There are myriad forms of laughter. Laughter can indicate unbridled joy, like the laughter friends share, the kind that is paired with misplaced idioms or flatulence or whatever. Diametrically, laughter can also be the first sign of a mind spiraling downward; a laughter that indicates outward signs of delirium tremens and an inability to cope with our particular reality. Liars fall into the latter category with a laughter full of hysterical realism.
Since the start, the Radiohead comparisons and indirect J.G. Ballard allusions have followed the Liars' sound, even held them back a little bit. But Liars have moved beyond into their own, first with the inimitable Drum's Not Dead and now with their latest dive into a perverse and fractured universe, the alien and oft-ethereal Sisterworld.
Sisterworld conjures up images of a cold and unforgiving reality, the kind featured so prominently in Ballard's The Atrocity Exhibition. It is ambitious and unforgiving, if a bit abrasive at first. There is a hurt sexuality to the album, twisted around the arbitrary nature of human interactions and given voice by Sisterworld's morose sing-a-long choruses and guitars that float like a body down a stream. Sisterworld isn't just an album, but an outstanding concept. It is another world created to hold all the negativity we choose to ignore in this one.
Sisterworld begins precariously, like crawling on eggshells. The opening track, ""Scissor,"" provides the two-world split. Brooding cello creates a Philip Glass-like tension that is alleviated with abrupt guitar, breathing new life into the song. The nervous strings are tactfully strewn throughout the album. Each time, they dictate a nauseous call-and-answer from the other instruments, eliciting a feeling of nervous breakdown.
Lead-singer Angus Andrew displays both unsettlingly high and low vocal registers with an eerie drawl. In Drum's Not Dead, Andrew used his vocal dynamics to create a dialogue. In Sisterworld, it becomes a more textural addition that compounds the anxiety. It highlights the hysteria, widens the divide and leaves a repugnant aftertaste. ""I'm supposed to save you now,"" Andrew sings. ""But my hands are flipping out."" It is exasperation, a man grabbing at straws looking for redemption or some sort of pivot point back to reality. But Sisterworld really isn't concerned with reality.
""Here Comes All the People"" tells a tale of arson and tragedy. An ominous voice constantly whispers, ""We should start a fire,"" and the sentiment lingers, hiding itself in the waves of reverb and muddy symbols. The guitars are so distinct, heartily steeped in spring reverb rendering it impossible to trace the sound back to the source. Again, in this uncertainty, Liars thrive.
Sisterworld lurches on at a very similar tempo. ""Drop Dead"" and ""Drip"" are harsh meditations. ""Goodnight Everything"" should be a lullaby before the big sleep; instead it is muddied with a disorienting brass section intent on causing nightmares, aiding Sisterworld's aesthetic. The songs are alive, even if the tempo indicates a heartbeat at a resting rate. The only pace breaks come in the tracks ""Scarecrows on a Killer Slant"" and ""The Overachievers,"" both tips of the hat to their post-punk roots and infatuation with early Sonic Youth guitar buzz. The rest of the album seems in no hurry to get anywhere, just building on the tension and allowing the releases to become more pronounced.
""Proud Evolution"" is the first full reprieve of the album. It's a sigh of relief that seems to shift the whole album from minor to major key for five minutes without sacrificing any of the carefully calculated anxiety. Inside, the drums push into a march with a rusty synthesizer that would fit nicely in a Deerhunter song. ""Proud Evolution"" is tumultuous and eager, preparing us for the fallout at the end of Sisterworld.
The otherworldly experience wraps up with ""Too Much, Too Much."" The song is a confession, beautifully shrouded in the idea of regeneration. The whole album has been a celebration of entropy, escalating madness beyond what we can stand. Like Ballard's writing, Sisterworld is an artistically assembled series of notes towards a nervous breakdown. Sisterworld is a place where only madness makes sense.
