The Deaf Institute's stage, with its garish red curtains and surrounding floral
wallpapers, looks like an enlarged puppet theatre. To the left, a few lucky punters peer
imperiously from their lofted position on a balcony. An improbable wall
of speakers stands stacked like an about-to-end game of Tetris.
An enormous mirror ball
bounces shards of purple light around the space, providing the only source of light aside
from some modest stage illumination. It's a small space, but with a definite sense of
character; and there's something very enjoyable about standing at the back of a show and
feeling quite near the front.
And as it happens, The Deaf Institute is the ideal venue for The Low Anthem. The Rhode
Island trio played at Glastonbury. Blissfully beautiful songs like
Charlie Darwin and To Ohio couldn't really ask for a better setting, but they found themselves playing tracks
from their newly-released album
to 20,000 or so uninitiated and slightly disinterested people. Happily, it's almost the
opposite scenario tonight, as an attentive, fully clued-up audience of less than 300 soaks
up every note from an album they've clearly lived with and loved.
Seeing The Low Anthem in the flesh and at such close quarters is revelatory. On the live
stage, Oh My God, Charlie Darwin - an obvious highlight in what has been a quiet year for
album releases in more senses than one - blossoms into something far more emotive, adding
more credence to the notion that quieter music (well, it wasn't all quiet) can hit
just as hard as its louder brethren. But this isn't a night to simply appreciate an album.
The intimacy of the venue and the nature of the performance speaks more about the members
of the band. Yes, they're irritatingly gifted in a way that very few in this crowd will be
able to relate to, but by the end of the show, The Low Anthem feel like the best kind of
human beings, the kind that would really like to share their stories and passions, but
refuse to be the loudest voice in the bar in order to do so.
And it is this premise of quiet, unassuming generosity that bleeds from every note of Oh
My God, Charlie Darwin. So too do so many of the recent and not-so-recent phases of America
music history. Listening at first hand to tracks as wildly different as the soft American
James Taylor-folk of To Ohio, the rambunctious Dylan-goes-electric skiffle of
The Horizon Is A Beltway, the somnolent Springsteen ballad-rock of Cage The Songbird
and the Ryan Adams-influenced neo-Americana of Champion Angel is a rich experience,
like visually time lining so many of the cornerstones of American traditionalism.
A sound as respectful to tradition and yet so remarkably heterogeneous requires
musicians with talent, that's pretty obvious. But the way the three members of the band
seem to interchange instruments at will, as though they are contemplating which one to play
next during each flawless rendition, is impressive. As is the range of instrumentation, and
the way that everything from a harmonica and a double bass to a whistling mobile phone
(apparently, American cell phones are better at whistling) can subtly bring character to
the music.
Even something as commonplace as a Fender Stratocaster, with its rough-edged bluesy
jangle, feels underused and thus more appreciated. That said, it is Ben Knox Miller's vocal
dexterity that steals the limelight. Whether it be Beach Boys-esque falsettos or the
throaty wails of later Bob Dylan, Miller seems completely unfazed.
Judging by Miller's amusing anecdotes about disastrous early touring efforts, it has
been a long and hard road for the founding members of the band. Hopefully, special nights
like this should make it all seem worthwhile.
ALBUM:
