Low is an album that must be listened to in its entirety, in order. Gone are the days of “Side 1” and “Side 2” — and hence musicians that actually create records that way — but you’ll notice a distinct shift from the first few tracks when the album takes a decidedly experimental turn. In the old days — days even I can barely remember — this involved flipping the LP over on the turntable.
Sound and Vision is the only song on Low that has even a remotely pop feeling — if the word “pop” can even be used to describe a song from 1977. To me, this song is peaceful. The lyrics are few, and they explicitly invoke solitude, implicitly invoke silence. The silence that comes perhaps before inspiration, or in the moments of anticipation before the world shows you something beautiful. It’s like a thank you for the gift of creativity — a gift that was showered, or better yet, poured on David Bowie.
Two clips, again. The first a cute little conversation with Moby as he calls in to Live By Request. The second, the performance of Sound and Vision from the same television special.