Decked out in his trademark dungarees, Alan Sparhawk walks onstage at the Barbican, flanked by a trio of small vases and accompanied by his son on bass. Seeing the two of them onstage together is very moving - tonight’s setlist draws largely from Sparhawk’s new album, White Roses, My God, written after the death of his wife and Low bandmate Mimi Parker. It’s a heavy and often confounding listen.
Sparhawk starts the show in the same mode as the album - hopping around while triggering bruisingly simple beats and gnarly electronics. Some of it sounds like the more punishing sections of Portishead’s final act; other parts call to mind Kim Gordon’s rage rap-inspired detours. Sparhawk modulates his voice beyond recognition, rendering the lyrics mostly incomprehensible under the protective cloak of thunderous drums and huge synth washes.
Halfway through, there’s a massive tonal shift when Sparhawk picks up his guitar, plants his feet, and reverts to his natural voice. Hearing the first line of ‘Heaven’ (“It’s a lonely place if you’re alone”) like this is rather disarming to say the least. The language is so plain and unadorned, and the sparse accompaniment of the set’s second half is more compelling to my ears.
The evening’s headline act is L.A. folk singer Jessica Pratt, who I last saw six years ago at a small church in Stoke Newington. Her elevation to the Barbican Hall is aided by her wonderful four-piece band, resolutely unshowy but providing some crucial tonal variety. In particular, her collaborator/fiance Matthew McDermott lends songs like ‘The Last Year’ a real celestial lift. Pratt’s guitar playing and one-of-a-kind voice are always front and centre though, and she easily establishes a hushed intimacy that lasts for the whole concert.
Pratt’s setlist draws heavily from her two most recent albums, with many of the standout moments coming from her latest Here in the Pitch, which seems to be gathering serious AOTY consideration in some quarters. ‘By Hook or by Crook’ is bolstered by a wonderful bossa nova rhythm, and sounds like the sort of holy grail folk record you might find after crate digging in São Paulo. The tender lilt of ‘Better Hate’ is gently accented by some dreamy saxophone melodies, allowing the audience to sink back into their seats, hover in and out of consciousness, and briefly forget about the “strange and unsavoury day” of the US election results.
There’s an old-world quality to Pratt’s music. On ‘The Last Year’, she finds her way towards vocal melodies that sound somehow unique to her, and yet also as if they’ve always existed. ‘Back, Baby’ is an absolute gem of a song that now has a satisfying new wrinkle after being sampled by Troye Sivan. Pratt returns onstage for a solo encore of ‘On Your Own Love Again’, before joined again by the rest of the band for apt closing song ‘Fare Thee Well’. A quietly masterful performance.
