A stark retreat from the relatively sunny sound of The Great Destroyer, Drums and Guns is, as its title suggests, inspired by the war in Iraq. True to the spirit of Low's other work, the outrage and regret expressed by these songs is just as timeless as it is timely, lamenting that war still exists as much as it addresses this particular war. And, while Drums and Guns' emotions and lyrics are complex (and on songs like "Murderer," with its "seems like you could use another fool," they don't pull any punches), its sound is often devastatingly spare and simple. It's almost hard to believe that the band worked with David Fridmann on this album as well as The Great Destroyer -- where that album was lush and overflowing with sonic tangents, Drums and Guns' sound is raw and restricted to just a few key sounds that underscore its themes. Fittingly, most of the album emphasizes percussion; whether it's the martial-yet-jazzy beat that drives "Sandinista" or the somber, almost industrial thud of "Dragonfly," this approach keeps the songs intimate, powerful, and uniquely modern-sounding. Organ also plays a key role on Drums and Guns, particularly on "Breaker," where it magnifies the anguish of lyrics like "my hand just kills and kills," and "Violent Past," where its massive sound closes the album by swallowing the listener in a cathedral of distortion. Aside from this song and the similarly epic "In Silence," most of Drums and Guns is gently but insistently tense, like a nagging conscience: "Take Your Time"'s looped church bells and "Belarus"' ghostly harmonies are bleakly, uncompromisingly beautiful. Low lightens up a little on the album's middle stretch, with "Hatchet," a plea for peace that's surprisingly playful ("let's bury the hatchet like the Beatles and the Stones"), and "Dust on the Window," where Mimi Parker's sweet voice sounds inherently comforting even as she wonders, "where can a girl get a meal?" Despite these bright spots, this is easily -- and understandably -- Low's darkest album since Trust. Unlike that album, however, Drums and Guns never feels dragged down by its weighty subject matter. It's a lean, potent work, and even if it's not one of Low's most superficially pleasant collections of songs, it's certainly among their most necessary ones. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
Over the years, Low have been on labels as diverse as Kranky and Virgin offshoot Vernon Yard, worked with distinctive producers like Kramer and Steve Albini, and have managed to adapt their sound without losing any of their identity. All of this applies to Great Destroyer, the band's first album for Sub Pop and their first collaboration with producer Dave Fridmann. Fridmann's detailed sound is a far cry from either Kramer or Albini's minimalist tendencies, but his work here shows that Low can sound as good in elaborate settings as they do in simple ones: "Monkey"'s intricate layers of distorted drums, organ, and guitar have an unusual depth, and the synth strings and heartbeat-like electronic drums on "Cue the Strings" just add to the intimacy and subtlety of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker's harmonies. Ironically enough, Great Destroyer is by far Low's most polished and accessible-sounding album, even more so than their quasi major-label output. That may turn off purists yearning for I Could Live in Hope's simplicity, but aside from the bigger sound, there's something for almost every kind of Low fan on the album: chilly, brooding songs ("Pissing," "Everybody's Song"), gentle but powerful songs ("On the Edge Of," "Silver Rider") and gorgeous epics ("Broadway (So Many People)"). The group's touted rock direction offers some of Great Destroyer's strongest, and weakest, moments. "California"'s soaring warmth has odd but appealing early- to mid-'90s alt pop sheen to it, sounding a bit like Girlfriend-era Matthew Sweet played at half speed. However, "Just Stand Back" and "Step" are somewhat clunky and contrived, with the production overwhelming the songs. The tracks about aging and acceptance -- a major theme on Great Destroyer -- feel much more genuine, particularly "When I Go Deaf," another of the band's bittersweet and slightly disturbing songs like "In Metal." "Death of a Salesman," a short, stripped-down tale of what's left behind with age, is also affecting; though an album full of songs like these might be too much, they're wonderfully intimate glimpses. "Walk Into the Sea" provides a relatively uplifting -- if not happy -- ending to this thoughtful, graceful album, but at this point, it's difficult to expect anything less from Low. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
