Liars
Live @ Milano & Roma

Jail, Legnano 28.04.2006

Josi_:

They titled their latest album "Drum's Not Dead" and damn it if that drum is alive and kicking.

The stage is small but the spectacle of their sabba psycho-industrial-entropic-andreottiano is HUGE, in the simplicity of a three-member band: a shamanic singer, a multiform and multiscathing multi-instrumentalist, and a demon-possessed drummer.
A slender figure in his tight skater outfit, Julian Gross hits hard (I'd be tempted to say "does an excellent job behind the skins", but I'm embarrassed) reminding me of Kid Millions from Oneida, less obsessive but more powerful. He has a tom that, when he strikes it, damn it, it seems like the drum machine of Skinny Puppy all by itself.
The real character is Angus Andrew, who dominates the scene: tall and goofy like an ape, he slurs grotesque chants while writhing in his maid uniform (!) in the most ridiculous and instinctive ways possible. There you have it: instinctiveness. Tribal, elementary, basic sounds (the guitar is a constant, wrenching, and dissonant feedback, but electric sound has never been so close to being natural) representing a primordial energy.
Aaron Hemphill is essential because all the notes (and effects) come from him; plus, often, he grabs two sticks and starts hitting too, and occasionally helps Angus with the vocals, making the words clear. It is he who actually subtly conducts the neurotic ritual, in many tracks like Drum And The Uncomfortable Can (from the new album), We Fenced Other Houses With The Bones Of Our Own, or the acclaimed Broken Witch.

In short, the Liars do things never seen before. There is the distorted power of the Wolf Eyes, the visceral fury of the best Reznor, and there is also a surreal self-irony almost pavementian. All the while appearing truly primitive. Unique.

Circolo degli Artisti, Rome 30.04.2006

trellheim:

The night of Walpurgis. The night when, according to tradition, witches and demons meet in the mountains to celebrate their dark rites. What better occasion to see live three New Yorkers who surely have a preferential communication channel with all that is dark?

Few words, just a few "thank yous" and something that sounds like "I want to eat your children". They scream, they writhe, distort the sounds and pound the skins, with that obsessive and shamanic rhythm, which has almost become their trademark.
Julian is wearing a lamé suit, Angus a mechanic's jumpsuit and Aaron, dressed normally, seems to have ended up on stage by chance.

The songs blend into one another, distorted, raucous, and insane. I recognize a few, those already mentioned for the Milan date. Aaron easily switches from percussion to guitar, Angus literally jumps out of his jumpsuit, revealing pajamas that seem to come out of a Mondrian work, Julian sits on the ground behind his drum kit, playing the bass directly.

A collective rite.

The last encore unexpectedly unleashes Pandora's box, kicking off a vitriolic version of Nirvana's "Territorial Pissing". The crowd goes crazy. The Liars too.