Now, ... Low Roar is awesome. Obviously. They are making incredible music.
You know who doesn't know that? Low Roar.
After their set, I went up to the band members, except the lead who was otherwise engaged, and I told them this.
"Hey, you're the drummer? That was a really great set."
"Really?" he said. "Thank you!" and he smiled.
Same thing for the synth-guy.
Look, they're making incredible stuff, but the feedback they are getting (like 2 million views on youtube, right?) is not coming back to them.
After the concert, go up to them and say, 'Hey, great stuff; I really liked it.'
Make an artist's day.
Why do I have to say this?
You read a book. It's a good book. Write the author. 'Hey, I really liked your writing.' Do you know how many letters your fav unrecognized (or recognized) author gets that says this?
Zero. Zero per one hundred readers. That's the average.
Beat the odds and be the difference. Make the day of somebody who really needs their day made.
You like that book? You like that song? You admire that painting? Do you know how painful it was for that artist to write that book or song or paint that piece? They did it for the art, of course, but if you say 'hey, good stuff!' your letter could possibly be the one thing that made the difference in their lives to break through to the next work.
As an artist, it's so easy to see your own failings, particularly the failing in your own works, and it's really, really hard to see the impact your work is having in the world, particularly in the silent world, that cold, uncaring, heartless world that you put your work out into and all you get back is indifference.
That indifference is you, dear reader, even, particularly, if you like the work with all your heart, and don't let the artist know this.
So, do yourself a favor. Write a letter to your favorite author or artist and tell them what you like about their work. Today.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
So, you're missing something and you don't even know what you're missing it until you go to it.
Not a helpful review of the Low Roar set, so I'll try to be helpful.
If you listen to Low Roar on your laptop, you have to wonder why they are called Low Roar? Is the elegiac theme threaded throughout the music, you wonder.
No, it's not that. You actually have to go to a concert to experience this, and what 'this' is is this (because you can't experience this in any other way): threading the music of Low Roar together is not a common theme, it's the almost subsonic bass drone.
Low Roar's music hums, it cried, it dies, continuously, and you have to be submerged in this, well, this low roar to experience, together with the artists, the feeling of being truly lost, bereft of any direction, any hope, any joy, to see where you really are right now.
Then, seeing this, being this, you come to find yourself in communion to the one group that can sing this pain, this loss, this hopelessness that you didn't even know you felt, sing it out, not to you, not to the concert goers, not to anywhere.
Low Roar sings it out into the silence, the nothingness, and for what purpose? why?
Low Roar is the epitome of #introvert problems. Not once did they look out to the crowd listening to their music. They barely even looked at each other.
They didn't need to. They were so lost, not in themselves, not even, really, in the music, but moreso in the moment, and, being lost, separate, they were really one.
And the music they made...
Again, this is not something you get from listening to the media. Unless you have some really good speakers and you crank them up all the way.
That is: you're not 'listening to music.' You are recreating a concert.
This is what you need to do with their music: respect it.
Because, unlike most music out there, Low Roar's music respects you.
Okay, I don't know how Ryan Karazija did it, but somehow, moving to Iceland ... well, let's put it this way: this music could not have been created in California. This music needs Iceland, with its cold weather and its cool people. It needed the silence that does not exist in the hustle and bustle of this maddening crowd. And, in this silence in which this music was created, it is able to reach out, without trying, and touch you. Not 'touch you' in general. I mean it reaches out and touches you in a personal and intimate way that you do not find except in that moment of fulfillment when you see her and she sees you and you both look into each other's souls and see the hurt there, and, maybe not make it better, but just see it there, and understand.
That's what Low Roar's music is.
Here's what else Low Roar's music is.
First, let me tell you what it isn't.
Here are the drums: Boom-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa, Boom-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa
Here's the bass: dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum-dum
Here's the guitar [whatever]
Here's the lead soloist: wha-wah-wha-wah-whatever
That's most of the music you find out there. Good music. eh-music, you know: whatever floats your boat, that music is out there to be listened to in the background so you can get on with your pointless life.
Low Roar's music. Here's what Low Roar's music.
When the drums are being played? There's a reason why the drums are being played, and when the drums are being played, it's a frikken revelation.
Oh, my God! Those are drums!
And an exercise in endless patience for the drummer, because the songs are not Boom-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa, but the payoff is just incredible when he does come in.
Same thing for the guitarist. The guitar spent more time in its stand than in the hand.
Low Roar's music requires from you, the listener, and intensity of listening for you to just get it, because if you don't listen intently, you won't get it.
You'll say: "I just don't get this."
Good. Don't. The door's over there.
But for those of you who try to get it.
The treasures therein are finer here than the finest gold you'll find in the mainstream music which panders to you. Low Roar's music doesn't pander, but it also doesn't demand. Not really.
It's there for you.
It's a gift.
Low Roar's music is a gift. They are touring throughout the U.S.A., right now. Buy you a golden ticket, go to the concert. You're not rewarding them by your presence, although they are appreciative of their audience. No, you will be rewarded with the music you'll experience nowhere else.