The Cast.

However, the pinnacle of the album is “Do You Know How To Waltz?”.  Clocking in at slightly over 17 minutes, it is a wall-of-sound masterpiece, which must really be credited to Sparhawk and his talent as a guitarist.  Putting to shame all of those space-rock and drone bands, Low conjures up a sonic wall so massive and beautiful that, until I heard the applause at the end, I forgot I was listening to a live CD.

The album closes with one of the best songs Low has ever written, “If You Were Born Today (Song For Little Baby Jesus)”.  I heard them play it when I saw them live, and that single song has stuck with me since.  I bet a lot of “Christian” artists would give up their Dove awards if they could write a song half as simple and moving as this piece, which looks at the life of Christ as a child and concludes “If You were born today/We’d kill You by age eight/Never get the chance to say/Joy to the world and peace on earth/Forgive them for they know not what they do.”

This album is how Low is meant to be heard, in a live setting away from any possible studio trickery and whatnot, where the heart and intimacy of their music can truly be heard.  With many live performances, it’s about the “performance.”  With a live performance from Low, the focus remains on the music.  Low doesn’t need any silly banter or stage antics, because their music is strong enough to stand on its own.  And that’s why they are such an incredible live band.  That’s why they are one of the best bands on the planet.

Low has always impressed me with their ability to make the most lethargic melody haunting and beautiful, to take the simplest phrase and harmony and turn it into something that just hits you in the heart. On their newest release, The Curtain Hits The Cast, they stick to their tried and true formula of playing the most sedate pop music one can imagine. On paper, their music shouldn’t work. Guitars, bass, minimal drums, and vocals shouldn’t be able to make cohesive music that slow and sparse. However, Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker’s beautifully melancholy vocal harmonies and Sparhawk’s masterful guitarplaying make it work.

The album opens up with “Anon”, which reminds me somewhat of The Cure’s Pornography album, with it’s heavy, almost ominous bassline and swirling feedback. “The Plan” and “Over The Ocean” feature two of the most beautiful melodies Low has ever written. The latter almost brought me to tears with its tender male/female vocal harmonies. Sparhawk and Parkers’ harmonies are perhaps the most beautiful element of Low’s sound. This adds a dash of sunlight to the wintry lands that their music conjures up.

Most of the songs creep along at a snails pace and gradually build to a climax, as in “Standby” where the song culminates in Sparhawk’s delicate, weary vocals floating among the building guitars. “Mom Says” has Sparhawks’ falsetto vocals at their weariest, perfectly open and vulnerable. How a voice can be that tired and weary and yet stirring is yet one more of Low’s strengths.

However, all of the songs on The Curtain Hits The Cast—with the possible exception of “The Plan” and “Over The Ocean”—pale when compared to the 14-minute long “Do You Know How To Waltz”. This song is perhaps the masterpiece of the album, a long, slowly building of guitar and bass drone and sparse, trickling piano lines. The song just builds from silence and hovers there, drawing you into the looping sounds while a fluid bassline pushes it along. It’s effect is slightly eerie and disturbing, and overpowering.

For all of my raving, it did take me awhile to get into it. Perhaps because the Low’s sparse formula, however good it may be, is wearing a little thin. Imagining the soft swell of a cello with their vocal harmonies gives me the shivers. But until then, The Curtain Hits The Cast is a masterpiece of minimal pop. Noone plays it better than Low. I listened to this album while returning home from Christmas break. The entire countryside was covered with a winter fog; everything turned ghostly and pale, the trees looking like ghosts and passing cars disappeared before you could really get a look at them. Looking back, I can think of nothing that suited the mood better.

This music combines rainy days, lonely nights, and dreary winter mornings into one brilliant package. The music of Low is soft, plaintive, melancholy, desolate, and a tad disturbing. Sometimes it’s plodding, sometimes it just seems to flow, and the rest of the time, it just rings on and on. The most dominant instrument in Low’s sound is the bass; it adds to that “lowness” of the music, no pun intended. It just seems to weigh you down, like a thick, warm blanket. Meanwhile, the gentle, echoing guitar ring out into the silence. The striking, yet minimal percussion provides a stark contrast.

Everything about Low’s music screams “minimalism.” Low will not hesitate to play the same chiming note over and over, the beat unwavering, while the bass just flows on. At first, it’s easy to dismiss this approach with a flippant “anyone can play a single note for 5 minutes.” However, listen to Low’s music and you’ll see why it’s so successful.

The music just seems to meld together, with subtle changes as the reverberating notes combine and clash with eachother(“Lullaby”). At times, the approach reminds me of The Cure’s Faith. The result is far from boring; it’s wondrous and engaging, drawing you in as the music surrounds. The lyrics are very simple and stark, keeping in mood with the music.

