music & nightlife

dentifying trends can be a tricky, trite business, usually best left to stock analysts, state budgeteers and the MTV marketing department. Anyone with their ears tilted to the underground, however, must have noticed the new boom of bands who fuse the staccato guitars and guffaws of post-punk with disco's fun-times robofunk. With punk fossilizing itself in the rock of its own hardening formula, and indie bands more boring to watch than mold on cheese, this is the antidote: aggressive, artsy, raucous, ready to shake you up.

And as antidotes go, it's hard to find one more potent--or enjoyable--than Liars.

The quartet's debut album, They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top (originally issued on Gern Blanston, recently reissued on Blast First/Mute), is a one-inch punch, a deceivingly simple attack of chop-socky rhythms, knifelike guitars and twisting electronic effects. Critics have raved about it--perhaps too much so--dropping incessant references to Public Image Limited, Gang of Four, ESG, the Contortions and more as they go.

The live arena, though, is where Liars show their greater strengths. Six-foot-plus Aussie-born singer Angus Andrew, 25, looks like a skinny, mysteriously pissed-off Tae Bo instructor using the stage as his personal workout/exorcism space. Guitarist Aaron ("the shy one") Hemphill, 24, pumps at his instrument with the jerks and jumps of a steam-powered marionette. Meanwhile the rhythm battery of Pat Nature, 30, and Ron Albertson, 41, keeps the beat hurtling along while simultaneously keeping out of the way of their kinetic younger bandmates.

In their hometown, Liars' live shows make even stodgy, constipated New York scenesters get down. This is probably the only band ever compared to Nick Cave's similarly unhinged Birthday Party that also cops to a love of Top 40 beatmusik like Technotronic, Black Box or C&C Music Factory.

"When we moved to New York, Angus and I got really into hip-hop, and I've always been into soul and funk," says Hemphill of the band's fascination with dance music. "And we're just kinda naively trying to give off that vibe--we know we can't do it, we can't replicate it, but I think the fact we can't replicate it is where it gets lost and hopefully becomes its own thing."

It's these broken attempts at replication, missteps that hopefully lead the band down fresh paths, that Hemphill reckons get Liars compared to previous trailblazers.

"I think the reason we sound like them is possibly because they were trying to do the same thing," he says. "Like if Public Image Limited was really influenced by dub or what have you, they didn't go out and buy Hammonds and try to replicate it. They just tried to let people know that they connect with that type of music in their own way. Hopefully that's how we come across."

But as much as they might like the booty-moving aspects of dance music, the way Hemphill talks makes it clear the band members' indie-rock histories inform their attitude--even as the disco-punk wave sweeps them up in a sea of hype.

"We're never gonna be up there and not feel grateful and lucky that we're up there being able to play in front of people. And we're never gonna forget that anyone in the audience should be up there," he insists. "I think as long as we remember that, hopefully that'll connect with people regardless of the size of the stage." John Graham

Liars open for Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs on Monday, Sept. 23, at the Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside St., 225-5555 ext. 8811. 9 pm. $13 advance, $15 door. All ages.

MUSIC NEWS, GOSSIP & OPINION
HISS and VINEGAR

WASHINGTON SUPREMES SNUFF SEATTLE POSTER BAN--ARTISTS RETAKE THE PEOPLE'S POLES--A WARNING FOR PORTLAND POLITICOS?

Remember the Great Postering Crisis of 2001-02, when Portland officials cranked up to rid the city of posters on utility poles? Despite free-speech concerns and worries the campaign could knee-cap local music and arts scenes, the city's anti-vandalism directorate hired convict labor to strip poles. Official stats indicate crews denuded 447 poles between December and the end of May, when the campaign concluded.

"The City received feedback on both sides of the issue," writes Amy Cammack of the Office of Neighborhood Involvement. "Although in some areas (such as along parts of Hawthorne and in Northwest) there was opposition to removal of pole litter, there was also significant support for pole litter removal in other areas."

Portland should note recent legal news from north of the border.

See, Seattle fought to defend its own ban on posters for most of a decade. Along the way, the city expunged the fliers that once jacketed its poles in a glorious chaos of culture, commerce, politics and polemic. Many in Seattle's arts scenes blasted the campaign as an effort to sanitize the streets. Some blamed the ban for the Seattle music's perceived post-grunge decline.

Last month, Washington's Supreme Court quashed Seattle's anti-poster crusade, finding it an unconstitutional invasion of...drum-roll, please...free speech! Posters appeared on Seattle poles within hours of the decision. Of course, the Washington court's finding has no direct bearing on how an Oregon court might rule on a similar case. But given that Oregon's speech laws are among the most libertarian in the land, Portland officials should think twice before forcing the issue.

PORTLAND WRITER RIPS L.A. TIMES BIGGIE-TUPAC THEORY

No one knows who killed Tupac Shakur or Notorious B.I.G., but the Los Angeles Times has a few ideas. In an article printed Sept. 6, Times reporter Chuck Philips claims to have established that Notorious B.I.G. not only paid L.A. Crips $1 million to carry out the killing, but provided the murder weapon. "He didn't just want Shakur dead," Philips writes. "He wanted the satisfaction of knowing the fatal bullet came from his gun." Philips pins the actual trigger work in Las Vegas on Orlando Anderson, a conveniently deceased Crip.

Anderson's family says Orlando didn't do it, and many musicians have come forward to condemn the Times story. Biggie's family says it can prove the Brooklyn rapper born Christopher Wallace and later murdered himself was in New York, not Vegas, when Shakur was shot. Philips' theory contradicts investigations detailed in the recent film Biggie and Tupac and LAbyrinth, a much-discussed book by Portland journalist Randall Sullivan due in paperback next February. Both the film and book suggest the tangled clues in the twin hip-hop killings point toward rogue cops and rap impresario Suge Knight. Sullivan's book, in particular, singles out the L.A. Times and Philips himself for criticism.

"I assumed that he would have something explosive or solid, some revelation that was new to the story," Sullivan says. "The only thing new is the stuff that implicates Biggie, which all came from anonymous Crips. One would think the Times editors would say, 'Wait, we're going to hang this murder on a guy based on the word of one or two anonymous gangbangers, without even asking anyone from his family if they have evidence that contradicts this version of events?' And, in fact, they do have evidence."

Though he dismisses the Times' solution, Sullivan says some good may come of the story. "I'm glad it happened, because it's re-energized the story, and that might put pressure on the L.A. and Las Vegas police departments to try and actually solve these murders, which I don't think they've been trying to do."

Complaints? Comments? Email hiss@wweek.com.

WWeek 2015