Monks – Black Monk Time (1966)

Cuckoo, cuckoo

Who’s got the cuckoo?

So far, this year’s “28 Posts in 28 Days” has been a bit of a yawner.  

It’s hardly surprising that I included records like Pet Sounds and Led Zeppelin I and Tommy and Let It Bleed in my list of ten great “Golden Decade” albums.  No one with a lick of musical taste would question those choices.  But they’re a bit predictable.

So I decided to shake things up with the last of my picks.

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Admit it, you’ve never heard of the Monks and their one and only album, Black Monk Time.  And you would have almost certainly gone the rest of your life without becoming acquainted with the amazing songs on that record were it not for my wildly successful little blog.

The Black Monk Time album cover

But it’s your lucky day!  Bow down before the one you serve – you are not going to get what deserve!  Because 2 or 3 lines is a merciful blogger.  You who have been walking in darkness are about to have that darkness turned into light.

And while I’m at it, I’m also going to make the rough places smooth . . . no charge!

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The five Monks were American soldiers who met in 1964 when they were all stationed in Germany.

The band’s look – they tonsured their hair, and dressed up in robes and rope belts like medieval monks – was weird enough.  But the songs on Black Monk Time are a thousand times weirder than the group’s appearance.  

The Monks getting tonsured

The Monks started out playing covers of American rock-and-roll hits for other GIs at bars near the army base where they were stationed.  

In 1965, they showed up at the door of Polydor Records with an LP’s worth of original songs.  It’s amazing to me that a major label agreed to release an album of such radical music, but that’s exactly what happened.

The band toured West Germany to promote the Black Monk Time, but it did not sell well.  

After a two-week mini-tour of Sweden in early 1967, the Monks learned that Polydor had decided not to release their album in the United States.  Apparently, the antiwar sentiments expressed in some of the songs on Black Monk Time were considered too controversial for American tastes.

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Before you poo-pooh the record company’s decision, you might want to listen to the album’s first track, “Monk Time,” which kicks off with a demented-sounding spoken rant by Monks frontman Gary Burger:  

All right, my name’s Gary!  Let’s go, it’s beat time, it’s hop time, it’s monk time!  

You know we don’t like the army.  What army?  Who cares what army?  Why do you kill all those kids over there in Vietnam?  My brother died in Vietnam!  

James Bond, who was he?  Stop it!  Stop it!  I don't like it!  It’s too loud for my ears!  Pussy Galore’s comin’ down and we like it!  We don’t like the atomic bomb!  Stop it!  Stop it!  I don't like it!  Stop it!

Polydor released records by Jimi Hendrix and Cream that year, but the Monks were a little too much for them to handle.

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“Monk Time” is so bizarre that you might assume it’s not representative of Black Monk Time as a whole.

Take my word for it.  The other tracks on the album – which include “Boys Are Boys and Girls Are Choice,” “Higgle-Dy-Piggle-Dy,” “I Hate You,” “We Do Wie Du,” “Drunken Maria,” and (last but certainly not least) “Cuckoo” – are just as odd.

But in addition to being odd, the music on Black Monk Time is oddly compelling – and (dare I say) delightful.  

Give the entire album a listen.  I’ll bet that by the time you get to the end of it, you’ll think it’s delightful, too. 

Click here to listen to Black Monk Time, which finally released in the U.S. in 1997 – 30 years after it was recorded.

Click here to watch The Transatlantic Feedback, a 2006 documentary about the Monks, on Amazon.

Monks – "Monk Time" (1966)

Alright, my name's Gary

It's beat time!  It's hop time!

IT’S MONK TIME!

What’s the best beer in the world?

Many people believe that Westvleteren 12 – a 10.2% ABV Belgian quadrupel that is brewed and sold at the Trappist abbey of Saint-Sixtus – deserves that title.

I sampled Westvletern 12 in July when I visited Belgium this summer, and it is an extraordinary beer.

I can’t say that it’s the best beer in the world – but I can’t say that it’s not.

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It’s not easy to get your hands on a bottle of Westvleteren 12.

One way is to call the Saint Sixtus “beer line” and schedule a date and time to pick up one case (24 bottles).

Be prepared to dial about a zillion times.  You will likely have to place dozens – maybe hundreds – of calls before you get through.

A case of Westvleteren 12

And be prepared to pay 45 euros for a case of Westvleteren 12 – plus a 15-euro deposit for the empty bottles and wooden crate.  (That’s almost 70 bucks.)

Or you can visit In De Vrede, a large and bustling café directly across the road from the abbey that sells sandwiches, desserts, and all three varieties of Westvleteren beer.  

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The Saint-Sixtus monks would have no trouble selling ten or twenty times as much Westvleteren 12.  So why do they brew so little of it?

The monks aren’t in business to maximize profits – they brew and sell beer in order to support their monastery and pay for their charitable endeavors.  As a former Father Abbott once said, “We are not brewers.  We are monks.  We brew beer to be able to afford to be monks.”

The entrance to the Saint-Sixtus abbey

In the words of another Saint-Sixtus monk, “We make the beer to live, but do not live for beer.”

The monks of Saint-Sixtus and I view the world very differently.

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On the next-to-last day of my recent journey to France and Belgium, I drove from Ghent to Watou, a small West Flanders village just a few miles from the French border.  

Watou road signs

I spent the night at the Brouwershuis, a ten-room B&B that was once the home of the owner of the adjacent St. Bernardus brewery.  (St. Bernardus is not a Trappist brewery, but it once handled the brewing for the Saint-Sixtus abbey, and its beers are very similar in style to the Westvleteren beers.  Plus they are widely available in the U.S. and elsewhere.)

