Alan Sparhawk Releases White Roses, My God

The husband and wife partnership of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker will forever be remembered for their work in the band Low. Their remarkable vocal harmonies always told a story of a long and storied relationship that went far beyond the music and lyrics. Alan's unique and unmistakable guitar sounds and playing, coupled with Mimi's sparse and atmospheric drumming made for over two decades of music that covered a wide variety of sonic explorations. They worked with a diverse range of producers and mixers such as Tchad Blake, Jeff Tweedy, Dave Fridmann, and BJ Burton, with results ranging from stark intimate acoustic recordings to jarring and distorted sonic explorations.

We interviewed Alan Sparhawk of Low back in Tape Op #31, around the time that the band's Trust album was released. Low went on to release 17 studio albums (more if you count the EPs), and Alan has released work both as a solo artist and with the Retribution Gospel Choir.

In 2022, Mimi Parker passed away after a two year battle with ovarian cancer.

Sparhawk's latest release, White Roses, My God, is a sonic departure from any of his previous work with Low, and although it took me a moment to recalibrate my expectations, it has been getting repeat plays here at home, on walks, and while in transit.

White Roses, My God was recorded at Sparhark's home studio, with drum machines, synths, and heavy vocal processing, creating a sonic palette that tilts way more towards Boards of Canada than any of Sparhawk's or Low's previous work. It carries a wide range of emotions both sonically and lyrically, and seems the perfect musical companion as we move into the Fall and Winter months.

Alan and I have been friends for years, and we caught up recently to discuss this new release.

-GS

Where was White Roses, My God recorded, and who worked on it?

AS: I recorded it myself in the room I have set up for rehearsal and recording. At some point, I had my friend Nat Harvie come in to help me finish recording, then edit and mix it. Nona Invie and my daughter Hollis did some backing vocals, and my son Cyrus played bass on it.

What was your setup for recording?

I have a MacBook, an old UA Apollo interface, a Crane Song two-channel preamp, and I tracked it on Logic, switching to Ableton for overdubs, editing, and mixing. Most of the material was generated with a Roland TR8-S [Rhythm Performer] MIDI'd up to a Novation Bass Station. I used a TC-Helicon C1 hard pitch pedal on the vocals.

What influenced the decision to have the lead vocals be heavily processed and almost disembodied.

It started as just curiosity. I had the drum machine and synth hooked up in the studio because the kids would use with them and have their friends over to mess around and freestyle. I found a used vocal pitch pedal at the shop in town and figured they would have fun with it. Soon enough, I found myself tweaking with the gear, and once I started locking the machines together I found it pretty exciting and a lot more spontaneous and expressive than one would think. I'd search around to find inspiring moments and combinations on the drum machine and synth. I'd have the mic there, and when something started coming out of my mouth I'd try to capture it. Sometimes it would be just sounds, sometimes fragments and words, sometimes a whole song – beginning to end. There's something about taking pitch accuracy off the table, and the fact that it's still you singing but with a different voice coming out that really opens up what you can grapple with in the moment. It's like valves on a horn – the player can be more expressive and creative with the instrument because the valves are making sure all the notes you reach for hit more accurately than if it was just up to how you worked the mouthpiece. The technology for pitch correcting and tone manipulation is pretty advanced now, so there's a lot of detail and dynamic you can work with. It isn't just fixing notes – it's responding to tone and things like the shape your mouth is and how much force you hit it with. It was exhilarating, and kind of freeing to be able to use the same muscles and brain space that I've been struggling with for decades to get a very different sound. Things came out of me that would maybe not have if I had been using my real/untreated voice.

The record is predominantly synths, or maybe guitars processed to sound like synths and drum machines, with a few recognizable guitar tones in tunes like "Brother".

Yes, guitar on only one song. I love the guitar too much to let it ruin something that doesn't need it.

The background vocals on "Heaven" sound so much like something Mimi would sing. Is that her?

That's Nona Invie, a friend from Minneapolis, and my daughter Hollis. Both great singers, but yes, Hollis' voice sounds very much like Mim's.

How do you even begin to approach making music after losing Mimi? This record sounds like a spiritual conversation with her. There is beauty, sadness, anger, frustration, and humor woven throughout the tonality of the music and the lyrics.

I feel like I am still only beginning to find my feet. My kids play music, and there were already some music-oriented things going on together, so in many ways, music became a powerful bond and language that helped get us through so far. A big part of me wanted to crawl onto a hole, but I know myself enough to know that I may have never crawled out. Friends reached out and had me along on some trips and shows - that helped. I am a little envious of the exemplary artists out there who can articulate grief, sometimes with brutal accuracy – Nick Cave is almost too good at it – but I've never been an intentional writer. I don't sit down and say, "This is going on and I want to write something about it." I've always had to work hard to open the window. I trust what comes in, and I'm a hard editor. I try to always stay true to, and diligent with, what comes in, and in turn, the results are usually beyond anything I could consciously design. I don't know if it's a conversation with Mim. The feeling of her absence was blinding at first and then cruelly persistent. I started recording this stuff about six months after she died. I was still screaming. I wasn't looking to process or articulate anything or even make anything. I just stumbled upon a place where things would come out of me, and I've lived enough to know to trust that. It's all over the place – some songs came from hope, some from fear. Some of them are "Come at me, motherfucker," which can be both, I suppose.