Low Anthem review or: A Fly debut for a Super Fly guy

Back in 2009, when The Fly asked me to cover a Low Anthem concert and submit my review to them electronically, I had never heard of the band, let alone the Internet. I went to the show ignorant of their discography and remained oblivious to the names of the instruments that they played, the gender of each band member, the language they were singing in and the entire point of the evening for days afterwards.

In the wake of the show, I was forced to undertake a crash IT competency course and consort with an array of muso bores, learning words as complicated and diverse as 'music', 'guitar' and 'crotale'. The term 'double bass', referring to an object that I had previously assumed was called 'Captain Slap-Slap', was revelatory in its simple beauty. I symbolically burned my by-this-point extensive collection of quills in a gesture lost on a vulgar fire rescue team and set to work amidst the blaze. Here is what I wrote. At the very least, I think it reads as though I knew what I was talking about, perhaps to its detriment. My reference to where the frontman is from seems especially forced and unnecessary. Excuse the formatting.

First piece for The Fly! Three stars! Original link at the bottom. What I can't paste in are the comments originally left under the article. They're lost forever, although one person did agree with me about the singer's “pissy” attitude.

The Low Anthem
Oran Mor, Glasgow
07/09/2009
***
At one point during his group’s Scottish debut show, frontman Ben Knox Miller laments The Low Anthem‘s formative years on the Rhode Island live circuit, during which they were forced to perform in a succession of “terrible, terrible sports bars”. From the pained tones with which the Providence native recounts these experiences, it is clear that whatever footing the band has gained on the international Americana stage has been hard-won. Not that one could tell from Miller’s fanfare-killing entrance, ignoring an expectant crowd so that he might instead turn his attention towards the venue’s lavish lighting arrangement, presumably too slick for his liking – “These red lights… can we kill those?”

From their ensuing performance, it is clear that The Low Anthem‘s immediate response to having unexpectedly built up a sizeable following is to simply act oblivious of its existence. The trio may find themselves an unexpectedly fashionable proposition following the rise of Fleet Foxes, with whom a penchant for rustic Americana and choral harmonies is shared. However, comparisons between them and their Bella Union labelmates are rendered redundant in the live setting as the band flits from extremes of pastoral contemplation to raucous noise, rarely courting compromise between the two.

‘To the Ghosts Who Write History Books’ proves a suitably captivating opener for a set consistently met with hushed reverence. ‘Charlie Darwin’, the near title track of the band’s sophomore album, meanwhile, epitomises shimmering, uncertain fragility, the multi-instrumentalists’ cracked harmonies tangling with layers of delicate feedback, coaxed from Jocie Adams’ crotales. Following an aching rendition of ‘Ticket Taker’, a lyric which confirms Miller’s mastery of character-driven narrative, Jeff Prystowsky delivers an authentic double bass solo in the mould of classic jazz. The band soon segues into a stirring rendition of American standard ‘Old Dan Tucker’.

Five songs into their set, there is no doubt that The Low Anthem are equipped with enough expertise and sense of adventure to mine something truly unique from familiar subject matter. However, while the up-tempo numbers played serve to broaden the set’s stylistic remit, and are fully-realised in their own right, they tend to jar with their introspective neighbours. And while the band is to be commended for following their own instincts, one suspects that they may have to consciously decide on a means of reconciling the intimacy that apparently comes naturally to them with the expansive sound required by larger venues. After all, they’re a long way from those sports bars now.

Lewis Porteous
 http://www.the-fly.co.uk/reviews/live/5868/Live-Review-The-Low-Anthem/

Lewis Porteous: Decline and Fall (unabridged 'About Me')

I started writing while at University, producing a series of humour columns to a deadline every fortnight as I dreamt of a career in music journalism. These were poorly thought out and badly executed yet editors continued to ask me for them, while other students would infrequently recognise my name or face around campus and compliment my work. But not everyone was impressed. In a letter published 18^th February 2008, Emma Freeman wrote the following:

“A note to Lewis Porteous, you clearly have talent so use it. A column should leave the reader with the sense that they have just received a new and interesting perspective on pretty much anything fairly universal and current. Being original for the sake of it is not enough. Your columns have mastered the all important art of the intriguing, amusing first paragraph but then when? A self-indulgent pointless daydream. You can do better than that so try harder.”

A year later, graffiti disparaging my artistry appeared in a men's toilet cubicle on the sixth floor of the library. The work of a still seething Emma Freeman? That's for you to decide. I paid it no mind, for I was riding high on my inclusion in the debut issue of a short-lived magazine which sought in vain to publish “the best of student journalism” before a justifiably apathetic audience. On top of this, I had been appointed film editor of the esteemed 'Glasgow University Guardian', largely in recognition of my contemptible beard-growth and willingness to kow-tow to others.

By the time of my graduation, my affected gruff machismo had alienated me from the remainder of the paper's editorial team. I submitted samples of my work to 'Fest' magazine who took me on to review shows for them that August during the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. I covered theatre and comedy almost daily and found that keeping to close deadlines forced me to improve my writing, or 'craft' as I pompously refer to it. I would contribute to 'Fest' once more but applied too late for a position in 2011, the same year that they started paying their staff. Or at least they told me I was too late.

My periods of involvement with Fest's sister paper 'The Skinny' have been frustratingly brief. In early 2010, I worked as a comedy critic, covering an assortment of Glasgow Comedy Festival shows for its website, before having a couple of footnotes included in the publication itself. Desperate to curry favour with the Scots-centric rag, I awarded a mind-numbing set of slovenly observational comedy from local hero Kevin Bridges three stars. Despite my best efforts to please the paper, I fell off its radar for over a year.

I returned as a comedy reviewer for the Fringe in 2011 and pleaded with the music and film editors to give me a chance. I provided four tepid-to-negative reviews of new releases for the music editor, only two of which were published in any form, before all communication was cut off, the final straw being when I, an agoraphobic man who finds enormous crowds unsettling, refused to cover the T in the Park music festival on my own, without a +1. On an only marginally more positive note, I have reviewed a couple of film things so far and remain on that editor's mailing list.

Since late 2009, I have regularly reviewed live music for 'The Fly' who have always been very good to me. I would be happy to contribute to any other publications, if only they'd let me.