Review by Darren Kerr
Photography by Rodney Gitzel
Envision Liz Fraser of the Cocteau Twins warbling over top of
the Melvins' "Charmicarmicat"
or maybe Sarah McLachlan
fronting Earth and you're halfway there. Bardo Pond don't write
songs per se. There is no such thing as a bridge or a chorus,
and at this performance (with a few notable exceptions), there
were no obstacles in the form of words. In this lethargic universe,
there are only sheets of flowing calculated noise, tapestries
of distorted guitars, snatches of flute and way under-mixed drums.
To say that Bardo Pond don't move on stage would be a criminal understatement, but to say vocalist Isabella isn't compelling to watch would be a bold-faced lie. She stands on stage, frail and pretty. She looks like your Grade 9 crush, vacant but totally into the now, clinging to the ethereal plane that the band inhabits. If you think she is stoned, well, she is. After every song she stands like an exhausted Oscar winner, giving thanks to her "herbal angel."
There was no dynamic to be found in this Bardo Pond performance. There was build-up and tension, but what was sorely missing was any form of silence or sanctuary to contrast the cacophony.
Part of me thinks, no, knows that this show was for the
most part redundant, but another part of me knows that the feeling
of freedom that Bardo Pond must get playing music so spatial and
vast must be immense. If they create songs that are able to harness
and shape their hypnotic power rather than simply driving one
idea into the tarmac, they could become the band of choice for
tripmavens looking to traverse a different lunar landscape.
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