Bufo Alvarius LP/CD

Bardo Pond
Bufo alvarius, amen 29:15

Warpy, swimming in sugary water. Sick with necessary repetition, Bardo is some way out distorto fuzz fest that wants to be yr friend. Not unlike going to hell but taking the safe suburban side streets all the way down. There's something dark 'n' thick bubbling under each "song", but it's not totally ominous. Y'know, like The X-Files or something; weird and unsettling at first, but soon enough yr drawn in and hooked. Bardo's music is more like that ol' tongue in the cold sore theory; it hurts, sorta, but it's not half-bad either, and you keep doing it over and over again. (I honestly can't stop playing this disc. Somebody help me! It's crept into my psyche like an addiction. I'm missing work and everything.) Sleepy junkie riffs surround girl/guy "can't sing, but here goes" vocals that just drip and drain over like melted cheese or a Vicodin hangover. Wavering gtr/vox distortion and some damn good drugs. Pine Sol? Windex? These guys have collectively birthed some bad blue baby that caressingly throttles you while it fingers yr mind. The damn near 30 minute closer (which is also the title track) is true unrelenting horror. Some weird sermon that just won't end. Agonizingly brilliant. Once you listen to this record, you'll insist on listening to only warped records fer the rest of yr life. I swear it. Fuck fashion, let's get high. Fuck gettin' high, let's fuck. Fuck all that, let's transcend, man. — Sara Bellum (Drunken Fish Records, 8600 W. Olympic Blvd, Los Angeles, CA 90035)

[This review originally appeared in Bunnyhop issue #6 in December 1995. The review used to be available online, but sadly www.bunnyhop.com has gone away. Reprinted without permission.]

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