Masonna’s ‘inner mind mystique’ is, to my mind, one of the greatest noise albums of all time. Clocking in at a miniscule thirty-eight-and-a-half minutes, like big black’s ‘songs about fucking’ or swans ‘cop’, to have gone on any longer would have smeared the message too thin and diluted the effect.
I saw masonna live in glasgow around ten years ago. He was onstage for less time than it took me to walk from buchannan street to the third eye, but he’s still the most extreme performer I’ve ever seen. Live, backed by a wall of marshalls, he spewed out a screamingly physical blitzkreig tsunami of sound, the pressure ramming the audience back and down like a sabre-tooth dune-buggy attack battalion. If you ever get the chance, try to see him live.
But back to ‘inner mind mystique’.
A lot of masonna’s albums fall on the side of ‘too extreme’ – up til now, anyhoo. For some reason, this is his ‘trout mask replica’, his ‘electric ladyland’.
now, why not read the novel that started it all? 1919 (inside)
Guaranteed – absolutely NO traces of horse DNA anywhere in this novel. And that’s the truth – or my name’s not David Cameron.