Monster Magnet
Spine of God

THE REVIEW

If we were to represent the stoner canon as an imaginary Hindu trimurti, the role of Brahma (demiurge and creator of the Universe) would undeniably go to the fathers, Kyuss, while Vishnu (the preserver) could be claimed by Sleep, monolithic continuers of the 80s Doom cult. The figure of Shiva, fascinating in his role as the destroyer of the Universe, embodiment of tamas that will absorb the world's energies at the time of its end, fits like a glove to Monster Magnet. And even more so to their unchallenged leader Dave Wyndorf, luciferian foil and rotten counterpart to John Garcia.

It's difficult to choose a single title that exemplifies and encapsulates the Magnet's approach to what would later be called "stoner." If "25...Tab" opens glimpses into liquid psychotic abysses, the triptych (incidentally another trimurti) "Spine Of God"/"Superjudge"/"Dopes To Infinity" canonizes their sound, with nods to the '70s Sabbath but especially to a hard psychedelia rooted in the '60s, its trunk in the freak choices of early Hawkwind and its branches brushing the grunge sounds of the '90s.

Perhaps it is precisely "Spine Of God", a varied journey between bare-knuckle assaults, bong smokes, and psychedelic deliriums tinged with sulfur, that best captures the young Magnet probably at the height of their creative vein, light years away from today's meek posers. Mc Bain and Wyndorf battle for the guitar spotlight, staging an unhealthy fight between monolithic riffs ("Pill Shovel") and psychedelic ballads ("Zodiac Lung"). Nor are the references to the Detroit rock of Stooges/MC5 (a true cult for Wyndorf), particularly evident in "Medicine", and a cover of Grand Funk Railroad, "Sin's A Good Man's Brother", missing. However, the tracks with the highest lysergic content remain the best: the title track, with its slow march, traversed by filtered sitars and shaken by electric spasms, while Wyndorf declaims wildly; "Black Mastermind", a sonic assault that passes the baton from Sabbath to Lemmy and his Hawkwind without ceasing to run; "Ozium", a strange coda based on organ and almost Californian melodies.

Don’t be alarmed if listening to the small masterpiece that is "Nod Scene", a sublime alternation between granite riffs, pools of acid, and an ever more doped Wyndorf, gives you an insane urge to use psychotropic substances (whether you are a habitual consumer or not). The answer lies in the liner notes of the album:

"It’s a satanic drug thing... you wouldn’t understand"