Filed under: Bands, Interviews, Narc | Tags: Alan Sparhawk, Charlie Parr, Low, Narc, The Invisible Way
“American bands are always on the edge of falling into that pit of Americana, and I’m a little skittish about that. I don’t like the cheap use of something old just to legitimise yourself. That music has to be won with your flesh to be really real”
With an astonishing new album to promote and a twentieth anniversary to celebrate, Lee Fisher picked a good time to catch up with Alan Sparhawk from ‘authentic American prairie gospel’ band Low. Although expecting a man to discuss religion in music before he’s had some coffee is a little harsh.
Despite me waking him up, it didn’t take long for Alan Sparhawk to gather himself and prove to be as thoughtful and warm as I’d hoped. We started off by talking about the sound of Low’s new album – their tenth. The Invisible Way was recorded with Jeff Tweedy (Wilco) in his Chicago studio and marks a distinct departure in their sound. Piano is foregrounded and the voice of Mimi Parker – possibly the most emotionally affecting voice you’re ever likely to hear – dominates the album in a way it never has before. I wondered if Parker had threatened to kick her husband’s ass if she didn’t get more mic time.
“Quite the opposite – we’ve been trying to encourage her! I was hoping actually that she’d sing the whole record. And though I was half joking, it’s kicked in this last year, she’s ended up writing more and that’s kind of the key – if she writes more, she’ll sing more. She writes on the piano, so that’s kind of a big factor as to why there’s so much piano. As we were writing songs, Steve, our bass player, ended up writing a lot on piano too, and it reached a point where I thought: ‘oh man – piano! There’s a lot of ways to screw that up’. Throwing a wrench into an already taut machine.”
The Invisible Way sees Low moving further than ever from their ‘sadcore’ reputation and lot of that seems to be down to working with Tweedy. “We went through to Chicago last spring and stopped by and he was working on some tracks for the new Mavis Staples record, and hearing the tracks – how raw and minimal the arrangements were – that brought it all together. And I asked him right there. It’s kind of a recording trick to keep something truly as it was and not have to mess with it too much. Not a lot of engineers can do it.” I suggested that, to very different effect, previous producer Steve Albini works in a similar way. “Definitely. It’s very much that idea of capturing the sound the way it really is, and as much as Steve comes across as an extremist about that, it really is a beautiful aesthetic. And once you have that as a basis, you really have a lot of freedom and can be really creative.”
Last year when I interviewed him, Michael Gira described Low as ‘authentic American prairie gospel music’ and I asked Sparhawk if that was a big part of what they do.
“Wow – I should write that down. I’m not sure which I’m more proud of – ‘authentic’ or ‘gospel’. I’m blown away by that. Mimi for sure has one foot in more traditional music, she grew up singing American folk and country stuff with her family, that’s where she comes from a little bit more than I do.” As to whether this is a direction Low might move in, Sparhawk is a little circumspect. “American bands are always on the edge of falling into that pit of Americana, and I’m a little skittish about that. I don’t like the cheap use of something old just to legitimise yourself. That music has to be won with your flesh to be really real.”We discuss our mutual love for a fellow Duluth musician, Charlie Parr, who Low have worked with in the past. “Charlie Parr really is one of the few people who can do it, he really is in that music… It’s not a study, not a nostalgia thing or to add weight to something. When we recorded with Charlie it was effortless, it was just us sat in a circle playing the tunes. I feel like a lot of my checks and balances are dictated by how I view him and his integrity and what it means to make music.”
It’s always seemed curious that Low are rare in maintaining some critical cachet while being open about their religious views (Nick Cave might be the only other, in the UK at least). Their songs manage to be honest without being dogmatic or hectoring, and I was keen to ask Sparhawk how he approached it.
“I’ve learned over the years to just trust the flow of creativity. When I’m writing and something comes up and you step back for a second and go ‘Oh’ … I mean, I notice it, and I might wonder if I’m going to let this stuff out, or be shy about it. I tend to let it go, as long as we’re not intentionally going, ‘hey, we’re gonna write religious songs’. Just let it happen naturally and not second guess it when it comes up.”
There’s a clear difference in the way their faith is handled in the UK. “I remember early on, the British press picked up on it right away, ‘Ah, you’re the MORMONS!’ – they were really fascinated… By contrast, as glutted and sick with religion as America is, they don’t want to talk about that shit man. And once people have decided they don’t want to talk about spirituality or religion in America, it’s fucking over!”.
I finished up by asking if work had start on their next album. “Oh no, I’ve learned long ago to pace myself. It’s dangerous to be writing songs during the same time you’re doing a lot of interviews, it’s already humiliating enough without adding to it. The two together would be a deadly combination.”
