Modern Witch Tale

_The Liars, Liars LP (Mute Records) has seen quite a lot of light these days on the review circuit, both "printed":p and "electronic":e, since its release on August 28 of this year. What I have read had spiked my curiosity. I continued deeper, further into the bands history and finally settled on 2004s They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, skipping over Drums Not Dead, and their newest one that interested me in the first place._*From Wiki:*The album takes the form of a very loose concept album concerning witchcraft upon The Brocken (a mountain) during Walpurgis Night, and tales of witch trials in the area around the Harz Mountains in Germany. The recording coincided with the band's relocation from the Williamsburg, Brooklyn scene that spawned them to the woods of rural New Jersey, which also inspired the initial direction of the album.The focus upon the Brocken legends came when one of the band members mistakenly entered "Brocken Witch" into a search engine while researching the song "Broken Witch".Stylistically, the album lies between the gritty dance-punk of They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top and the ethereal neo-no-wave of Drum's Not Dead. The album received very bad reviews of almost every leading music magazine or website and sold badly compared to They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top. After the following album, Drum's Not Dead, was released, this album received more attention and the opinion turned more positive.This morning broke with fingers of cold fog receding carefully over the Charles River as I let my trucks heater warm up and scrapped the nights ice from the windshield. I remember that just last night, standing on the BU bridge, the view of this river and the skyline seemed clear and pristine to the point of emphasis, it asked to be recognized, with its dark towers against a midnight blue sky punctuated by various window lights and the ever flowing arteries of traffic along Storrow and Memorial Drive. I drive with the kind of early morning malaise that brings about a few close calls on the way out of the city, but everything seems to be going smoothly as I edge out by the weird and peripherally inept Fresh Pond. All of this is in silence, except for the sound of the dash equipment and the engines' inconsistencies for the soundtrack of my escape. At the mouth of rt. 1 I hold my Ipod in my hand and depress the play button as the light turns green and I shudder up to 70 mph.At first I don't perceive much. Low in the stereo there are some inaudible mumblings as the sound of mechanical notes and harsh tones throb louder. The clanking is rising at a slow rate and for the time being I am concentrating on my journey. All of a sudden a new tempo is introduced, but still no song yet, it all begins to palpitate, and impatiently I reach to spin the volume dial, and instantly, out springs a tight drum beat and repeating tones. Yes! Oh what a great kick! I need some more of this, I tap the steering wheel for effect and fumble for the volume again, up it goes and right along with it, Agnus Andrew's voice snaps my focus in two._I no longer want to be a man__I want to be a horse__Men have small thoughts__I need a tail__Give me a tail__Of the children that stood in the way__Of the endless winter__Of the white witch who's longing to cripple impale_'Fascinating' I breathe, partly for the sound, and partly for the sudden coincidences of the volume control. Is there something vaster than a 4 -cylinder vehicle on a national highway system at work here? I press on...People are all over the place I decide, after weaving through tight two lane paces and the tense, tied up faces of nervous family members, rushing to whatever it means to be home for them, almost, but not quite there yet. _You and me both pal_, I try to telepathically relay to a particularly uppity individual, who tries to beat me to a passing opportunity. Doesn't seem to have much of an/ At that instant, to the berating chant and drone of _Blood! Blood! Blood! Blood!_ from my speakers, a massive slab of snow catches a critical rising draft over a large lorry van and flips high into the air, and separates into 4 still very large 5 foot slabs. The slabs continue their slow, almost patient somersaults through the air as I race toward the eventual path of one. _It is waiting for me_ I think with Truman Show mentality. I grip my steering wheel with white knuckles and anxiously nudge the tachometer to an even four, as the vehicle struggles to sweep under the approaching ice catastrophe. It whooshes overhead and explodes harmlessly in the lane in my rearview mirror. The band keeps ripping my speakers with shrieks and howls, and eventually caps this song and settles into the groove of the album proper._I, I am the boy__She, she is the girl__He, he is the bear__We, we are the army you see through the red haze of blood__Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood, Blood_I'm certainly more apprehensive now. I decide that if this music had been played for me consistently at a young age I wold have been destined for a nuthouse. No doubt about that. Potentially with similar results as locking someone in that room from Clockwork Orange and playing loud drum and bass, or maybe a Squarepusher album, with the volume on 11 and a few days of sleep deprivation. Calm down, major tangents, got to keep a handle on this situation. I'm knee deep in witch country as it is, and this connection to my listening choice does not help. What kind of twisted and perverted gothic tale am I racing towards? No matter how modern it is, I'm sure that if metaphysical sorcery is indeed being summoned today, it won't end well. Yep, there is the sign for Salem, hotbed of horror just 2 exits up. I increase speed, envisioning all sorts of horrible traps being laid out up ahead in preparation of my arrival. They _must_ know that I am close now. They can probably feel it, no escaping it now. Only way is _through_ them, and that will require the right kind of bulletproof tenacity. My heart rate is building towards the eventual release from my rib cage. I catch myself helplessly hyper ventilating as the snow covered tree branches reach out in awkward movements towards my impending wreck. Better buckle up..._And the mountain that drew us together is lit__By the lightning that crackles and rivals the wind__Where the only expression of love is through tears__And the highest creation on earth is a bird__The most powerful symbol achieved__Let it burn__The most powerful symbol achieved__Let it burn_The album cheers up slightly at the end, with a coda of chirping birds. If the albums story occurs during the winter, a pitted battle between witches and townsfolk, each brutal in their own way, then these birds here must signal the arrival of Spring and the season of war is at a close. Thanks Liars for punching up my paranoia for the season, as I pull up to the driveway I resolve to get started on bordering up the windows and pouring gasoline on the property entrances right away.[e]http://mog.com/Puffmagic/blog_post/110736[p]http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/record_review/45141-liars