Low

US first press 2007.
This is where Low just went nah… and pulled the whole thing apart. No warmth, no comfort, just that dry, clipped, paranoid pulse running through the whole record. Beats sound like they’re barely holding together, guitars feel like they’ve been sandblasted down to dust, and then those voices still somehow cut straight through it. Proper uneasy listen. The kind of album you don’t throw on by accident but when you do, it sticks. Not even trying to be nice about it. Class. FFO: later Low, BJ Burton production, minimalist misery, slowcore turned inside out, The Cure at their bleakest, finding beauty in things that sound slightly broken