The darlings of NYC’s dance-punk scene have ditched Brooklyn for Berlin, and the result, is more Brechtian bummer than biergarten bash. Angular guitars and Angus Andrews’ defiant snarl have been shelved for menacing strums and entrancing hums. But as the title suggests, rhythm is the focal point in the Liars’ atonal wasteland. Yet there’s a subtle beauty amid the madness — even if Drum’s often sounds like Thom Yorke whimpering over mechanized didgeridoos.

Drum's Not Dead
  • Music