I can clearly remember where I was when I first heard Low. I was sitting in an office in the 501 Building on the edge of UNL’s campus, where I worked for the Instructional Technology Group. Which, among other things, gave me access to a high-speed internet connection — a rarity at the time — that made it far easier to check out new music than my 56K dialup modem at home. Which is how I downloaded a low-quality MP3 of “Words,” the opening song on I Could Live in Hope, and as soon as I heard Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker’s harmonies, I knew that I’d just discovered my new favorite band and album.

“Words” is still my favorite song on the album, and quite possibly my favorite Low song, but all of I Could Live in Hope is entrancing. At a time when the alternative rock zeitgeist was dominated by grunge bands trying to be louder and more distorted, guitarist Sparhawk, drummer Parker, and bassist John Nichols took the exact opposite approach. Drawing inspiration from Brian Eno’s ambience as well as Joy Division and The Cure’s gloomy post-punk, Low’s music was deliberately quieter and slower than their alt-rock contemporaries, and in the process, helped give birth to what we now call “slowcore.” (It should be noted, though, that Low always disliked that term.)

“Slide” and “Lazy” make you want to lie down on your bedroom floor in the dark to better let the band’s music wash over you. Meanwhile, words like “glacial” and “unhurried” feel grossly inadequate when applied to longer songs like “Lullaby” and “Down.” If it were performed by any other band, “Lullaby”’s nearly ten minutes of sparse rhythms and icily brittle guitar lines would quickly grow tedious and interminable. But with Low, each and every guitar strum, snare hit, and bass note feels absolutely vital and necessary, and each minute becomes more gripping and entrancing than the one before it.