Some bands possess alchemical elements that ensure that their music is distinctive and compelling. The Smiths had Marr’s peerless guitar work, The National have Bryan Devendorf’s otherworldly drumming and Low truly take off when the voices of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker combine. Twenty-one years after their first, the Minnesotan trio have crafted an eleventh album that employs new textures around those magnificent vocals and deviates from a path upon which they seemed to have settled. My album of 2011, ‘C’Mon’, is a beautiful, at times luscious, record and the clarity of 2013’s rather subdued ‘The Invisible Way’ suggested that the scuzzy, unsettling sounds to which they had gravitated in the mid-Noughties were consigned to the past.
‘Ones And Sixes’ is sequenced so as to ensure such assumptions are quickly shattered. Sparkhawk has spoken recently of his restless desire not to plough the same furrow too consistently and, while it might make a neat quip to describe this as their last record channelled through the noise of 2007’s ‘The Great Destroyer’, there’s rather more to it than that.
The subterranean bass that drives ironically titled opener ‘Gentle’ is so ferocious that it partially obscures Parker and Sparhawk at various points. The weary march of the distorted drums sets the tone for what lies ahead, flagging up the chaos out of beauty motif that runs throughout ‘Ones And Sixes’. Many of these songs may well have worked with the gentle Jeff Tweedy production of their last outing, but here, with B.J. Burton at the controls, they are pushed, pulled and mangled out of shape to devastating effect. Early teaser ‘No Comprende’, with an insistent jagged riff initially setting the brooding pace, is torn apart at the three minute mark, Parker’s vocals eventually offering some balm after moments of turmoil.
Despite the shift, the textures are far less ugly than their previous noisier endeavours, with the harmonies and melodic uplifts of recent work still very much in play. ‘Spanish Translation’ starts like the synth breakdown in a house track before the band’s vintage wall of sound heft thunders in on the chorus. The electronic pulse of ‘Into You’ sets up a multi-tracked Parker vocal on one of a number of songs which seem to tackle the highs and lows of the intimacy necessitated by twenty-two years bound together by band and marriage. The finest of these is ‘What Part Of Me’, on which vocal duties are shared to predictably beautiful effect around a naggingly catchy chorus.
The album’s most notable moments come in its final quarter. ‘Landslide’, clocking in at almost ten minutes, is a shape-shifting epic which brings to mind some of the most mesmeric mantras from Spiritualized’s career, torn asunder by some ferocious guitar work by Sparhawk. It’s breathtakingly ‘big’, especially in contrast to the studied calm of ‘The Invisible Way’. Despite this grandiose landmark, the true treasure comes just before it. ‘Lies’, occupying a far more modest four minutes of the record, is another of the duets, although Sparhawk sits far further forward in the mix. Its true beauty, however, comes from the ascending synth line which peppers the chorus. It’s a trick that Low have never deployed previously and it is, however implausibly, as emotively powerful as the vocals behind which it resides.
There will be those who favour the delicately rounded corners of the band’s recent work ahead of the scuffed up layers present on ‘Ones And Sixes’, but don’t be fooled by any early disorientation. The band’s strengths are here in abundance, but they are reimagined, twisted into new shapes and given a visceral intensity that is utterly irresistible.