Imagine a parallel universe of the mid-1960s. Hamburg's seamy influence closes in on an aspiring beat group comprised of foreign nationals who instead of evolving into a world-conquering pop group devolve into an abrasive, experimental act of no fixed genre.
These anti-Beatles are the Monks, and Black Monk Time (1966) is their legacy, an irresistible and compelling record of the band's wild ride towards a state of rules-free rock 'n' roll.
The Monks started out as the more conventionally styled Torquays, five American GIs stationed in Germany, battling their boredom by playing a standard mix of tunes by British Invasion and surf music acts.
On discharge from service and now free to express their opinion on the state of things, the band rebrands, trading neckties for rope nooses and adopting shaven heads in the style of a monk's tonsure.
In the practice room, efforts turn towards forging a new sound grounded in beat music but distilled to its essence, all pounding rhythms and repetitive chanting. This thick mattress of sound is counterbalanced with the dissonant clanging of electrified banjo, fuzzed-out guitar, overdriven bass and spacey keyboards.
Chief vocalist Gary Burger's vocals are strained and crazed, spilling forth questions, riddles and exhortations.
''Why do you kill all those kids in Vietnam?'', he craws in opening track Monk Time.
''We don't like the atomic bomb ... Stop it! I don't like it!''
Not your cup of tea? Well, The Monks drew roughly as much flak as they did praise from Hamburg's Top 10 Club crowds of the day, always a good sign for members of the avant-garde. If nothing else, such bravery and innovation should impress those with an appreciation for the context of the time.
Held up against product from the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, The Fall and The White Stripes, the album is a clear influence. Played loud, it's an awful lot of mad, cathartic, danceable fun.
