The Lifts

THE LIFTS

Contrary to what their name might imply to the inexperienced listener, The Lifts arent here for the elevation of your soul, or to sing lighthearted encouragements of self-confidence, or offer cosmetic surgery on your face. Theyre here to be your new drug. Or, at the very least, tell you about a few bad trips. 

That old brand of stuffy stoner rock you used to like? Gone. Pick your new poison. Blues-tinted grunge? Psychedelic infused funk? An icy winter waltz by Torontos harbor docks? How about carnival-esque David Gilmour by way of Santanas Black Magic Woman? However weird your thing, consider this band to be your new dealer.

But be warned: this EP is not for the faint of heart. The Lifts, mixed, co-produced, and recorded by Franz Liverpool, dish cold hard guilt out by the shovelful, track after track. This workhorse band presents life from the perspective of the graveyard shift, so be prepared to face some demons even if they arent your own. 

Infidelity runs rampant in Lift City. Strange, sultry eyes from a hazy bedroom portrait chase you from the shuttered windows of abandoned storefronts. Neighborhood prostitutes grin and forecast your drunken return home to the woman youve abandoned. Neon flickers from heaven or beyond as screams echo in the chamber of a syringe by your feet. Are these just glazed portents of the citys malice or, perhaps, mere reminders that youre to blame for your own poor decision-making?

Its all right there in Gabriel Altrows lyrics for the buzz-killing opening track, Whats Her Face?

   5am and I tip-toe in/ but she was right on me and she caught me creeping round

   Down on my knees like a broken child/ I was torn to pieces, begging for her back

Altrows (vox and guitar) pairs up with fellow East Yorker, Konstantine Tsafatinos (drums and backup vocals), and Whitby implant, Dan Leduc (bass), to present their first sorrowful self-titled EP, which may just be the bands masters thesis on self-loathing and addiction. Track by track the band brings you back to earth from whatever you were tripping on before to face the mess youve made and confront the people youve left behind.

Its no secret that the recording exposes a band, but the maturation process presented on this EP not only reveals The Lifts to be skillful musicians but serious storytellers as well. The band sides with the broken and run down as they, too, attempt to grab onto something solid and hold on. But the Lifts choose not to grab a hallmark sound, opting instead to pass through rock genres like tourists sampling the best local produce a sign that youre in for a rare treat culled from the most foreign of experiences.

If that buzzing feeling in the tips of your fingers hasnt subsided by the time youve reached the bands final track, Mescal Blues, you might need some time to recover.

Thats your body descending from this EP-ecstasy in an airplane, head full of cost-effective mescaline, ready for another hit or a Mexican vacation. Whatevers cheaper. Whatever lifts you up.

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