As the follow-up to Low's universally acclaimed Things We Lost in The Fire, Trust comes with a set of expectations that might be impossible to meet. To the band's credit, Low doesn't just rehash the territory they covered on their previous album; instead, Trust goes in several different directions, mixing dark, sweeping epics with smaller, unpretentious songs and eclectic productions (courtesy of Tchad Blake) and arrangements. It's Low's most diverse work yet, but as it turns out, also their most uneven, which is somewhat surprising considering how their previous album was both consistently inventive and familiar. The chilly, almost ominous tone that pervades Trust is also something of a surprise, compared to the relatively optimistic Things We Lost in the Fire -- the album-opener, "(That's How You Sing) Amazing Grace," subverts one of the most reassuring hymns, offering only the cold comfort of twangy guitars and Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker's close, tentative harmonies. The band follows that song with "Canada," which, with its dense, fuzzed-out guitars and propulsive drums, is the most rock song they've ever done, and especially unique considering the electronic leanings Low displayed awhile ago. Most of Trust follows this pattern, alternating a slow, sinuous song with a brighter or lighter one. When this chiaroscuro approach works, it's impressive, but more often than not, it doesn't quite come off. Though some of the album's darker songs are compelling, such as the soulful, brooding "Time Is the Diamond," "Little Argument With Myself," and the droning finale "Shots and Ladders," a few are just too long and dirgey. "I Am the Lamb," an unusually anguished song even for Low, is too subdued to sustain attention at just over seven minutes, despite its slow-burning, funereal menace; likewise, "John Prine" has a doomed grandeur to it, but its eight-minute length doesn't pay off. On the other hand, Trust's lighter moments feel like breaths of fresh air compared to the more oppressive songs -- the fragile, trippy prettiness of Parker's "Tonight" and the sweet, campfire-ready "La La La Song" are equally beautiful and unpretentious, and all the more appealing because of that. It's not until the second half of Trust that it really gets off the ground, but once it does, it makes the lengthy preamble worthwhile. The subtle harmonica and banjo flourishes on "In the Drugs" and the Phil Spector-esque production on "Last Snowstorm of the Year" mix Low's steadfast melodic sensibilities with Blake's colorful approach, while "Point of Disgust"'s beautiful vocals and simple, piano-driven arrangement showcase the band's spareness at its best. While Trust is uneven, its high points still outweigh the occasional slip into boring, dirgey territory. Fans will certainly agree that a slightly disappointing Low album still has more going for it than most other releases. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
Over the course of their career, Low's glacially beautiful music has gradually melted into something much more accessible and intimate. The thaw culminates on Things We Lost in the Fire; despite its brooding title, it's the group's loveliest, most approachable collection of songs yet. Voluptuous strings, softly fuzzy guitars, and propulsive percussion suffuse songs like the sweetly melancholy opener "Sunflower" and the slo-mo pop of "Dinosaur Act" and "July" with a warmth and direction that Low's best work has always hinted at. Even the album's darkest moments, such as the tense, implosive "Whitetail," have more emotional urgency, heightened by Alan and Mimi's close, brooding harmonies. Yet Mimi's airy solo on the spare, undulating "Laser Beam" is equally spine tingling. Things We Lost in the Fire also features more of Low's understated stylistic experiments: The slightly jazzy harmonies and tempo of "Medicine Magazines" add a bit of swing to the group's usually steady rhythms, while "Kind of Girl" delves into earthy yet ethereal chamber folk. Breathtakingly gorgeous moments, such as "Like a Forest"'s pealing strings and poignant melody, and "Whore"'s build from delicate harmonies into a gently triumphant swell of guitars, vocals, and sparkling percussion reaffirm that Low have perfected and refined their sound. The finale, "In Metal," evolves from a melancholy ballad into one of the group's sunniest, most kinetic songs, mirroring the overall transformation of their music. A perfect match for its late-winter release date, Things We Lost in the Fire's slowly rising warmth and subtly hopeful tone not only make this Low's most cohesive, compelling collection, but one of 2001's best albums. ~ Heather Phares, All Music Guide
Named after a friend of the band who was instrumental in bringing them to Paris, where this live album was recorded, Anthony, Are You Around? is a more representative account of a live experience with Low when compared to their first official bootleg, the diaphanous One More Reason to Forget. Though the vocals take up a little more than their fair share of the mix (which isn't really a distraction, given the spot-on performance of Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk), the band picked a superlative set to release. With a few refreshingly left-field selections from the band's catalog finding their way onto the set list, all of the subtlety and energy of their best gigs is preserved here. Unfortunately, Anthony, Are You Around? is only available as an import outside of Japan. ~ Bryan Carroll, All Music Guide
