Low and Loney, Dear in Chicago, April 13, 2007

Swede dreams and lush lullabies

By Meghan Murphy
Published: April 16th, 2007 | 10:07pm

The current "L" section of Sub Pop's roster, Loney, Dear and Low, played the Metro in Chicago on Friday, April 13, 2007, treating the crowd to both enthusiastic choruses and slow-burning tunes that rang with intensity and introspection.

<img alt="loney with band.jpg" src="http://venuszine.com/loney with band.jpg" width="225" height="149" align="left" hspace="5"/>Loney, Dear, yet another musical sensation from Sweden, opened with a set of unpretentious dramatic pop music. The band is the kind of band the <I>NME</I> freaks out over, but surprisingly hasn't done so — yet. Their recorded output has drawn scattershot comparisons to Sigur Rós, Sufjan Stevens and Radiohead, but seeing them live the obvious comparison is the Arcade Fire. That is, if the Arcade Fire were heavily influenced by twee pop like Belle and Sebastian rather than Talking Heads. And if the Arcade Fire didn't believe they were the most important band in the world.

Emil Svanängen writes songs that make full use of his voice, with verses tumbling into choruses of great resolve and grandeur, and just when you think it's over, he goes falsetto. Though he records everything himself, he's put together a first-rate band for this tour: clearly accomplished musicians who, on the second-to-last show of their tour with Low, seemed to be as invested in the music as their headliner.

<img alt="loney shout.jpg" src="http://venuszine.com/loney shout.jpg" width="100" height="155" align="right" hspace="5"/>Alan Sparhawk of Low remarked during his set that "that Swedish band sure is getting good with their repartée." And he was right. After two months of touring the U.S., including five shows in two days at SXSW, the Swedes have learned how to charm an American audience. "Do you dare to sing with us?" Svanängen asked the audience. "Your part goes like this," he said and proceeded to sing a series of ah, ah, ah, ah's, humorously showing off, not really expecting the audience to follow along.

Nearly every song Loney, Dear played had a soaring quality, the kind you'd want to open your car windows to, even on a 30-degree day. They played with purpose but without pretension –– a refreshing change from bands like the Arcade Fire or Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Loney, Dear's sense of humility made their music not just more tolerable, but, if the band <I>were</I> being heralded as the new "saviors of rock," those claims would come with a little more weight.

When Low came on stage, I was prepared for the usual steady-paced, slowcore for which the band is so well-known. I'll admit, I was skeptical, having never seen Low live before, and I worried I might be wishing for the show to end not even half way before it was over.

But I didn't get sleepy, and I didn't get bored. The stuff off the new record was still droning, but particularly engaging. I felt nearly entranced, and the rest of the audience seemed to feel that way as well. They listened with anticipation and awe, readily accepting anything the band poured their way. Fortunately for us, what Low continued to pour forth was dark, rich and sweet. Just like molasses.

<img alt="low mimi.jpg" src="http://venuszine.com/low mimi.jpg" width="152" height="210" align="left" hspace="5"/>Alan Sparhawk's voice sounded like a father's, singing to his yet-to-be-born child, still cozied up in her mother's womb. His singing draped lazily over the steady, heartbeat rhythm of the drums. His wife, Mimi Parker, played drums standing up, as she's known to do, somewhat adolescently hidden behind her hair, singing with her eyes closed. Her inherently shy persona came through after one of the few instances when Sparhawk addressed the crowd. He asked her if she'd like to add to his comments and she replied, "No, I think you've said it all" as if she was embarrassed by her partner's "gabbiness." It seemed she'd prefer to let the music speak for itself, focusing her energy on her mysteriously haunting yet triumphant vocals.

Their entire performance compelled the crowd into furrowed brows and tilted heads, contemplating the songs. Their second-to-last song, "Murderer," was particularly compelling with Sparhawk's ambiguous plea to God to be "someone to do your dirty work." The lyrical ambiguity of Low's recent "Drums and Guns" album has left many wondering if the band could be attempting to make a political statement. They weren't giving any clues tonight. Sparhawk coyly referenced this tension by asking the crowd for suggestions of what they're protesting, eventually settling on "Stop the River" as their absurd rallying cry. Perhaps 14 years of performing and eight albums (not to mention two children) from a husband and wife is a political statement in itself.

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Photos by Andrew Gill