Catching early [a]Beck[/a] must've been something like this, a mind-blowing Frankenstein hotchpotch that somehow works...
[I]”I don’t play no blues”[/I], hollered [a]Jon Spencer[/a] last year. And he was right. These guys do, though, just not like any you’ve heard before.
Equal parts frantic garage, malevolent Black Flag hardcore and fractured Coltrane fallout, Monkey Island have droplets of the bleakest, blackest comedy running down their spines. Songs like ‘Cha-Cha Champion’ slash away with vicious, deranged intent, 100 per cent proof and no dilute. But, as the last pitched riffs unravel, there’s no doubting that Monkey Island‘s blade cuts beyond sheer kinetic experience and goes deeper. There’s pathos here too, an impassioned, inchoate rage directed at society and its hypocrisies, leaving you as much disturbed as electrified by their serrated scrawl.
Sequencer. Guitar. Mouth organ. Drumkit. Microphones. Petit Vodo, Bordeaux-based one-man blues explosion, uses many or all of these, simultaneously, to whip up his crazed feedback blues, while his manic vocals ricochet around the room like a train announcer from hell, as violently disorientating as, well, modern urban life.
Catching early Beck must’ve been something like this, a mind-blowing Frankenstein hotchpotch that somehow works. As Monsieur Vodo plugs into his ‘Someone’s Dream’ single, all old-school jerkiness and transplanted Delta sleaze, you realise the genius isn’t in the concept, rather its successful execution, Vodo assuredly reaching for past gimmickry to snatch a warped funk from the nasty, hand-stitched mess. Let’s see where he takes it next.