I was eight the first time my uncle let me watch Eddie Murphy Raw. Later that same day I received my first mix tape when he secretly gave me other Eddie Murphy comedy routines interspersed amidst various Aerosmith songs. While the Toys In The Attic tracks have lost their majestic sheen since my youth, "Buckwheat" and "Hit By A Car" will never cease to be anything but ingenious.

Due in part to this tape, it was during this time in my life that I first learned the pit-falls of attempting to "cover" another artist's material. Also known as "The Thanksgiving Of Infamy," my attempt to perform routines just like my hero Eddie Murphy failed miserably from the point-of-view of my aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers.

I had barely gotten through the second "n-gga, please!" before I was jerked into the next room and severely beaten. I had learned from that experience two things: don't attempt to cover what is beyond your scope of understanding or ability, and also to be wary of one's audience.

Oneida and Liars cannot be criticized for disobeying the latter of the two cautionary lessons above. Their recent joint EP, Atheists, Reconsider, is one of those rare releases that leave indie-hipsters gushing at the possibilities. Neo-psychedelica/noise-rock artists Oneida could potentially have a lot to offer the post-rock/Experimental Liars, and vice versa, especially with the added enticement and promise that the artists cover one song each of the other's catalogue.

The first song of this collaboration leaves the pledge mostly fulfilled as a fast beat and a harpsichord drone signal the Liars' interpretation of "Rose and Licorice," off of Oneida's Anthem of the Moon. This is a completely different musical setting for the band, as they channel a '60s-era pop-tune through a mid-'90s "alternative" sound (think É And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead vocals with the recording fidelity found on the first Television Personalities album), culminating ultimately in more familiar territory for the group, a noise-orgy of ascending airplanes over a fading wall of feedback.

"All In All A Careful Party," the second Liars offering on the disc, unfortunately pales in comparison to their material from prior albums and EPs.

It seems like a failed remake of "I hate stupid phones," a track from the We Know Longer Knew Who We Were EP, with the vocals buried even deeper beneath a neutered drum line. The song is nearly bereft of the interesting and danceable bottom heavy bass found on their first album, replaced instead with what sounds like children's instruments, making the song nearly unrecognizable as a Liars track.

Their final contribution is the noise-conglomeration "Dorothy Taps the Toe of the Tinman," a seven-minute plus opus that will probably be remembered as their best song when 30 years hence they are hailed as geniuses by The Wire.

Regardless of their avant-garde credibility, this song still sounds like something any person with a spoon and two pots could create with the radio turned up really loud in the foreground (read, "mr. your 'forward-thinking' mr.").

Luckily, there is a flip side to the Liars offering in the three Oneida songs to be had on the EP. Their choice of cover is the Liars' staple live song, "Every Day is a Child With Teeth."

The song is recognizable but in keeping with the distinct sound of the band -- the ebb and flow of electronic fluctuations punctuate what could potentially be a monotonous beat if it wasn't for the chanted chorus, fuzzy intermittent guitar and greatly distorted harpsichord drone that concludes with nearly an industrial din.

Of course, if that isn't enough to satiate your sonic miasma, you can look toward "Fantastic Morgue," an interesting enough song that even in the brief company of these other songs begins to show signs of homogeneity.

Still, it is pleasant to know that brilliant gems of hard and fast "rawk" are continuing to be produced without dulling the shine of innovators come and gone. The track is in the end the catchiest tune on the disc, being one of those one's that creep on you while at work, in the kitchen, or even in the john.