Here's the thing: you can picture this two years from now as a torch-song in some aeroplane hangar, lighters raised dumbly by people who aren't that bothered about what it means, but get that it, like, really means something; but here, in its scrappy present form, minus production gloss, it means everything. Unarmed with vocal-enhancing tricks or studio magic to make those guitars sound fatter and pricier, it's at once powerful and defencelessly stripped. Sarah sings "This is a low," over and over, higher than her voice can go - as some kind of reality-conquering mantra? To outrun it or to force herself down into resignation and acceptance? 'Lowlife' is the sound of someone fighting desperately against hopelessness, and boy, is it convincing.