By: Eamon McGrath
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Low at the Firefly Palace, Winnipeg Folk Festival - Photo by David de Young
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I traveled 2000 miles to see this band, and I knew that it was going to be worth every second I'd spent on a Greyhound bus which smelt like stale urine and had a bathroom with turds dating back to the Mesozoic age sitting in the side of the basin. I had a feeling in the bottom of my gut that Alan Sparhawk, Mimi Parker and Matt Livingston were going to pummel me with an unprecedented barrage of noise, counterbalanced by the most delicate harmonies and fragile songwriting. Because this is exactly what makes up the awkward balance of Low-moments of heart-wrenching intricacy, embedded in a wash of intensity and eardrum-destroying renegade attitude-and this is why we all love them as much as we do.
Inside the tent, the gig begins as uneasily as the contrast in Low's music-a hundred drunken fools shouting "Looooooooow!!!" with Grasshöpper on their breath may be some sort of litmus test for you-but when the pounding drum beat of "Monkey" from last year's The Great Destroyer exploded through the PA, the obnoxious bating stopped. "They have the most insaaane harmonies," said a guy to his crones in front of me. "Duuuuuude," they all responded.
People were stoned, as you'd expect from any hippie festival out in the middle of nowhere, and Low were unquestionably the odd band out. Even the other musicians on the bill who shared something with them-attitude, a scene, a label-were at least tethered in one way or another to the "folk" scene, and adored by at least a few forty year-old stoners with straw hats or something, but Low was off on their own. If anyone there who resembled that cultural stereotype was present at the Low show, they were either curious-having read about them in the program-or hadn't heard of them at all.
This didn't stop Low though, instead it seemed to only add fuel to their roaring bonfire; and as the annoying hum of zydeco from the main stage intruded rudely on Low's performance, it actually became something of a nice, soothing, ambient tone, enhancing Low's performance as opposed to inhibiting it. Because nothing can stop this band.
Sparhawk and entourage actually pulled a lot of songs from The Great Destroyer out and laid it on nice and thick; they left nothing to the imagination, as the face-melting, tear-jerking, speaker-blowing moment in "When I Go Deaf" made the volume on the album seem brittle in comparison.
I don't know where this misconception of Low being quiet and passive came from; Low busts balls. Low delivers and shreds and snaps ribs. You can feel the pounding of Parker's toms in your chest, the intense, heavy tones of Sally's bass and, of course, the river that is Sparhawk's guitar flowing right through, and you totally drown. Low overwhelms. Low becomes the room.
Eventually, they all emerge from a wash of feedback and pedal-based guitar noise to decrescendo into a glorious Neil Young cover, "Down By the River," a perfect choice for the setting of the Winnipeg Folk Festival-not only does Low pay homage to a hometown hero, but they also make you want to let your copy of Everybody Knows This is Nowhere melt in the Winnipeg sun-and the guys in front of me howl and wail, and you totally want them to.
By the time they closed with "California," Low had converted every bong-hitting aging hippie in the room to invest in the Kranky back catalogue. Hopefully, this is the start of something great; in the future, if enough festival promoters see gigs of this caliber, there might be some sort of divine union between indie-rock and folk. Will the Shins be headlining the Winnipeg Folk Fest next year? Maybe Wilco should return to the folk festival circuit. Maybe they won't stop there; maybe any indie band or artist that writes "quiet-ish" songs will get some sort of inclusion-the National, Iron & Wine, Salim Nourallah, the Concretes-the list is one of endless possibilities, perhaps thanks to Low, who has honorably broken down the barrier.
Needless to say, I returned home totally content with my stay. Low had fulfilled, and surpassed, every single expectation I could have remotely had about them. Happier than a newborn baby, I buried my head in the stenchy bus seat of the Greyhound, and surrendered to the highway home.
Location Info:
Winnipeg Folk Festival
Artist Info: Low
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