Live albums have a tendency to be sterile, multi-tracked, overdubbed affairs that aren't a lot different than their studio equivalents. Low avoids that trap with One More Reason to Forget, which was recorded in a church using room microphones, thereby capturing the sound not only of the band but of the room -- an old church -- as well. One More Reason's track listing is a testament to Low's ability to change gears during a set. Sure, most of the songs are quite slow and pretty, but based on these seven tracks, they can hardly be called samey. From the purely pretty ("Venus") to the outright experimental and intense (the 17-minute "Do You Know How to Waltz?"), the band proves that it can more than make up for lack of tempo changes with a group of lovely, vibrant songs performed to perfection. ~ Josh Modell, All Music Guide
Secret Name is unadulterated lo-fi/sadcore, semi-orchestrated pop/rock par excellence. The power trio is augmented by a string section, tympani, and piano on this beautifully understated chamber pop outing by a misunderstood Midwestern band. Mimi Parker's voice is stunning on "Weight of Water," which at times sounds like it might take flight, but naturally, it never does -- and that's not a criticism. When Parker and Alan Sparhawk duet, as on "Missouri" or "Immune," the result is as chilling as anything Gram and Emmylou ever conspired on -- though that's not to say it's country-tinged, just straight from the heart. What Low do particularly well is stay grounded, close to the earth and real. The music is so warm it's a literal caress from the speakers -- and that's no mean feat in their notoriously chilly genre. ~ Denise Sullivan, All Music Guide
The Curtain Hits the Cast was Low's first "major" album, taking the indie buzz over their early work to a much larger audience. The band didn't lose anything in the process -- the album shows them still firmly entrenched in the epic, slow, lazy dirges that got them started. The only noticeable changes come in the form of more elaborate production and a shift in the ratio of dark, creepy dirges to pretty, comforting ones (the latter winning out, as evidenced by the album's single, the beautiful "Over the Ocean"). Low is one of those rare bands that has created such a distinct musical world for itself that even major changes can't affect it -- just like every Cocteau Twins album is unmistakably theirs, and always good, listening to any Low recording involves revisiting a wonderful sound that can't be found anywhere else. The Curtain Hits the Cast is more accessible than much of the band's earlier work, but, since it's a Low album, it isn't really that much different -- the album is probably the best introduction to Low's work. ~ Nitsuh Abebe, All Music Guide
It's not just Kramer's production that gives Low the feel of snooze-rock champions Galaxie 500. The male vocals (provided by guitarist Alan) are lazy, wistful, and occasionally disappointed, alternately sounding like Dean Wareham and Michael Stipe. Red House Painters, the closest touchpoint for the minimalist accompaniment to Long Division, just can't compete with Low's bare, soul-searching oblivion. "Caroline" by itself is better than anything Galaxie 500 produced. ~ John Bush, All Music Guide
Like so many of their contemporaries, Low are repeatedly lumped into numerous derivative and nondescript headings intended to encompass slow-paced, instrument-driven music that maintains an indie aesthetic. Quite simply, no category can truly reveal the beauty and glory of Low's debut record I Could Live in Hope. Sad core? Not even close! I Could Live in Hope is an incredibly joyous journey of spirit and songwriting sensibility. The record remains patient and sparse throughout (just guitar, bass, high hat, and snare, and angelic vocals by the husband and wife team of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker), but succeeds beautifully. Low truly behold the gift of understatement. Working with long-time producer and New York underground mainstay Kramer, Low examine their own fears and haunting experiences, occasionally linking them with Biblical references, while consoling listeners with warm layers of ethereal vocals and waves of guitar reverberation. Tracks are simple one-word titles but that's all that they require -- too much information would spoil the record's elegance. And that's probably why they open the record with "Words," a song about the overuse and misuse of language, that sets the tone for the entire album, right up to their plaintive and passionate cover of "You Are My Sunshine." Every small nuance of production is evident -- Sparhawk's fingers not quite connecting on a chord change or sliding over a fret and echoing infinitely -- making I Could Live in Hope a true testament to both Low and Kramer's penchant for capturing the lushest of soundscapes. ~ Ken Taylor, All Music Guide