This may be a trick of local perspective. Word of Monotonix’s all-cylinders live show has been growing ever-louder over the last 24 months, so perhaps you were lucky to experience this stinky explosion of literal garbage and trashy garage before 2008. For me it wasn’t until this year that these Tel Aviv hard rock hairballs seemed to blow through Baltimore every three months, and at first it took some convincing to get me out of the house, as I’m generally very suspicious of supposedly apocalyptic, chair-throwing, beer-spitting live rock that looks at all choreographed. But while Monotonix’s spectacle may turn out to be as carefully plotted as any big-budget pop tour, I certainly bought it.
From the industrial-sized garbage can dumped on the drummer, who didn’t miss a beat as warm beer and backwash and god knows what else dribbled all over him; to the eye-searing bursts of uncovered ass-wiggling by frontman Ami Shalev; to the stripped and frenzied punk-metal mix played at pointers-jammed-in-ear-canals volume; to the spontaneous safety zone that formed as the audience cautiously backed away from what was happening on (and off) stage; to the guitarist marching the party right outside of the club, triumphantly pulling knowingly dumb cock-rock poses on top of somebody’s tour van. And that was just one show. Even if it is premeditated, at least you know you’ll be getting your recession-era most from these bare-assed antics.