-
Liars

Shepherd’s Bush used to be my little corner of London; the first place in the capital that ever meant anything to me. I associate this patch of West London with two things in particular: violence and food. I lived around here for nearly four years, consuming some of the finest food – Middle Eastern, Polish and Russian – and observing an unmatched level of violence in the streets around me.

I recall sitting atop the roof of a high rise, stoned and watching three guys beat the living shit out of another while his screaming girlfriend watched on in horror. I saw a drunk Russian smash a car up with a baseball bat and a teenage boy walk into an off license with a knife and walk out with 1000 cigarettes and a bloody shirt.

The culmination of these memory elements came during a meal in Nando’s – the same day a bullet ricoched through the window killing someone (20 January 2002, according to Google). I think of these things everytime I come to a show here.

Fittingly, the violence returns tonight although it’s in sonic form rather than physical. While I’m here for Liars, supporting cast Fol Chen and Factory Floor are worthy tour mates that compliment and even surpass the aural assault agenda laid down by Angus Andrew and his cohorts.

Fol Chen

The scarlet jumpsuited Fol Chen are the poppier course on tonight’s menu and provide a degenerate genre-mixing sound perfectly in line with the ethos of their label, Asthmatic Kitty but it’s Factory Floor that kick out the real surprise of the evening. On record they’re fairly analogue, mixing Krautrock percussiveness within an echoey, industrial framework. Live, they appear to be pioneering some incredible new experiment in sound – drummer Gabriel Gurnsey does Keith Moon crossed with Stephen Morris while guitarist Nik Void manipulates the strings of a guitar with both hands and a drumstick, providing violent shards of noise that cut through the smoke machine and crackle against collective ears.

There’s no space between tracks, barely any vocals. They are a machine of noise; three musicians engaged in a sound quilt of post-industrial proportions that is truly incredible.

Factory Floor

The fractured post-punk sound of Liars has divided many during their ten year life. They’ve been derided for their indulgence and a refusal to incorporate the fourth wall into their music and performance. Embodying an obvious art school aesthetic, they have evolved consistently over the course of five albums, culminating in this year’s Sisterworld – a capable but nervous record filled with threat and paranoia. On the surface, Sisterworld takes equal parts from previous Liars outings to produce a very even album, much easier to pin down than their others. For me, it’s been a slow-burner but ultimately very rewarding.

I hold Liars in a high regard and as a live proposition they’re good value. The dyspeptic rumble that occupies the space beneath their sound is ever-present, from the moment the music starts. You can see the rumble reflected in faces dotted throughout the audience; adrenalin tinged with momentary cases of fear, uncertainty, doubt.

Angus Andrew’s stage persona lies somewhere between Nick Cave and Jarvis Cocker. The boy’s a real mover, striking poses and moving stridently around the stage. For the majority of the set, he fails to whip up the necessary euphoria from the rather sedate crowd. It’s only really the encore of ‘Be Quiet Mount Heart Attack’ and ‘Broken Witch’ that succeed in breaking down the near-sell out crowd into an emotional, sweaty mess. Smiles light up the auditorium like imploding stars and I leave, purged of some mental baggage, to pursue a late night falafel from my favourite Lebanese place on the Uxbridge Road.

Can’t beat a bit of violence followed by some good food, can you?

Liars