Low is slow. Low is boring.
Low aptly named.
Low is the gospel of tired people, the mass of nightlife, the exhausted sigh lazy. The end credits song for a romantic comedy to the tunes of turnips nerd who ended with a broken sauce "we remain friends, eh?". The timing of the great soul thin, frail, and pale, the pain-ass, those who will not lift a finger to find a soul mate and who are biting their fingers every day that God made. Low is the blues for this con pathetic you are, a little beauty faded for him, for every moment you bored on your chair with your eyes glued several minutes on each object in the room uninteresting. Thinking vaguely of a girl ... Smooth? Fade? If you want ... If it suits you ...
On this one, interspersed with some nervous twitching - ahem - and filled flush-the-mouth pieces of not so long that it's endless and yet even more "like at the time but I remember more than an hour after a beat "as Tindersticks and The Dears, there is Amazing Grace intro - sorry - LA intro. A sort of essence of the piece after, when the Sun begins to punch his face and that yours is paler than the moon.
If there was ever done about winnowing his pockets or his puffy eyes red with fatigue, can not understand this album, let alone this group. A disc of dark circles, digging for more.
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