Liars
Fins to Make Us More Fish-Like
[Blast First/Mute; 2002]
Rating: 8.3

Able-bodied hipsters got acquainted with this Brooklyn-based quartet when their sneering, vitriolic triumph of a debut, They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top, was first issued last year on the Gern Blandsten label. Then, earlier this year, the record got reissued by Mute, spawning an immediate press frenzy with journalists across the globe wondering just who, exactly, was this new "The" band? But the media quickly realized that this record would not easily lend itself to mainstream marketability, and not just because there's no "The" in the name Liars. The attention served the band well, though, because while they may be about as far as you can possibly get from garage rock revivalism, their music is a thing of raw, jagged beauty, and one of the more original sounds to emerge from the indie rock underground this year.

They Threw Us All in a Trench was a brilliant portrait of tenuous restraint, fluctuating wildly between a noise sharp and vicious enough to shred through an entire offensive line, and periods of tense too-calmness designed to lull its victims into a trance-induced state of false security before the storm arrived again. This startling ebb and flow produced a kind of frenetic delirium, as all expectations of what was to come were thrown out just before the music finally culminated in a mesmerizing locked groove.

So you may wonder how such epic unpredictability can be followed-- and Liars have an answer for you. In continued defiance of expectation come two EPs, separating and isolating the two key aspects of the band's sound: tense fury and furious tension. Driving post-punk guitar rhythms and Angus Andrew's vocal spitfire are six minutes of unstoppable force on We No Longer Knew Who We Were, which collides sharply with the immovable opacity of Fins to Make Us More Fish-Like's experimental edge. Individually, these EPs highlight one of the band's strongest elements in condensed, cohesive form; taken together, they throw Liars' range and invention into impressive relief. Whether slumming with the straight-ahead post-punk mechanics of We No Longer Knew Who We Were, or creating frayed, surreal otherworlds on Fins to Make Us More Fish-Like, Liars continually shatter preconceptions.

"We Got Cold, Coughed, and Forgot Things" typifies the aggravated assault of We No Longer Knew as Pat Nature's bass opens the record, careening back and forth amid a driving beat supplied by Ron Albertson. Momentum builds until Aaron Hemphill cuts through the fray like a blowtorch, his guitar's vicious whine evoking a bandsaw clattering against solid stone with calculated, machine-gun rhythm and deadly accuracy-- it takes charge of the song the moment it arrives on the scene. The guitar work is so dominant, in fact, that Andrew's vocals take on an almost subliminal quality as they seethe inches removed from the surface. He screams, "When my mind is weak/ You always let me know," before truly breaking through the dissonance, and only then does it sink in that you've been hearing him for the last minute or so without fully realizing it. The effect is subtle, and all the more striking for it.

The anthemic pseudo-choruses and dancefloor appeal of the three tracks on We No Longer Knew are the common thread, but Liars still find opportunity for strange interludes like the mid-song breakdown in "You Know I Hate Stupid Phones", during which Andrew speaks confessionally as the clamor in the background cuts instantly to deafening silence. This sort of disorientation is Liars' stock-in-trade. As tempting as it might be to pigeonhole them as nothing more than art-punks emulating the groove-oriented 70s groups like Gang of Four, Liars are simply too bizarre to validate those claims, even on a disc as traditionally structured as this one. That dedication to the unexpected is good news. Because even while We No Longer Knew warrants such comparisons with a decidedly "song-oriented" focus, the band is equally focused on keeping the listener off-balance. Listening to this group is never simply a passive experience.

Furthering this end of the sound is the Fish-Like EP. "Pillars Were Hollow and Filled With Candy, So We Knocked Them Down" and "Every Day Is a Child with Teeth" both seize on Liars' unstructured, improvisational tendencies, leading to strange, violent noisescapes. "Pillars" opens the disc with Liars at their mind-cleansing best. Andrew repeatedly shouts, "Do something magical and disappear," over a cardiac disco tempo and a storm of echo-laden vocals before he counts down to the song's furious build and searing rhythmic feedback. "Every Day Is a Child with Teeth" is less entrancing, with its ritualistic chant anchoring a hollow backdrop of almost random sound. Although the track itself is fascinating, its formlessness creates the weakest moment of either of the two EPs.

A cleaner, clearer version of "Grown Men Don't Fall in the River, Just Like That" closes Fish-Like with a bang, though, releasing the tension accrued from the first two tracks with what is still Liars' greatest achievement. This song is a true embodiment of nervous post-punk energy, and this rendition even improves on the original by allowing its shouted refrains to ring louder and the guitars to buzz more shrilly. More than anything else Liars have done, this song is a testament of things to come. With their debut and these two EPs, the band has easily proven that they do indeed have their "fingers on the pulse of America"; now it's time for them to run with it.

-Eric Carr, November 13th, 2002