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Electric Honey
Low: The Great Destroyer
Michelle Dalton
The very thought of Low destroying anything is a rather head-scratching prospect. Being great however, is something that we have come to expect from them. Over the past decade Low have enhanced their reputation as indie's finest purveyors of quiet melancholy by serving up a litany of stunningly dreamy records. Secret name's minimalism, Things We Lost in the Fire's poppier sensibilities and the epic flourishes of Trust, all underlined the very best features of a band whose inimitable style and substance is unequalled in modern music.
And when a band nestles into the recording sessions of their seventh studio long-player, knowing that they've never released a bad record, the pressure is on to ensure that they don't drop the baton at the final moment. Opening with an astounding and emphatic growl, Monkey's dark presence is instantly felt. At times consumed with anger, yet partly fused with an eerie uncertainty, Alan Sparhawk's vocals bounce off Mimi Parker's, and resonate with a threatening air. It's a fresh approach for Low, kicking off proceedings with such a forceful threat and there's a notable weight behind their words. Any fears from aficionados however, are soon dampened by the imminent presence of the shimmering and melodic California.
Next up is Everybody's Song - a beast of a track immersed in Fridmann's production fuzz with a near death-metal shakeout. It's a guitar-pop homage that's much more rock and roll than the subdued subtlety of their trademark slowcore terrain. Only the gorgeously sad trio of Death of a Salesman, Silver Rider and When I Go Deaf, reveal the stripped-bare vulnerability of the band's bittersweet ballads. The former offers a lament for a would-be musician forced to succumb to the economic pragmatism of "prisons and math", while Silver Rider gently sways into a beautiful vocal harmony finish. My Step is awash with handclaps and catchy hypnotic hooks while On The Edge's delicately unfurled finish pushes the emotional radar up a notch. Just Stand Back's chunky rock and roll sounds like a disguised gem plucked from the Teenage Fanclub archives, while the fantastic Broadway (So Many people) offers a tender hushed refrain ala Simon and Garfunkel.
Dave Fridmann's handiwork is instantly recognisable; indeed many of the tracks are layered with a similar depth and darkness as The Delgados' recent soundtrack work Hate (also produced by Fridmann). His trademark lacquer has transformed tracks like California into a wave of summery psychedelic-pop perfection, and tossed the humdrum of Walk Into the Sea (I'm sure I can even hear some Bruce Springsteen in there!) into forested brilliance.
Most bands are lucky to have one good vocalist, but Low are truly blessed in this department. Every track is delivered with a new perspective, and although significant portions of The Great Destroyer mark new territory for the Minnesota collective, Low seem remarkably comfortable in their new surroundings. Never does the quality of the end product falter, even when they set sail on less familiar seas. While still retaining the essence of a Low album, The Great Destroyer sets out to offer something different, and in the process Low have proved themselves to be a band who constantly offer surprises, none more so than the revelation that loud may be the new quiet.
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