Low and Pedro The Lion
Bowery Ballroom, New York (February 17, 2001)
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Low
Bowery Ballroom, New York
February 17, 2001 |
Pedro the Lion's lead singer/songwriter/guitarist, David Bazan, crafts simple rock songs that alternate between a boy home alone with his four track and the teenager in the garage unnerving the neighbors. With the sparse backing of drums and keyboard, Bazan's laconic and honest voice spun idiosyncratic fables of despondency with lyrics like "Canada's not what she used to be" ("Of Up And Coming Monarchs").
In a set that drew equally from 1998's It's Hard To Find A Friend (Made In Mexico) and 2000's Winners Never Quit (Jade Tree), a subtle silver lining emerged from the cloudy content in the form of lovely riffs and vocal sincerity. The three-piece's fragile and unassuming stage presence, plus Bazan's willingness to answer questions from the crowd on everything from why he has a beard and no mustache to Napster created a respectful, communal atmosphere for him to spin haunting yarns like "Slow And Steady Wins The Race."
The crowd's attentiveness did not waver as Low took the stage. Performing primarily the angelic and heavy songs from their most recent release, Things We Lost In The Fire, the band used forte dynamics in meager doses to garner effective and affective results. Percussionist Mimi Parker and guitarist Alan Sparhawk's voices blended magnificently into a single organic sound that brought to mind the haunting harmonies from Simon and Garfunkel's catalog.
In the quiet walls of the Bowery, "Sunflower" sounded like a beautiful hymn, worthy of a Sunday morning church service. Its straightforward 4/4 structure was simply contrasted by Parker and Sparhawk's expansive vocals, which transcended words to convey emotion solely through the essence of sound. "Dinosaur Act" proved to be a catchier moment, with Zak Sally's muted thunder bass lines figuring prominently in the more rock club-worthy song.
The evening was not one of gut wrenching, sweat inducing, physical rock'n'roll. Rather, both bands used a subtler, quieter guise to set clockworks spinning within audience members' heads. And as the provoking fables from Pedro The Lion's set mixed with the word-dissolving sounds of Low, I walked away from the sermon and the congregation realizing something new. I still love the sound of guitars, but I like the sound of humans too.
A.K. GOLD | A.K. Gold lives in Washington, D.C., where she slaves away for a non-profit organization and constantly compares everything to New York City or Chicago. She's earned her "cred" as a college radio and pre-1960 country music DJ, committed indie label street teamer, sporadic zinemaker/contributor, retired mail-order filler and occasional freelance writer. From time to time, she publishes Anecdotal Evidence, a per zine that will some day be considered for the National Book Award, or possibly not. If you want to buy a copy, or desire to write to her for some other reason, email criticgirl@hotmail.com.