Sydney Morning Herald. May 29, 2006

Guy Blackman

Alan Sparhawk, singer and guitarist for cult US trio Low, is either a brave or a desperate man. He is certainly dogged.

In April last year, while on a gruelling European tour, he suffered a mental breakdown and was forced to cancel all Low's upcoming shows, including an Australian tour scheduled for that month. This was followed in October by the departure of bassist Zak Sally, who had been with the band since 1994, reducing the band to just Sparhawk and his drummer wife, Mimi Parker.

A few months later, Low returned to Duluth, Minnesota, for their annual hometown Christmas show, introducing new bass player Matt Livingston. The following month they embarked on a US tour, and, soon enough, rescheduled all the international dates they had cancelled in 2005.

What's more, Sparhawk refused to shirk inquisitive journalists, speaking patiently and to the best of his ability about his ordeal - one that he admits is far from over.

"As far as the future, I don't even know where this is taking us," says Sparhawk, expressing himself slowly and with painstaking care.

"At the moment we're in the process of figuring that out. It's not so much getting back to the same thing we were doing before, as much as recognising where we can go now."

Although Low have toured regularly since releasing their first album, the genre-defining I Could Live in Hope, in 1994, it is only in the past few years that Sparhawk began to find it hard to endure. The long hours, lack of sleep and constantly changing social environments started to fray his nerves and impair his judgement.

He is loath to blame outside factors for what happened, however. "There were a lot of things that went into my situation, it was more than just inevitability," he says.

"It was plain stupid living. I was not eating right, not getting enough sleep." Although he doesn't say exactly how his mental disintegration manifested itself, Sparhawk admits his behaviour caused "undue stress" for everyone around him.

The turning point came, in a peculiarly personal epiphany, before a photo of dearly departed English DJ John Peel at BBC studios in London. When Sparhawk publicly announced his battle with mental illness on Low's website this time last year, he described the incident.

"Seeing his calm, wise face made me realise I had been letting my own selfish battle with sanity get in the way of the gift of music. In that instant, I knew I was a fool, and that I had become the enemy."

The band flew home to Duluth mid-tour, and Sparhawk had himself committed, spending a few days "in the hospital crawling around on the ground", as he told music website Pitchfork this year.

The announcement came as a shock even to Low's most dedicated fans, as the band have long been one of American independent music's steadiest and most dependable. Over the past 13 years, they have released eight well-crafted, high-quality albums in their own trademark style, with tones so delicate and tempos so stately that they coined their own mini-genre, "slowcore".

Last year's The Great Destroyer was a notable departure, however, replacing the hushed languor of their earlier work with wild distortion and even some bona fide pop songs.

In hindsight, Sparhawk sees a connection between the band's change of sound and his impending sickness. "I used to think when I wrote music that it wasn't influenced by immediate things; I thought my influences were something deeper or higher," he says.

"But after a while you look back and you realise that you really are a lot more influenced by what's going at the time than you want to admit. So I can hear the emotions that I was going through. I can hear confusion on this record that I don't think has been on any other record. It's a really unpredictable and volatile moment, much more so than I normally think my songs come from."

Sparhawk and wife Parker's faith also gave them the appearance of inner surety. Both are Mormons, and consequently for many years lived a life more sedate than most in rock'n'roll. Marriage and religion seemed to insulate the couple from excess, but Sparhawk recently admitted that he became a heavy pot smoker a few years ago, and that his mental problems began around the same time.

"There have been people who've made a big deal about how we're Mormons, and we don't do this and this and this," he said in January.

"And the truth is that I'm not perfect, and this is something right now that I do, at least in my mind, it's as valid as the other medications that the doctors have been giving me. I wish that was not something I had to do, but you can make the same argument with the medications I'm using. I've got medications that, if I lose them, within three days I'll probably go into shock, or at least get really ill."

Understandably, the events of the past few years have placed a great strain on Sparhawk and Parker's relationship, although in many ways it has brought them closer. "I don't know how she puts up with me, but I definitely would have to tip the hat to her," Sparhawk says.

"I think every relationship is measured by how you work through these kinds of things. But they can create such deep complications. It's so hard to heal, and it's so hard to separate the illness from the person."

The couple, whose intertwining vocal harmonies have always been one of Low's outstanding features, first met when they were nine and began dating in high school. They have two children, six-year-old daughter Hollis Mae and two-year-old son George Cyrus. It is the necessity to provide for his family that makes Sparhawk's return to performance look as much like desperation as bravery.

As with most successful independent musicians, touring is Low's primary source of income.

"You certainly don't make money making records these days," Sparhawk admits, "but if you can play a show and people will turn up, and come see you again the next time you visit, then you've got something. Eventually it wears on you but it's also the main part of what we do."

And as much as it now scares him, talking to journalists is a fundamental part of promoting any tour. Sparhawk's willingness to fulfil these obligations so soon after a major mental health scare is another sign of bravery.

"It's scary because I know the questions are going to come, and I don't have any one or two line answers to explain or justify whatever happened," he says.

"I wish there was an easy way to explain why or how things happened."

Although Parker has supported him in many ways, she will not take over the burden of interviews for Sparhawk.

"She doesn't want to, because she's smart," he says with a wry chuckle. He has also often tried to persuade his wife to make a record where she sings lead and he sings backup, instead of vice-versa, but says she doesn't like writing songs and has always rejected the idea.

There could also be another, more ego-driven explanation for Low's speedy return to the stage. Sparhawk has admitted in the past that he is in love with adoration, much more so than his shy, retiring wife. Although it can exacerbate his illness, touring satisfies a primal need for attention, and Sparhawk has a genuine love for performing.

"I view what we do more as playing in front of people than making records," he says. "It's something that crosses over into dishonesty the more I have to sit in a basement by myself with a guitar. It pulls me further and further away from what's really going on."

So Low are back on the road, feeling their way forward tentatively, adjusting to a new bass player and a new approach to touring. They are playing in short bursts, not going out for more than a couple of weeks at a time, trying to minimise the triggers - exhaustion, lack of routine, bad nutrition - that have unbalanced Sparhawk in the past.

"I guess the trick is just to stay healthy, you know," he says. "Use what you've learned about your problems and apply them so that you don't get so far down the road mentally with something that you can't get back. Therapy and medication sometimes help out."

Like many people in similar situations, Sparhawk is taking things one step at a time.

"There's a lot of people walking around with mental issues, with depression or anxieties," he says. "Every day you learn a bit more, hopefully, so that you don't get too far over the edge."