Monotonix at the Paragon

By Cheryl Hann, Staff Contributor

Grade: A

As Monotonix tuned their guitar (singular), the mounting energy on the floor of the Paragon was palpable and palatable. It tasted like salt and wet armpits. Within 30 seconds after the show started, I was covered in beer. Within 40, I was on my knees praying that the mosh-pit gods would be merciful. Less than a second later, I was back on my feet, helped up by a burly man with a flannel shirt, and a killer mustache. For the next hour, I found myself caught in the undertow of a violent sea of people, who had all made a pact, written in sweat and signed in elbows, to never stop thrashing. Some people watched the show from the Paragon’s second bar, away from the otherwise inescapable writhing mass. Those people actually got to enjoy a band, the rest of us were just trying to stay alive, or trying to kill anyone who was smaller or weaker than ourselves.
There was a lot of hype surrounding Monotonix, a three-man “garage-rock” outfit from Tel Aviv, whose last Halifax show ended with the entire band hitting the streets, audience in tow, climbing a traffic light, telling everyone to shut up, and then crowd surfing while the police stood watching, mouths agape.
This show wasn’t quite as crazy, but the band did continually migrate, first from the stage to the top of the bar, and then into the eye of the mosh-pit hurricane, where, surely, I thought, the band would be devoured. They weren’t. Those a 40-something Jewish dudes from Israel held their own, working the crowd into a frenzy, then climbing the walls (literally) to avoid the crowd’s punching, thrusting wrath.
Monotonix’s music is simple: guitar driven, eight-beat anthems, drums optional, but heavily desired, screaming vocals, barely audible, with the occasional solo from the singer’s anus. Yes. The singer put the microphone into his ass, and then passed it around to unsuspecting concert-goers who wanted nothing more than a chance to show off their pipes. It was gross. The show ended without incident, no one bled, and the police weren’t called in. Though the guys from Source Security never abandoned their “this is the worst” expressions. By 3:15 a.m. I was in bed, my ears ringing, my body aching and my smile singing me to sleep.