the of mirror eye

* The Monks: Monk Time (4.5 mb) | Higgle-Dy-Piggle-Dy (4.0 mb) | I Hate You (6.0 mb) | Blast Off (3.5 mb)
From Black Monk Time : Repertoire Records : REP 4438-WP

So, what happens when five disenchanted army boys end their tours of duty in Germany in the mid ’60’s? Well, obviously they’d start a band. Thus, The Monks were born out of turmoil and strife.

I’ve been reading about this band for awhile. In fact, I almost thought that they were made up. I mean, here’s the story of five previously clean-cut army boys dressing up in monks habits, shaving the tops of their heads and playing some of the crudest, rudest, most punk music. Even the line up was unbelievable. You’ve got the standard guitar, drums, bass, organ set up. But then you add electric banjo to the mix and you’ve got something very, very strange. And by all accounts, this was a very strange band.

The backbone of the Monks’ music is in Roger’s drumming. The thudding of his omnipresent toms is constantly accenting and coloring his sharp snare work and sparse use of cymbals. He is always in control. It sometimes sounds as if he is directing the band, which is a rhythmic experiment in itself, from the rear. Dave, whose banjo is exclusively rhythmic, usually takes his cues from Roger’s snare, often playing at twice the drummer’s speed. The hollow, mad clacking sound of Dave’s banjo is at times evocative of a locomotive that has dropped its cars and cargo in favor of a faster pace. Playing somewhere in between the two is Eddie’s overdriven bass seeking to put everything into some kind of harmonic perspective. Gary and larry play what might be viewed as the “melody” of the song as well as the solos. Gary’s soloing technique is to rip sheets of feedback out of his guitar, which yammers and howls in protest, before slapping it back into the framework of the, er . . . “groove.” Larry usually skitters across the keyboard allowing occasional glimpses of fat cathedral-esque tone. His infrequent chords show the kind of caterwaul his organ would actually be capable of, if he slowed down long enough. The overall effect is maddening. It is without a doubt the most uncompromising stuff ever to call itself rock ‘n’ roll.

(by Spazz Chandler)

I was finally able to locate a copy of their album, Black Monk Time, that I could afford. With great trepidation, I put the disc in the player. All the accolades seemed almost too good to be true. But I wasn’t disapointed. Not one bit. This music is as punk/strange/incredible as I thought it would be.

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