Alan Sparhawk’s voice is hollow and worn, which fits perfectly with the conjured atmosphere. However, the true effect doesn’t hit you until his wife, Mimi Parker, joins in with her wispy, eerie voice. The full effect of their harmonies makes the music all the more powerful, especially on the opener “Words.”

I love listening to Low. I find it to be the perfect music for those lonely nights in my apartment, which are quite frequent. This music is perfect when you just want to be alone, the lights turned down, while the world rushes around you. This music is not for everyone, but provides a rewarding listen for those who are willing to hear.

After 5 studio albums and many EPs, singles, and collaborations, you’d think Low’s schtick would be getting old by now.  Sure, they’ve added new elements with each recording, but the basic premise—slower than molasses melodies, thundering basslines, and the beautifully fragile harmonies of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker—has always remained the same.  Truth be told, I had started wondering if Low’s music hadn’t run its course.  Recent albums, like Things We Lost In The Fire, were fine enough in places, and I eventually warmed to them.  But they seemed to lack the hold that Low’s earliest recordings still have on me.

But without a doubt, Trust is the trio’s finest effort in years, a beautiful delivery on all of the promises and experiments that they’ve attempted on recent albums.  Furthermore, its use of sparse, harrowing atmospherics achieves a mood reminiscent of Low’s finest moments (i.e. I Could Live In Hope and The Curtain Hits The Cast).

Only Low would have the foresight to begin their latest with the 7 minute “(That’s How We Sing) Amazing Grace”.  Like all of Low’s best songs, it starts off on a desolate note, all eerie chimes and a strummed guitar with seemingly infinite reverb.  Within the first minute, you’re immediately forced to slow down to Low’s pace, where a note can be stretched for minutes on end and a single chord change takes on great importance.  It’s immediately like listening to a different Low, a deeper and richer Low, and despite the song’s funereal pace, I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

But lest you get too settled, the distorted bass that opens up “Canada” comes completely out of left field.  And then you realize the whole track is going to be like this, a raucous jam that sounds more Primal Scream than Galaxie 500, as if elements of Sparhawk and bassist Zak Sally’s noisier side projects (The Black-Eyed Snakes and Enemymine, respectively) had somehow leaked into the Trust sessions.  But then those vocals come in, the cornerstone of every one of Low’s endeavors, and you understand the meaning behind the phrase that Kranky’s marketing pundits came up with for Trust; “This record grazes you with a brick then knocks you over with a feather.”

Although previous albums saw the inclusion of string arrangements, it’s nice to hear Low rediscover their own atmospherics.  Anyone who has heard tracks like “Do You Know How To Waltz?” knows this is a group truly capable of taking a handful of notes and building a symphony around them. Trust is ripe with those moments—the atmospherics that open and close the album are perfect examples, with the building finale of “Shots & Ladders” especially priceless.

Trust might also contain some of Low’s darkest moments.  The dense, booming pace of “Candy Girl”, a Labradford-esque piece that displays Low’s time-stretching powers to their fullest effect, is only the first of them.  “The Lamb”‘s lyrics (which contains much of the album’s cryptic religious imagery) are solemn enough, with Sparhawk intoning “I am the lamb and I am a dead man”.  But when the foot stomps take up their solemn rhythm, it sounds like nothing so much as our Savior’s long, tragic march up Golgotha way.

But “John Prine” takes the cake.  Hearing Sparhawk sing “Now I want to see the blood/I want to make them pay/Yeah, I can see the day” is slightly hair-raising.  But the spectral voices that sigh “sha la la la la”, call and response style, at the song’s end create the album’s most chill-inducing moment.  It’s enough to make you wonder if the trio suffers more than just a bit of cabin fever during the long Minnesotan winters.

However, the band thankfully provides us with some moments of respite.  “Little Argument With Myself” quickly makes up for any frights you might’ve sustained from “John Prine”, with stunning vocals from Sparhawk and Parker.  Both “In The Drugs” and “The La La La Song” are both fine acoustic ballads, with the latter making for one of the album’s calmest and saddest moments.  And Parker’s voice has never been deeper or more fragile than on “Point Of Disgust”, with nothing but a sparse piano to accompany her.

The range of sounds and styles on Trust is revelatory.  Past efforts had seen the trio expand their palette, moving beyond the slowcore label that they practically defined.  But such experiments could make for slightly fractured listenings.  Trust is the first album where all of the varying moods—the murderous gloom of “John Prine”, the simple charm of “Point Of Disgust”, the radiant ambience of “Shots & Ladders”—still maintain a sense of completeness and unity.

Trust feels like a rediscovery for me.  As much as I love Low, and as much as their music has impacted me, I had begun to wonder if the only reason I was buying Low records was because they were Low records.  I had begun to wonder if I’d become that kind of fan.  Trust, however, is wholly different, an experience that reminds me of why I loved, and continue to love, this trio’s music so much.

