Pond Made A Splash At The Wardrobe
Charlotte Trenbath captures Pond’s special anniversary performance at The Wardrobe – with no expectations and was utterly transformed by the Australian enigmas.
Recently I have been making a real effort to relinquish control of things. I have a habit of planning things so meticulously that I squeeze all the spontaneity out of my day. So, I decided to hand all that control over to something, anything, other than myself, and to see where it takes me.
When I woke up on Friday morning, the peak of my day was supposed to be a catch-up binge of ‘Married at First Sight’. But, thanks to the mysterious powers of the universe (the Gryphon Writers group chat), by 9pm I was watching a sparkly-shirt-clad Nick Allbrook slut drop in a basement directly across from the BBC studios in Leeds. I believe that’s what you call Divine Intervention.
The Wardrobe is a rather humble venue. It has no special effects, no neon signs or confetti cannons. Independent venues like that rely almost entirely on the acts themselves for the night’s success; there’s no accoutrement to hurl out into the audience, no CGI Shrek to terrify people into pseudo-enjoyment. All you got was some funky stage lighting and five Australian guys who had, without a shred of doubt, taken magic mushrooms more than once in their lives – and it was epic.
It’s always an interesting experience going into a gig semi-blind, with no expectations, so I chose not to watch any of Pond’s live performances pre-gig. The band’s most popular songs come from their 2018 LP The Weather, and though tracks like Paint Me Silver and Sweep Me Off My Feet are deliciously sweet and sparkly, they’re merely a drop in Pond’s versatile discography.
Songs performed from their new LP, Stung!, were a thrilling example of the band’s range of influences. The quintet took us back in time with the sounds of Sabbath and Zeppelin in their performance of the screeching, psychedelic Neon River. On So Lo, Allbrook delivered sliding, sassy vocals layered behind a plucky guitar riff that felt reminiscent of the 1975’s Love Me.
The frontman once said in an interview that he thinks about nothing at all whilst on stage, and when I watched his live performance, I really, truly believed him. In fact, I was convinced that the soundwaves were sending some sort of rock n’ roll, 70s poltergeist out of the speakers and into his soul. It’s a rare treat to see a musician completely lose themselves on stage, to the extent that they paradoxically seem to find themselves, in their purest form, completely in touch with their art. Most people who want to get out of their head choose to go on a run or dive into a book, but did it ever occur to them that they might have better luck swinging a microphone like a lasso? It occurred to Nick Allbrook, and I suppose that’s what makes him a performer.
One of the best things about watching a band throw themselves into their performance is seeing how that energy transfers straight into the audience. Gigs are a prime example of the phrase ‘you get what you give’. If the artists don’t want to be there, you can feel that in the air, and before you know it everyone in the audience is smashed at 8.30pm in a desperate attempt to make merriment out of the mundane. Pond, however, inspired a thrilling atmosphere that felt almost nostalgic in its sincerity. A sea of stage light-soaked heads, dappled in shades of blues, nodded and swung in a kind of off-beat unison that felt so heart-warmingly human. Smiles were exchanged, space was made for those who needed it, micro-dance-circles of camaraderie were formed. All the while, Nick Allbrook was clambering onto railings, chucking his microphone to unexpecting concertgoers for impromptu karaoke, and occasionally whipping out a flute. Did I mention it was epic?
If all of that wasn’t enough, the encore featured a performance of Hobo Rocket that included a bizarre anecdote, and a touching tribute. Allbrook dedicated the song to the late Cowboy John, a Perth personality who would frequent their recording studio, and who features on the track. And, as Joe Ryan added, who ‘liked to eat ants’. Further explanation on the latter wasn’t given, and I think that’s what Cowboy John would’ve wanted, enigmatic legend that he was.
The 5-piece ended the night with an intoxicating rendition of Don’t Look at the Sun [Or You’ll Go Blind], with the winding snake-charmer riffs wrapping the crowd in a musical hypnosis. Whatever spell that song cast, whatever sort of sonic magic Pond had used that night, it worked on me. I bought a t-shirt and everything.
