Repetition
My successor as the Arts & Culture editor of the Ontarion (the site hasn't been updated in a while, by the way) asked me very nicely if I'd halt my school-imposed hiatus this week and turn in something for the column I've written there off and on for four years now. I basically did it as a favor to her, but it didn't turn out too bad, so what the hell. Here it is, written in ten minutes and entirely unrevised.
Low and the problem of identity
There’s a fairly common and famous problem in philosophy the most famous example of which is Theseus’ ship. This ship is repaired so often over the years that eventually no piece of the original is left in the current vessel. Is it the same ship? The paradox is that we have logical and reasonable reasons to say both yes, it’s the same ship and no, it’s a different ship. The human body does the same thing, of course; anyone reading this is in a literal sense not the same person they were five, ten or fifteen years ago. But we don’t really notice that. What about bands?
Low made their reputation for years by singing (in gorgeous not-quite-harmony from husband and wife Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker) hushed, liturgical songs full of menace and calm. There’s a crystalline, cool purity to their best work the effect of cannot be found in any other music. They made six gorgeous albums in this basic mode, although later work like 2002‘s underrated Trust widened their scope a little with a few tracks like “Canada” that explored noise. If their last few albums had replaced a few boards, however, this year’s The Great Destroyer scraps the hull and starts over.
It’s identifiably the same band, the same voices, some of the same themes, but with the help of baroque producer/Mercury Rev member David Fridmann they’ve burst from their old sepia tones into full, lush colour, from the watercolour sleeve by bassist Zak Sally onwards. A slow explosion of density like “Pissing” or the country-ish “Silver Rider” might have fit in with their earlier works but the pop of “California” or “Just Stand Back” wouldn’t, to say nothing of the near-industrial grind of “Monkey” and “Everybody’s Song”.
I think it works, although some fans probably won’t, but more importantly I think it’s something that had to happen. There’s been plenty of indication in recent interviews that the band (which originally started so slow and quiet as almost a joke) had begun to feel penned in by what they were expected to sound like. They have, without question, moved away from many of the things that once made them special, and as much as I like the new album, we’ll still have to wait if they find new things. If you listen to The Great Destroyer without wanting it to be something it’s not (another Long Division or Secret Name), it’s hard not to appreciate it for what it is.
The “great destroyer” of the title is, of course, time. There are plenty of songs here that might make you think the band is about to call it quits (“When I Go Deaf”, “Death Of A Salesman”, “Walk Into The Sea”), but they sound refreshed as they’re playing them. Are they the same band as they used to be? Does it really matter?
Low and the problem of identity
There’s a fairly common and famous problem in philosophy the most famous example of which is Theseus’ ship. This ship is repaired so often over the years that eventually no piece of the original is left in the current vessel. Is it the same ship? The paradox is that we have logical and reasonable reasons to say both yes, it’s the same ship and no, it’s a different ship. The human body does the same thing, of course; anyone reading this is in a literal sense not the same person they were five, ten or fifteen years ago. But we don’t really notice that. What about bands?
Low made their reputation for years by singing (in gorgeous not-quite-harmony from husband and wife Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker) hushed, liturgical songs full of menace and calm. There’s a crystalline, cool purity to their best work the effect of cannot be found in any other music. They made six gorgeous albums in this basic mode, although later work like 2002‘s underrated Trust widened their scope a little with a few tracks like “Canada” that explored noise. If their last few albums had replaced a few boards, however, this year’s The Great Destroyer scraps the hull and starts over.
It’s identifiably the same band, the same voices, some of the same themes, but with the help of baroque producer/Mercury Rev member David Fridmann they’ve burst from their old sepia tones into full, lush colour, from the watercolour sleeve by bassist Zak Sally onwards. A slow explosion of density like “Pissing” or the country-ish “Silver Rider” might have fit in with their earlier works but the pop of “California” or “Just Stand Back” wouldn’t, to say nothing of the near-industrial grind of “Monkey” and “Everybody’s Song”.
I think it works, although some fans probably won’t, but more importantly I think it’s something that had to happen. There’s been plenty of indication in recent interviews that the band (which originally started so slow and quiet as almost a joke) had begun to feel penned in by what they were expected to sound like. They have, without question, moved away from many of the things that once made them special, and as much as I like the new album, we’ll still have to wait if they find new things. If you listen to The Great Destroyer without wanting it to be something it’s not (another Long Division or Secret Name), it’s hard not to appreciate it for what it is.
The “great destroyer” of the title is, of course, time. There are plenty of songs here that might make you think the band is about to call it quits (“When I Go Deaf”, “Death Of A Salesman”, “Walk Into The Sea”), but they sound refreshed as they’re playing them. Are they the same band as they used to be? Does it really matter?
