Liars - They Were Wrong So We Drowned
(Mute)
According to Michael Azerrad's excellent chronicle of the rise of the American underground scene during the 1980s, Our Band Could Be Your Life, a reoccurring theme among the major bands of the era was the desire to force the audience to experience the unadorned bile that coursed through their own systems through musical confrontation. For the most part, independent music has lost this vision. Today, kids want pop, they want the funk, they want to dance. Considering all of this, we should be grateful that we have the Liars.
The Liars have always been nasty, but on their previous record they successfully hid much of their coarseness beneath a candy coating. On They Were Wrong So We Drowned, there is no proverbial spoonful of sugar, and what remains is perverse, grotesque, and exquisite. In case we doubt their intentions, right off the bat they announce that "we are the army you see though the red haze of blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood."
Eschewing the sharp guitars and herky-jerky post-punk rhythms of their debut, the Liars have built their new legacy upon formless distortion, howling feedback, beats that skitter like wounded rats and electronics that sound like they are being operated under dangerous conditions. The basic songs themselves are not really so different from what the Liars have done before. The difference is that the tune is nearly entirely carried by the vocals, as the accompanying instrumental tracks have been boiled down into thick, sticky matter. If their previous work appealed to you, if you loved their songs, you will recognize that same appeal here, albeit in a more difficult to digest form. The only listeners who may reject They Were Wrong So We Drowned are those who were drawn to the Liars because of their style, not their music. It is the difference between superficiality and true substance.
"Broken Witch" starts things off nicely (or, not so nicely, if you will), with strange electronic pulses and buzzes, a limping drum kit, and some tranced-out chants. Eventually the drums kick it, which ratchets up the vocal intensity, but the rest of the music maintains the same murky pace, although thickening up into a sinister morass. The single, "There's Always Room on the Broom," is the closest thing to a hit, with its punchy distorted bursts laid out in a nearly danceable rhythm, but kept from being so by constant interruptions from a randomly squealing squall. The freaky-deaky vocals get a off-key "ooooh wooo" back-up and some falsetto layering. "We Fenced Other Houses With Bones of Our Own," a spaced-out dark dub excursion, is less jarring, but no less creepy, with its cavernous echo and vast space into which a ghostly haze drifts. "Hold Hands and It Will Happen Anyway" sounds like Confusion is Sex era Sonic Youth with its flat rolling tones, feedback yelps and no-wave guitar skronk, and works itself up into a respectable frenzy.
Is this a conscious attempt to reduce their audience? Is it a reaction against the buzz? Who knows. What is certain, though, is that this move is better than either of the alternatives: to put out a record just like the last one, or to either water-down of polish-up their style. By retrenching in such a manner Liars have preserved for themselves the option of which direction to go, regardless of how you or I or anyone feels about it. They have made a macabre, frightening record, beset by fears of imminent doom. They may be sacrificing popularity, but they are preserving independence.
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