Our parents got it wrong about metal. There was never any real threat from boys who used hair straighteners and ran overpriced merch tables at their shows. I went to a Slayer concert when I was a teenager. There was a faint whiff of unpleasantness in the air, but nothing really bad was going to happen to you at a Slayer show. It was too controlled,
too orderly. I wanted to be in the presence of bands who looked like they might actually cause some physical discomfort if you got too close to them. Slayer, with their upside-down crucifixes and songs about Satan, never really got that concept. Or, if they did get it, were just really bad at executing it. Liars, on the other hand, are a band who look like they'd indoctrinate you into their cult, flay the skin off your body, and have a good laugh about it as they chowed down on your entrails. And instead of Satan, Liars sing about witches. At last night's show in Brooklyn's Polish National Home, singer Angus Andrew brought his peculiar brand of grotesque vaudevillia to the stage once again. Andrew was hampered by a back injury that he picked up earlier in the tour, forcing him to sit in a chair for some of the performance.
But it didn't stop him periodically leaping up and lunging toward the crowd, performing some misshapen dance moves and spilling his ugly words right into the faces of exuberant fans. The problem facing Andrew and his band is the uphill battle against the monolith that is
Drum's Not Dead. In the hands of lesser talents, songs such as "Freak Out" and "Pure Unevil" would respectively sound like pleasing takes on Nuggets-style psychedelia and
Psychocandy-ish pop. But these songs from 2007's
Liars album suffocate when you stack them up next to the bewitching "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack" and "A Visit From Drum." The latter is a stunning tour de force in its live incarnation, with Aaron Hemphill and Julian Gross pounding away at their respective drum kits, offering a considered take on the ferocious double-drumming of early Adam & the Ants. Hemphill is an underrated cog in the Liars' machine;
much of the press attention on the band focuses on Andrew's antics, but Hemphill's contributions are considerable. The huge drone (somewhat reminiscent of Pylon's "Driving School") that blisters to the surface via Hemphill's fingers on "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack" is an immense, all-consuming presence in the middle of Liars' set. Meanwhile, Andrew inhabited a somewhat restrained version of his usual Gibby-Haynes-meets-Nick-Cave persona, only momentarily threatening mischief as he half-heartedly grabbed a large Polish flag from the side of the stage. But while their singer may have been performing at half-speed, the band still summoned up enough energy to serve Brooklyn a deliciously acidic sip of their grubby beauty.
too orderly. I wanted to be in the presence of bands who looked like they might actually cause some physical discomfort if you got too close to them. Slayer, with their upside-down crucifixes and songs about Satan, never really got that concept. Or, if they did get it, were just really bad at executing it. Liars, on the other hand, are a band who look like they'd indoctrinate you into their cult, flay the skin off your body, and have a good laugh about it as they chowed down on your entrails. And instead of Satan, Liars sing about witches. At last night's show in Brooklyn's Polish National Home, singer Angus Andrew brought his peculiar brand of grotesque vaudevillia to the stage once again. Andrew was hampered by a back injury that he picked up earlier in the tour, forcing him to sit in a chair for some of the performance. 
But it didn't stop him periodically leaping up and lunging toward the crowd, performing some misshapen dance moves and spilling his ugly words right into the faces of exuberant fans. The problem facing Andrew and his band is the uphill battle against the monolith that is Drum's Not Dead. In the hands of lesser talents, songs such as "Freak Out" and "Pure Unevil" would respectively sound like pleasing takes on Nuggets-style psychedelia and Psychocandy-ish pop. But these songs from 2007's Liars album suffocate when you stack them up next to the bewitching "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack" and "A Visit From Drum." The latter is a stunning tour de force in its live incarnation, with Aaron Hemphill and Julian Gross pounding away at their respective drum kits, offering a considered take on the ferocious double-drumming of early Adam & the Ants. Hemphill is an underrated cog in the Liars' machine; 
much of the press attention on the band focuses on Andrew's antics, but Hemphill's contributions are considerable. The huge drone (somewhat reminiscent of Pylon's "Driving School") that blisters to the surface via Hemphill's fingers on "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack" is an immense, all-consuming presence in the middle of Liars' set. Meanwhile, Andrew inhabited a somewhat restrained version of his usual Gibby-Haynes-meets-Nick-Cave persona, only momentarily threatening mischief as he half-heartedly grabbed a large Polish flag from the side of the stage. But while their singer may have been performing at half-speed, the band still summoned up enough energy to serve Brooklyn a deliciously acidic sip of their grubby beauty.
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