There are many ways to be successful in the music industry, but they can all be classified in just two categories: those who 'made it' with help, and those who did it themselves. There are also at least two kinds of success: immense popularity, and universal respect. While opinions will always differ as to which artists actually merit such prestigious accolades, Bardo Pond is well on its way to convincingly achieving both of those goals. For over a decade, this quintet has been assembling and refining a brand of rock music so pure and rich, so immense and overwhelming, our feeble contemporary recording devices are nearly incapable of properly replicating its enormous force and beauty, especially the rumbling rippling rolling pulse of big sound that characterizes the band's live experience. But perhaps technology is finally catching up to the future a bit, as Bardo Pond have crafted an album so seamless and complete, it exceeds expectations without even trying.
To start the album, a single ebow tone resonates from the right channel for thirty seconds before an acoustic guitar joins in from the left channel, a microcosmic representation of the two styles that Bardo Pond seek to unite in their music: melody and drone. Whether being carried by voice, flute or strings (from a viola or guitar), a proper tune inevitably distinguishes itself from within the undulating waves of sound and penetrates the aural cavities like a spelunking terrorist, leaving behind time-activated psychedelic plastique. The explosions only begin to take place after several spins as the elements of each song slowly congeal in the listener's mind, creating a breathtaking soundscape that continues to expand and fill in the crevices like caulking or that sprayed foam packing material.
"JD" is an elegant entrance into the collective consciousness of the band, as the picked acoustic guitar of John Gibbons glides effortlessly alongside a steady hum from the electric guitar of Michael Gibbons and a sauntering pace from Ed Farnsworth's drums. As the song crosses the threshold of quietude into distortion, Isobel Sollenberger's double-tracked vocals remain uncharacteristically prominent, signifying greater confidence in her ethereal singing and its emergence as a truly integral ingredient in their evolving recipe. "Every Man" opens with more acoustic guitar, this time played against phasing electrics that mimic and bolster Isobel's incantations. Her delay-heavy flute delicately guides the group into a swirling mass of wondrous glory that is punctuated by ferocious wah-wah and a steadily building attack on the drum kit. As the tune reaches its apex, Isobel steps back to the mic to sing once again, and everything stops out to reprise the pleasantly placid pace of the intro. Capitalizing on their mastery of quiet melodies, "Dom's Lament" commences as a subtle interplay between flute and guitar before some form of otherworldly sludge-fuzz bubbles up from the underside like a flooded basement, creeping so slowly that it is barely recognizable until you are neck-deep and soaking wet. Even as the swelling noise tightens its grasp around the fragile flutist, a sense of calm remains intact, assured that the gripping beasty is a domesticated one with good manners.
The second half of the album begins with the majestic and triumphant "Test," a veritable stomping behemoth of sonic excess, a massive monolithic monster that threatens to render all other noise forevermore obsolete with its tremendous thundering wall of sound. A diabolically simple two-chord juggernaut of the highest order, this song begins with nothing short of all-out thickness and intensity, wasting no time in establishing itself as the heaviest damn thing you have ever heard in your relatively short and feathery-light life. But it goes from there, despite the imposing opening, gathering muscle and might along the way, like a cataclysmic snowball of doom-rock spilling down the mountainside, laying total waste to every object in its nefarious path. Here bassist Clint Takeda shines as the unassuming source of some of the greatest squelches of controlled feedback ever to emanate from a bass guitar, as if Prometheus himself had once again stolen fire from the gods and delivered it wholesale to mankind without fear of eternally losing his liver over it. The cascading slivers rise above the sensational maelstrom and echo in the mind like a shadow of the sun seen with eyes closed, the audible equivalent of a flashing red dot in the deepest darkness. All this while Isobel's angelic voice insists, "Take the truth test."
If ever Bardo Pond had recorded a signature song that crystallizes their colossal and dominating live sound to its truest essence, this may very well be it. Revel in its glory.
Not content to rest on their laurels after unloading both barrels in the face of the audience, the band continues on a more relaxed note with "Walking Clouds," featuring John's first vocal contributions since 1995's Bufo Alvarius. Backwards delay provides a surreal effect on the acoustic guitars, transporting the listener steadily outward as spacey sounds trickle from either speaker, unwrapping themselves inside and around the head. Isobel joins John in singing as Ed provides delicate cymbal touches and Clint sends off restrained detonations in the distance. The title is fitting given the stratospheric floating feeling of the cut and allows ample recovery time before the album's epic closer, "Night of Frogs." While "Test" is more of an immediate and constant blast of sheer force, "Night of Frogs" displays added contrast and depth, patiently constructing another solid foundation of brawny crunching guitars before launching a full assault on the sense of hearing. Chimes shimmer and ring over picked guitar as hand drums offer a soft gait during the beginning of the track. But then guitars suddenly blast out of nowhere to occupy every available frequency in the spectrum, like gigantic rawk-seeking missiles launched from under the floor of the deepest tranquil sea. Michael's wah-guitar shreds through the chaos to pierce the forehead and temples with careful precision, while in the background a churning whirlwind waxes and wanes, as if an approaching tornado could focus its relentless fury into a format that could be easily distilled and plainly heard. After a dozen minutes of this, the climax is finally achieved, and as the guitars subside, deep breaths may need to be taken for a while to restore normal respiratory patterns.
Over the past decade, Bardo Pond have officially released five albums, three EP's (plus two split), six singles (plus one split) and countless compilation appearances while also self-releasing five cassettes, four CDR's, and some exclusive mp3's through their website. With such a prolific catalog behind them, it's hard to believe that they just now may be hitting their stride with their six full-length, the third consecutive album recorded by the group at their practice space, the Lemur House. Following an unexpected departure from Matador, the five-piece is poised for imminent world domination with ATP Records, raising their profile at the same time that they've raised the bar for all guitar rock bands. They have defined success on their own terms from the onset, and by controlling every aspect of their development as a band and business, they will certainly continue to do so. And we, the fortunate music fans, will surely reap the benefits of their dual successes.
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