the dharma blog

There’s a review of Low’s new album, The Great Destroyer, in The Rake this month. I didn’t care for it all that much, but it’s all good. The reviewer, by the name of Chris Godsey, which sounds familiar, is from Duluth and for some reason I think he must know what he’s talking about. But what bothered me was that he sort of gets around to saying “this is Low’s first album in which they rock out” (subhead to review: “After a decade of restraint, Low explodes.”) but then also tries to say that they’ve been playing angry music for years, it’s just that the critics have ignored it and pigeonholed them as a quiet little band from duluth that’s all about glaciers and dark and winter.

I tried to break down his review more, but it doesn’t deserve it. It gets my mouth watering for the new album, set to come out on Jan 25, and for their show at First Ave. on Feb. 12. So, more power to him. This paragraph from near the end of the piece, and the lyrics he quotes, give me chills for some reason.

“When I Go Deaf” and “Death of a Salesman” speak frankly about a time when it will be OK not to write or sing songs—when an artist’s obligation to create has died or been beaten away. “Deaf” begins wistfully and quietly (Sally’s timing is perfect when Sparhawk and Parker sing the phrase “make love”) before exploding into a cathartic guitar howl. “And I’ll stop writing songs / stop scratching out lines / I won’t have to think / and it won’t have to rhyme,” Sparhawk sings, and it sounds like the words begin deep in his throat, as if he’s about to shout, but thinks better of it as the words are leaving his mouth…

And, the article gives us a fun new pic of Alan, Mimi and Zak.