Whatever or wherever Sisterworld is, it sounds like a pretty creepy place. The fifth Liars album is relentlessly tense-- not so much scary as surreal. Every track is shrouded in echo and anxiety, and often all the tension erupts into bursts of buzzing guitars or pounding beats. Not every dark cloud breaks into a thunderstorm, but it constantly feels like one is lurking around the corner.
Despite such potential for surprise, overall Sisterworld isn't actually all that surprising compared to the rest of Liars' discography. For a band known for switching gears from track to track and album to album, this is the most thoroughly Liars-sounding record so far. It has the rhythmic insistence of Drum's Not Dead, the sleepwalking chants of They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, and the straightforward songwriting of Liars, often sounding like a streamlined update on the latter. The narrowed range brings increased depth, and it's intriguing to hear Liars focus on detail and texture rather than stylistic schizophrenia. It turns out refinement suits them as nicely as reinvention.
Take "Here Comes All the People", which the band spent a year on, crafting its basic structure in Los Angeles and adding orchestral atmospheres in Prague. None of that guarantees quality-- it's possible to make crap in both L.A. and Prague. But Liars used this elongated process to give zoomed-in attention to each moment. So the trembling guitar line, high-pitched strings, and psychotic piano all fit together, like a puzzle whose picture isn't clear until the last piece is in place. When singer Angus Andrew ends the song by chanting "counting victims one by one," the killer effect comes through lethal injection rather than a loud, blunt act. That mood continues into the meditative "Drip", a track that's almost all atmosphere, with Andrew murmuring, "When will I awake from this dormant sleep?" as if he has no say in the matter.
Not everything on Sisterworld is so subdued. "Proud Evolution" grows into a persistent Krautrock-styled groove; the clicking "No Barrier Fun" has the catchy lilt of a nursery rhyme; and "Scarecrows on a Killer Slant" sounds like a warped version of Liars' slamming "Plaster Casts of Everything". Even "Drop Dead", a drunken march that sound ever ready to collapse, holds upbeat energy in its skewed sway. Still, the dominant mode here is creeping tension without tons of cathartic release. That tension is so well-crafted that it consistently engages, but 42 minutes of it might not completely win over every Liars fan, especially those drawn to their more raucous moments. Admittedly, some parts are easier to admire than they are to enjoy. But stick with Sisterworld as it builds, let it seep into your brain while you wait for its bulging seams to burst, and you might find yourself unable to turn your ears away. Eventually, Liars' commitment to their own creepy cause proves contagious.
