Like some of their greatest records ... TFCF creates a metaphorical space for the listener to explore to excellent effect. Although Liars may constantly evolve, their high quality output is undeniably reliable.
As soon as you get a grip on it, TFCF wriggles into another shape. But even at its weirdest, Angus Andrew’s songwriting couldn’t be clearer, and that’s what makes it a mess worth unravelling.
There is a scatterbrain feel to this record which means rarely does a song scratch the 4-minute surface, making this a relatively light 33 minutes, however, there is something very exciting in hearing Andrew jump about from point to point in such quick succession without losing his overall focus for the record.
‘TFCF’ feels like a greatest hits of all the sounds the band had been honing since the back-end of the ’90s.
Despite the band's downsizing, TFCF demonstrates that Andrew has always been the beating heart of Liars. This time, the unexpected was hearing him bare his without any uncertainty.
Above all, it's TFCF's haunting mood that unites its fragments into something true to the outsider perspective at the heart of all of Liars' music.
It has sufficient new features, sweepingly introduced so as to constitute a more-than-satisfying reinvention. So acoustic instrumentation, something Liars had hitherto generally eschewed, can be found here and found in diverse forms.
TFCF might well be an Angus Andrew solo album under the Liars banner, but what he’s achieved here fits within the his band’s remit for consistently morphing and confounding expectation. More importantly, it’s heartening to see an album as intriguing as this emerge from such a traumatic time.
The Liars’ eight record is another great one, another reinvention, and a great first step for Angus Andrew on his own. Everything is the same, and nothing is the same.
This earnest, well-crafted jumble couldn’t be a more appropriate marker of the irrepressible project’s evolution, nor a more fitting testament to Liars’ legacy.
When a band sheds most of its members, keeping the name going can often seem like a hollow exercise in monetary pursuit. With TFCF, the Liars name lives on, and Andrew honors it while also forging new paths.
TFCF is riddled with confusion and self-reflection, and it faithfully continues Liars’ unconventional stride, though this time it had to affect him intimately and personally to take him there.
Despite the departure of Aaron Hemphill, the band still bring a lot of mesmerizing tones while at times feeling a little out of reach for new listeners.
TCFC isn't exactly fun to listen to, but that could be said about most of Liars' past releases. On the contrary, it could be said that this album distills most of the group's themes and explorations into one grim package.
The isolation, the lack of modern norms and the absolute abandonment of structure define the album.
Liars' TFCF is one of the band's most isolated, tedious, and disappointing releases yet.
A very chopped-and-screwed record without much strong points anywhere, but is just so short and fairly unassuming it could never be an unpleasant listen. I feel like Angus marketed this album perfectly: not much show, no huge explosions. Just a pretty quiet release for an album that lies pretty quietly and snug in Liars' discography.
Favorite Tracks: Ripe Ripe Rot, No Help Pamphlet, Coins in My Caged Fist
This band is/was so consistent. I know this album wasn't received so well, especially by that toolbox that many look too for guidance now a days, but I think its actually quiet solid. Not their best, but still good. Ripe Ripe Rot is as pretty a song as they have done.
This is probably one of the more accessible Liars records. But accessible Liars is still odd, experimental, and out there.
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