The ‘90s were an arid decade for sternum crushing, crank fuelled, just the facts (and the occasional epic stoned interlude ma’am) rock and fucken roll.
We flirted with the programmed, post NIN nerdcore of Fear Factory, plumbed the horny down-tuned incel confusion of KOЯN and exalted in the chugging misery of Soundgarden and their ilk, but shameless, drug chuggin’, shaggin’ and skull flayin’ guitar music had become a niche concern.
Enter one Dave Wyndorf, a New Jerseyite who’d spent the ‘80s in an act called Shrapnel, and who founded the doom and psych inspired Monster Magnet practically in his rock ‘n roll dotage, ie his mid thirties.
Monster Mags honed their sound over a couple of sludge-fuzzy EPs and albums before striking MTV gold - that used to happen - with the tripping balls party starter ‘Negasonic Teenage Warhead’ (now also an infuriating X-Men character), from third album Dopes to Infinity.
Check out that clip - someone made a lot of money with a ropey green screen and an asteroid set back in the mid ‘90s.
I was 21 when the follow up, Powertrip, dropped in 1998 - though I didn’t really get across it until it turned into the score for Friday night fire up sessions in dad’s back shed a year later - which makes me, well, you do the math.
Powertrip is a seminal, wall to wall classic - a relentless slab of sleazy-beefy, horny-high af riffage. This was cocky, leathered up, cosmic stuff with tongue jammed firmly in cheek, the likes of which I’d not yet encountered (Zodiac Mindwarp came later).
Wyndorf was 42 when it arrived, which is quite neat, in a useless and quickly discarded framing device sort of way.
I couldn’t believe how fucking old he was.
Now it sounds like a relatively wise age to start writing about what you know for sure without fear of embarrassment, anyway.
(Opinion sure to be revised in -)
Wyndorf is sixty three now, for the non mathematicians amongst you, and still out there bringing down the thunder.
Saw them a few years back, but, uh, don’t really remember much.
Good night, I assume.