Monitor
Monitor

"GLOW IN THE DARK!"
The triptych of wonders of my advanced hallucinatory states is complete. After the Factrix and the Party Boys (reviewed by me), we end beautifully with yet another Californian group. I have the soundtrack ready for when I will admire in person at the Prado in Madrid the triptych of the garden of earthly delights by Geronimo (Bosch).

As in canvas representations, musically the possessions that determine sin are enacted. Sounds, voices, organized noise, diversions, deceptions, traps, mystified redemptions, manifest as airs thickening sensations.

My temperate, austere, and reserved conduct tends, through interactions with other human beings, to trigger the misunderstanding of projecting nonconformity: I am considered irreproachable, bizarre, and benevolently indifferent in my prejudiced detachment and my lack of consideration in confrontation. A sunny and fit aspect with which I present myself reinforces the misunderstanding. In truth, I openly declare myself ready for all vices, immersing myself in the murkiest pleasures and sins, falsifying to satisfy my ego. Aware of my condition as a "piece of shit," I refrain from committing misdeeds simply because... it's not convenient. The cause-effect game has been extensively experimented by me from dissuading challenging it as little as possible, also touching on that devastating variant of "the sins of the fathers are visited upon the children."

Raising the will to escape temptations, a person is attacked by those forces exponentially. The Monitor from the San Fernando Valley is of great help to me. The sounds reincarnate sophisticated curtains of invisible traps constantly working in the long term to reach the capitulation of perdition. Every grain removed from our control is a total victory for them and devastating for us. Fine-mouthed whisperers execute a spectrum of sharp, intangible dissimulations where evil, not finding fertile grounds in violence, sex, addiction, self-destruction, tries to insinuate itself to keep us occupied through "good feelings."

The open dialogue by the Monitor speaks to us of the development, by these sinister presences, of paths for pollution actions that leverage an aspect of our falsely modest vanity of being able to "humanly" help others, insinuating an arrogance of omnipotence that passes from "good." A nice chess game that allows no pauses and tempts us even in the checkmate of celebration: being that being?...

The scarce half-hour of the record abundantly reveals to us the range of tempting whispers through a psychic synth. Unhealthy songs of sirens unfold, staging an apparent innocence of unbalanced whispers that unconsciously further destabilize our already precarious balance.
Those childish keyboards that take you Kafkaesquely, snickering clowns, carefree little theaters, occult lullabies, burlesque skits reveal mischievous spirits trying in all possible ways to stimulate our hidden vanity, leveraging a shadow of salvation that we might foolishly embrace but that transforms into a crumbling altar of ephemeral glory aiming to trip us favoring the stumble of bewilderment.

The halos of the Monitor make the soul’s film shiver, producing a vibration of ancestral fears related to the current condition of alienation, especially with those almost absent guitar riffs, finally distant from rock. And with the intervention of the Meat Puppets (the penultimate track on the record), we also taste the loss of control by the evil that vomits all its violence on us for not being able to enter definitively. The scene of Simon of the desert by Bunuel comes to mind, where the saint makes the cue ball jump out at the tempting devil who hurls the worst insults.

After this, with the last piece, the music patiently returns to probe the search for a breach in our shield of impersonal holiness to insinuate itself, playing precisely on the intangible, floating in a jelly that forms an alienating limbo where we taste the shadow of a calm horror. There is no hurry, with no material constraints nor anything to do; the malevolent entities operate steadily to reach the goal. It’s up to us to find our refuge and discharge to the ground the downward drag.

The Monitor in 1981 provides us with an impeccable path through captivating sonic introspections. Detached, let’s savor this record, tasting the "package" we may serve to the tempters. A beautiful battle allowing no pauses that stimulates our continuous presence, as listening to this work requires. Obligatory recommendation. Peek-a-boo!