I always have to be careful whenever I start talking about Low.  It’s easy to start ranting about the sublime beauty of their music, that the only reason people don’t understand the trio’s subtle genius is because they’re just too lazy.  Low’s music requires patience, and only those who are willing to take the time to listen will uncover the group’s beauty… or so I always say.  Yadda yadda yadda… But even while doing so, I sometimes forget that, as much I love Low, sometimes one does find their music rather, well, unexciting.

Now, before Low fanatics (a delightful paradox, since Low’s music seems as unlikely as any to sponsor fanaticism) start frothing at the mouth, let’s get a few things straight.  Low’s music is the perfect example of just how less can be more, no one’s arguing that.  It’s staggering to think that songs this bare can be as beautiful as they sometimes are.  And I’m firmly convinced that Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker have the most beautiful vocal pairing in all of indie-dom.  Furthermore, it’s amazing at just how much mileage they’ve gotten out of their seemingly limited formula—guitar, bass, a stripped down drumkit, and those beautiful voices.  But over the course of 6 albums and several EPs, they’ve consistently matured and developed into something resembling an barebones orchestra.

But I challenge even the most fanatical Low fan to say that they don’t sometimes find Low old hat.  I’ve been listening to Low for years, and I consider them one of my favorite groups.  And I know that when I see them in April, I’ll be in rapt attention the whole time.  But there are those times where I just wander when Low’s music is going to cease developing, when they’re about to reach the end of what they can do with their “formula”.  One wonders when they’ll get trapped in their musical stylings.

Well, perhaps “trapped” is the wrong term.  As “limiting” as their musical approach may be, they always sound so darn self-assured, so proficient in their music?  You just know that Low will continue to be putting out album after album, oblivious to what others are saying, faithfully following their muse.  And isn’t that what’s it’s supposed to be about?  And so I find it funny when other critics (including myself) complain about “Things We Lost In The Fire” sounding like just another Low album.  After all, what did we expect?

If Low sometimes seems a little staid, there’s always been a peculiar wholesomeness to their music.  Their music feels as if it exists somewhere out of step with our modern world, the pace completely incongruous with the speed at which everyday life operates.  And there’s always a certain beauty to that, like a fly trapped in amber.  Sometimes, it feels like the only standard by which to judge a Low album by their previous releases.  Of all of their releases, “Things We Lost In The Fire” is closest to “Secret Name”, which saw the band opening up their stripped down style and start embracing a more pop-oriented feel (with “pop” being used in the loosest sense).  Horns and strings started making an appearance (feeling like they should’ve been there from the start), and their music started to get a little less obtuse.

“Things We Lost In The Fire” doesn’t change much from “Secret Name”‘s feel.  If anything, it feels more accomplished and developed.  One can sense that from the beginning, as “Sunflower” explodes into one of the most radio-friendly songs Low has ever written.  But any sense that this is just a little pop ditty is gone with the first words (“When they found your body/Giant X’s on your eyes”).  Nothing like adding a little menace to the mix.  But it’s still beautiful with the building strings that accompany Sparhawk and Parker on the refrain.  “Dinosaur Act” continues the sound, although on a more bombastic tip, with its booming drum and haunting organ.

Another oddity to Low’s music is the sense of anxiety and urgency that lies just below the surface.  It’s in their lyrics, with compelling and surreal lines like “And putting your foot down/The nail shot up like a bright red snowflake” (“Dinosaur Act”) or “Wish I could keep your little body/In metal” (“In Metal”).  It’s in the way their music plods along, lulling you into a sense of security, until it explodes in a flurry of voices and guitar (“Embrace”), or just settles around you like newly fallen snow and gradually becomes a raging blizzard (“Whitetail”).  Whatever it is, it proves that Low are still the masters of pacing.  No one stretches a song out quite like they do, which means stretching it until it threatens to break, and releasing it just before it does.

I’d be lying if I said that part of me was expecting more, that there’s part of me that, after all of these years, still feels out of step with Low’s music.  And I suspect that there always will be.  There was a time when I would’ve ranted and raved about Low until I was blue in the face, but not now.  But I don’t know what else to expect.  And that’s the troubling thing, and it’s doubly hard writing about a group that you have such deep respect and admiration for.

There are critics who roast Low for doing what the trio does best, as if they expected them to be musical chameleons.  But there are also critics who heap glories on Low just because it seems like the thing to do.  Part of me agrees with the former, and part of me agrees with the latter.  But somehow I doubt that any of this debate matters to Low.  They’d probably find the whole thing silly and trivial, and just go back to doing what they do best.  And when the dust settles, the only thing that really needs to be said is that this another Low album, and you know exactly what you’re going to get, and in the end that may be all we really need.