The ratty progeny of deep art-school bros Angus Andrew and Aaron Hemphill, Liars came into being in NYC in the early part of this decade and found immediate, iridescent art-rock fame with the release of their 2002 debut album, They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top. Deeply divisive in its effect on the indie public, They Threw Us became indelibly associated with the wave of Fall/Gang of Four–aping dance-punk revivalists whose oft-homogenous "boots pants" rang loudly across dance floors and vintage-clothing shops the world over. Frontman Andrew's Mark E. Smith–ish sneering delivery and the band's occasional indulgence in juddering four-on-the-floor beats undeniably held similarities with some of their historically minded contemporaries. However, Liars had more avant grit than disco sheen, and their music consisted of more rhythmically evolved antisongs than ass-shaking confections. Regardless, while this pigeonholing may have given Liars a healthy push into initial success and clout with the kids, it also cast a pall over their artistic seriousness and the wild-roaming course they would steer after their debut's blow-up.

Their follow-up, the allegorical, witch-themed concept record They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, may be one of the most dramatically different sophomore albums in recent rock history. Having lost half of the first record's lineup and replaced their previous rhythm section with new drummer Julian Gross, Liars peeled back layer upon layer of musical skin, leaving themselves nearly unrecognizable. The only real hangovers from the first record were a focus on inserting layers of alien sound via unorthodoxly processed drums and guitars, and an unsettling and warm-blooded pulse beneath every moment of their music.

Far from "dance punk," They Were Wrong drew much more deeply from Liars' Mute label mates, venerable dark avant-vibe masters EinstĂĽrzende Neubauten and the early Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. The songs were pulled apart into grimy, base elements, and laid out as hypnotic mantras of disquieting, chaotic horror. The early-industrial nature of some of the tones and rhythms felt refreshed by Liars' fretless experimentalism. Andrew mostly abandoned his more questionable brattypunk frontman affects for a more distinctive, inhuman-feeling moan. It seemed as though Liars were essentially a completely new band on their second album, and perhaps they were.

Their newly released third album, Drum's Not Dead, while feeling much more like a linear evolution from its predecessor, still finds the band in wildly new places and grows even further in tone from Liars circa 2002. The new album's songs display a much greater aptitude for and integration of extremities of beauty and tenderness. Like the last record, Drum's Not Dead is ruled by an overarching concept, this time a metadiscourse on the creative process via two warring energies, dubbed "Drum" and "Mt. Heart Attack." Seemingly based on the opposing forces of will/uncertainty or creation/fear, the concept permeates the album's artwork—pages of meticulously created "scrawled notes" on how the songs were played; chord progressions, effects pedals used, microphone placement, etc. As has been the case throughout Liars' existence, there is a level of art-school conceit in the record's construction that could be construed either as a well-applied aesthetic work ethic or heavy-handed pomposity. More so than any previous Liars effort, however, Drum's Not Dead ascends beyond these types of concerns via the sheer accomplishment and emotional gravity of the music contained within.

On songs like "Drum Gets a Glimpse" and album closer "The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack," Liars wield the hazy, rolling beauty and delicately unwrapping pace of Sigur Rós but with Andrew's much more uneasy, if still beautiful, voice up front, casting murky shades over the otherwise gently tugging music. Elsewhere, as on the nigh-bestial "Let's Not Wrestle Mt. Heart Attack" they recall recent Boredoms material, with multiple drummers creating a roiling, oceanic base for crashing layers of processed vocals and guitar. Throughout Liars manage to inject extremely unusual and spine-tingling textures into their songs—nauseating Asiatic melodies and drum sets triggering blunted laser sounds sit richly in the thoroughly composed-feeling record. With Drum's Not Dead, Liars prove their validity as both makers of experimental art objects and utterly beautiful and moving songs.

editor@thestranger.com