Low release The Invisible Way on 18th March. play The Sage Gateshead on Friday 26th April.
Filed under: Narc, Reading | Tags: Haiku Salut, Laish, Narc, Smoking Hearts
Haiku Salut – Tricolore (How Does It Feel To Be Loved?)
Haiku Salut have me stumped. Sure, I can describe them as gorgeous, inventive, summery, captivating and uplifting. But when it comes to describing how they actually sound, I’m struggling for references. There’s a sense of adventure and restlessness here, and a brilliant variety of instruments and song structures, that suggests Psapp or even The Books (especially on the glitchy, almost Aphex Twin-like Leaf Stricken). More sedate, mournful tunes like Los Elefantes have a dash of Michael Nyman or even Beirut with a wonky drum machine. Closing track No, You Say It builds to an Orbital-style ‘taste the lasers’ climax. But those are just clues. Looks like you’ll have to get hold of a copy and work it out for yourself.
Laish – Obituaries (Folkwit)
Laish come burdened with the ‘indiefolk’ tag – a poisoned chalice, and not entirely accurate: their intricate, string and wind driven baroque sound suggests that they’re really a kind of ‘chamber-indie’ band, not unlike Brighton contemporaries The Miserable Rich. There’s a lot going on here, and most of it works: the lush, percussive Visions has a shimmery acoustic vibe that somehow calls to mind The Sea & Cake), the title track is brilliantly rousing and Warm The Wind would be a smash hit in another, far lovelier universe. Sometimes the songs don’t quite live up to the arrangements, and main man Daniel Green’s vocals sometimes slip from ‘heartrendingly lugubrious’ to ‘out of tune’, but those are minor quibbles about a major discovery.
The Smoking Hearts – Victory! (Bomber Music)
There’s something about Victory! that doesn’t quite gel for me, and I think it’s the vocals: singer Ben Mills seems to be in a different band than everyone else – a really serious and angry screamo band, probably. Perhaps his AWESOMELY named predecessor Rodd Lethal was less intense? Still, the music is pretty rocking – a kind of good-time punk / hardcore blend, complete with some positively cheerful singalong backing vocals that really lift some of the tracks – Seatbelts in particular. Things are going well – everyone gets drunk and hugs and compares tattoos – but then along comes Ben with his ‘I’m a scary monster’ larynx shredding angst and harshes everyone’s buzz by going on about, like, ‘issues and stuff’.
thanks to Hanging Rock Comics
Filed under: Bands, Narc, Reading | Tags: Bridie Jackson, Shrag, Some other shite
They let me review the singles in Narc again. Will they never learn?
“his feet are cold, his piles are playing up and the last thing Lee Fisher needs is more indie folk flummery. But here it is anyway…”
A song of snowy days and marital tragedy sees Bridie Jackson & The Arbour at their haunting, wrenching best, Bridie finding new bluesy shades to her voice and the often acapella arrangements and mournful violin really adding to the utter desolation of the song. Stirring stuff. Keeping it local, bEAK are on grand form on Night Owls, which sounds like a tarted up Why Can’t I Be You? by The Cure, while Get Your Beak On is just fucking stupid, in all the right ways. Rivals’ new single Wax isn’t exactly reinventing punk rock but it’s urgent and bratty and the riff gets under your skin.
Snakadaktal are ‘big in Australia’ and now they’re trying to bother us. But judging by their Air / Dance Bear single (equal parts Coldplay stadium indie plod and insipid Frazier Chorus whimpering) I hope they don’t stick around long enough to get homesick. The Correspondents are a London-based swing/http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hip_hop_music” target=”_blank”>hip-hop duo. If that doesn’t make you puke, the fact that Well Measured Vice sounds like an electro-swing Curiosity Killed The Cat will. Utter balls. They’ll be everywhere at Glastonbury - slip into your nearest K hole rather than endure them. Tooms are a fucked up blend of digital hardcore, doom metal and D&B and Disgraceland is a blisteringly crunchy single, all hardcore assault and scary monster vocals. Wonderful.
How a Brussels-born African ends up making Associates / Japan-style icy synthpop is beyond me, but that’s what Petite Noir is up to on Disappear and it’s impressive stuff. Also tapping into 80s synth pop but adding a dash of Vangelis’ proggy soundtrack vibe are Apollo Gets The Girl, who’s single Kitten survives the band name to marry edgy rhythms and sparkling melodic touches to quite lovely effect. Eliza & The Bear (Upon The North / The Southern Wild) simply remind us how out of control this creeping Mumfordism thing is, more ‘rousing’ indie folk flummery with one eye on the pyramid stage and the other on that crucial Boden demographic. Finally, Shrag are the best indie band for years and now they’ve split up and it’s your fault because you were too busy buying fucking Mumfords records and you’ll hear the indie pop AWESOMENESS of On The Spines Of Old Cathedrals with its brilliant lyrics and cheeky New Order ripoffs and you’ll punch yourself in your stupid face for being so utterly WRONG. I hope.
