Mogwai / Bardo Pond - London Astoria - 24/10/03
4/5
By: Thomas Hannan
The morning after the Mogwai before and you give your word - no noisy, progressive, post-rock music for at least a month. Unsurprisingly, it's an empty promise. The battering your head's taken will take some recovering from, but one things for certain, no matter how much your pounding temples proclaim otherwise, you'll never quite get enough of this.
Maybe that's because on first listen it's actually rather difficult to get to grips with. In tonight's show, every note played by anyone is calculated, studied and meticulously placed to a baffling degree. Bardo Pond are no exception, wailing vocals, violins, flutes and erratic time-signatures flying all over the stage. It has the capacity to be utterly captivating, which makes it all the more disappointing that it sounds so flat.
Enjoying it is a struggle; you spend an age peeking into the thick soup of overly bass-heavy sound trying to find some space, but your efforts are fruitless. Perhaps it's just some dodgy Astoria technician, but no, singer Isobel Sollenberger actually makes a point of thanking the oft forgotten man behind the desks for helping them come across exactly as they'd desired. Curious, because something less intimidating but not a million miles away from this wall of thick clatter could have been infinitely more enchanting.
Then, just after you've asked for it, such a marvel arrives in the shape of Mogwai. As if they'd studied their support band's set and picked out every singly instance of shortcoming, they become everything BP could be. There's something about Mogwai that just looks intimidating, looks like they mean business, looks like it could easily take you in a fight. It's an obstacle, for sure. But please, do your best to overcome it - even though the tender, melodic plucks of their epic opener still have some unidentifiable macho quality, this isn't a band detached from their audience. Quite the opposite in fact, there's a feeling of the crowd willing them on with every twist and turn, and a look to Mogwai that's much more 'join us' than 'stand there and be impressed'.
Even so, we stand, and we are stunned. Anyone who dares to utter a word during the 'Gwai's quietest moments (and believe us, they go whisperingly sparse at times) is immediately confronted with hundreds of opposing, scathing 'shh!'s from the congregation. Can't they tell something monumental is about to happen? Just when you think this might all be one large hypnotic jam session, you're blown of your feet by the most deafening, out of the blue, blaring spectacle of white noise in the known world. Nothing concerning this is left to chance.
Mogwai are a demonic lullaby, quietly lulling you to sleep before giving your face a good kicking. Even their prettiest moments are littered with the threat of it all going straight to hell ('Hunted by a Freak', demonstrated amazingly tonight, isn't given such a nasty moniker for nothing, you know). They also demand attention, reverence and a substantial degree of effort to get the most from the set - the absolutely standout 'Rage: Man' only follows a considerable period of drawn out noisy experimentation, and their traditional wrap-up 'My Father My King' will set you back the best part of half an hour, every minute worthy of your concentration.
They have a frontman in Stuart Braithwaite even if he never sings a note, standing, smiling, and twisting his knees. They exchange knowing glances with each other and joke with their friends up in the balcony. They make some of the most intelligent, affecting music Britain has. Believe it or not, they're very human too.
Your Feedback
Login to post your comment