Alan Sparhawk’s White Roses, My God resists easy interpretation. That’s due, in no small part, to the fact that the former Low singer-guitarist filters every note that he sings through Auto-Tune, making it difficult to decipher most of what he’s saying and, in a nod to Prince’s Camille alter ego, lending an ambiguity of gender and age to his voice.
Composed of tracks that felt more like transformative remixes of existing songs, Low’s 2018 album Double Negative stretched the boundaries of rock, and Sparhawk’s solo debut further departs from the conventions of the genre. With the exception of “Brother,” he stays away from his guitar altogether, pulling instead from trap, hyperpop, and psychedelia.
There’s a simplicity to the lyrics of songs like “Feel Something,” every line of which is a variation on the line “Feel something here.” Similarly, “Somebody Else’s Basement” repeats the phrase “Somebody else’s room” 18 times, and features few other lyrics. Even when the album makes room for more complex lyrics, Sparkhawk sings them in a manner that resists comprehension.
There are a few exceptions: Individual phrases like “I can please myself with the things I seek out” and “Can you hear if I cry?” make plain Sparhawk’s longing on “Station” and “Can U Hear,” respectively. And the 2022 death of his wife, Mimi Parker, unmistakably permeates White Roses, My God. The skeletal nature of the drum machine-driven “I Made This Beat” symbolizes Sparhawk’s loneliness, which hits even harder given that Parker played drums for Low.
One can sense Sparhawk figuring out who he is as a solo artist, experimenting with synthesizers and drum programming like a child playing with new toys and pitching his voice up so he sounds like a prepubescent boy. The album, in fact, was recorded using cheap equipment that Sparkhawk originally purchased for his children. (His and Parker’s son, Cyrus, plays bass on several songs, while their daughter, Hollis, contributes backing vocals.)
White Roses, My God, then, feels like a family affair, in which a dad and his kids come to terms with their collective grief. Which isn’t to say the album is without hope, as its embrace of contemporary sounds is decidedly forward-minded. The gothic menace familiar to Low’s output is taken in a more playful direction, set to rattling contemporary beats. But while Sparhawk avoids plumbing the deepest wells of his grief too explicitly, its presence is impossible to miss.
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