Filed under: Bands, Narc | Tags: Caitlin Rose, Frontier Ruckus, Pissed Jeans, The Rockingbirds
Caitlin Rose – The Stand In (Names Records)
Caitlin Rose’s debut album Own Side Now was something of a gem: classic country songwriting with enough ‘indie’ elements for the hipsters, and dominated by Rose’s amazing vocals – powerful without being overwraught, never resorting to warble or melisma. Here, Rose sounds even better, but a bigger budget means things have got fuller (great organ and brass, even some gospel-tinged backing vocals) without being remotely overegged. There are covers, a collaboration with Gary Louris, even a loveable crack at Dixie jazz that works a treat. But mostly there is Rose with her solid gold songwriting and breathtaking voice and songs like No One To Call and Golden Boy that show up Shania and Taylor and the rest as shiny, empty clichés.
Frontier Ruckus – Eternity Of Dimming (Loose)
Over the course of 20 songs, 90 minutes and around 5000 words, songwriter Matthew Milia and his utterly beguiling band take you back to their 90s Michigan childhoods and you simply won’t want to leave. This third album is getting much-deserved exposure courtesy of Loose and songs like Black Holes and Dealerships have enough melodic shimmer for the radio. As ever, the songs are driven by banjo and musical saw and Milia’s astonishing words – full of small sweet details and a hazy summer’s end melancholy that manages to be deeply personal in its specifics and yet universal in its emotional impact. Almost overwhelming in its beauty and lyricism, this album will burrow into your heart and stay there.
The Rockingbirds – Return Of The Rockingbirds (Loose)
The finest country band this island has ever produced, The Rockingbirds split up before someone sent out the memo saying it was cool to like country again, so it’d be a mean ornery soul who wouldn’t welcome them back. And the new album is a cracker – Alan Tyler’s voice still has that rich, oak-aged tone, the band are on wonderful form and the songs are even more immersed in the vintage country rock sound Tyler that inspires them. Of course, we’re all a bit older now and the songs have more mature concerns and perhaps a little less fire in their belly but there’s nothing MOR about this album, just beersoaked ballads and honky tonk shitkickers and pure country goodness.
Pissed Jeans – Honeys (Sub Pop)
Honeys is scuzzy, aggressive and depraved. It’s a heady cocktail of early 80s hardcore – Black Flag, Flipper and their ilk – and the low-end filth of bands like Butthole Surfers and KIlldozer (especially on the darkly fucked up Cafeteria Food). There are traces of blues too, like if Pussy Galore had morphed into Jesus Lizard rather than Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. In other words, it’s fucking great. Songs flare into life and collapse in a heap, there’s a sense of petulant, snotty disdain and it’s basically a 35-minute long ‘fuck you’ to you AND yo’ mama. You get the feeling Pissed Jeans gigs end up with everyone naked and covered in beer and that’s all you want from a band really.
“If as a teenager you feel music this powerfully, it is very difficult to grow up and grow out of it. You are in fact likely to spend the rest of your life searching for similar experiences, even at ages when other life experiences should have suggested that there is a kind of immaturity in feeling so strongly about what is, after all, merely music, which is merely a form of guesswork about consciousness.” Words & Music, Paul Morley
“A man sits in a car on a tree-lined street, watching a fourteen-year-old girl walking home from school, hopelessly in love with her. I’ve almost come to blows with friends because of my insistence that much of Van Morrison’s early work had an obsessively reiterated theme of pedophilia, but here is something that at once may be taken as that and something far beyond it. He loves her. Because of that, he is helpless. Shaking. Paralyzed. Maddened. Hopeless. Nature mocks him. As only nature can mock nature. Or is love natural in the first place? No Matter. By the end of the song he has entered a kind of hallucinatory ecstasy; the music aches and yearns as it rolls on out. This is one supreme pain, that of being imprisoned a spectator. And perhaps no so very far from “T.B. Sheets,” except that it must be far more romantically easy to sit and watch someone you love die than to watch them in the bloom of youth and health and know that you can never, ever have them, can never speak to them.” Lester Bangs on Astral Weeks
Please bear with us while we work on a solution, and if there’s a particular mix you crave, contact us and we’ll see what we can do.