The best thing about the Brouwershuis is that guests are free to help themselves to the selection of St. Bernardus beers (and lesser beverages) that are kept in a small refrigerator in the hotel lounge:

I woke up early the next morning and took a pre-breakfast bike ride through the West Flanders countryside on a Dutch-made Gazelle bicycle:

My un-gazelle-like Gazelle bicycle

There were several acres of hop fields adjacent to the brewery:

The farmers in the area grow a number of other crops.  While I was riding that morning, I watched one farmer harvesting cauliflower:

After enjoying an excellent omelet, some cheese, some charcuterie, and some delicious chocolates, I fired up my rental Jeep and headed for In De Vrede, which was only a 20-minute drive from the Brouwershuis.

Chocolate for breakfast
at the Brouwershuis  

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The weather could not have been better for someone looking to sit outside and drink beer.

I parked, grabbed a table on the café’s expansive patio, and ordered a Westvleteren 12:

I love Belgian quadrupels, and the Westvleteren 12 was an excellent example of how good a quad can be.  

I’m not sure it was noticeably better than some of the other Belgian quads I’ve had – for example, the St. Bernardus Abt 12 – but it was very, very good.

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I wanted to try the other Westvletern beers – they also make a blonde ale (5.8% ABV) and the dark Westvleteren 8 (8.0% ABV) – but knew I needed to pace myself.

So I walked along the trail that led from the Saint Sixtus abbey to the Dozinghem Military Cemetery, one of the hundreds of cemeteries built in France and Belgium after World War I by the British government’s Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC).

Dozinghem Military Cemetery

Dozinghem is the final resting place of 3174 Commonwealth soldiers who died in World War I.  It is one of a number of cemeteries located near the sites of field hospitals – or “casualty clearing stations,” as the British called them.  (The British tried to bury their dead as near as possible to the place they died, and many of the wounded men who were taken to casualty clearing stations died there.)

The Dozinghem cemetery is surrounded by farms.  One of the fields I walked past was devoted to zucchini – which the French call courgettes.  

The night before I visited Dozinghem, I had eaten dinner at a small restaurant in Watou.  One of the dinners on the menu included courgettes, which my waiter was unable to translate into English for me.

(“They are long and green,” he said, holding his hands about a foot apart.  “Cucumbers?” I proposed.  “Leeks?  Asparagus?”) 

As I was taking a photo of the zucchini field, one of the monks from the Saint Sixtus abbey walked by:

A Saint-Sixtus monk walking
past a field full of courgettes

I had read that those monks generally keep silent – except for the “beer brother” of the day who handles beer sales – so I simply nodded to him as we passed.

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As I explored the Dozinghem cemetery, I noticed a tombstone that had been decorated with two small American flags:

Generally speaking, only soldiers from the UK or British Commonwealth countries (such as Canada, Australia, and South Africa) are buried at CWGC cemeteries such as the one at Dozinghem.  

But one of the members of the Royal Canadian Regiment whose final resting place is at Dozinghem was  Private J. H. Enright, a 25-year-old from Saginaw, Michigan, who had enlisted in the regiment before the United States had entered the war.  

Enright’s regiment was part of the 3rd Canadian Division, which met with what one source called “exceptional German resistance” when it took part in the final British attacks at Passchendaele in late October and early November.  Private Enright died of his wounds on November 16, 1917, a few days after the battle officially ended.  

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I walked from Dozinghem back to In De Verde, where I washed down a plateful of gherkins, pickled pearl onions, bread and abbey-made cheese with a Westvleteren Blonde:

Next I ordered a Westvleteren 8:

I could have ordered a second Westvleteren 12 instead of the Blonde or the 8, but I decided that I would rather try all three of the abbey’s beers.  After all, I might never have another opportunity to taste them.

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The Monks – who initially called themselves the Torquays – were a group of American GIs who met when they were stationed in West Germany.    

One of the places they played was The Top Ten Club in Hamburg, where the Beatles had played between March and July 1961.

The Monks were sort of the anti-Beatles.  Instead of playing Chuck Berry and Merseybeat songs, they played primitive, noisy, pre-punk music, with simple lyrics and lots of feedback.  (Some music historians credit Monks’ lead guitarist Gary Burger with inventing feedback.)

And instead of wearing natty suits and ties like the Beatles, the Monks dressed like demented monks – black robes, nooses around their necks (instead of ties), and tonsured hair:

The Monks

“Monk Time” is the first track from the Monks’ one and only album, Black Monk Time, which was released in 1966 and sold only a few thousand copies before becoming a cult favorite many years later.

Click here to listen to “Monk Time.”

Click on the link below to buy the album from Amazon:

Monkees – "I'm a Believer" (1967)

Now I'm a believer

Not a trace

Of doubt in my mind

(I’ve been spending a lot of time this week on a really big-deal post, so I need to phone one in.  I’m sure you won’t mind – surely you’re used to that by now.)

Some of you have questioned things I’ve said on 2 or 3 lines in the past.  Big mistake!   

I would hope that by now all you doubting Thomases and Tamsins out there are now 2 or 3 lines believers, and that there is not a trace of doubt in your minds.

For example, if I were to tell you that “Tamsin” is the feminine equivalent of the name “Thomas,” there wouldn’t be a trace of doubt in your mind that I was right.  (Because I am.)

The following hard-to-believe facts are courtesy of Viralscape.com, a shameless purveyor of clickbait that presents irresistible online slide shows categorized as “Funny,” “Cute,” “Amazing,” “Inspiring,” “Creepy,” and “OMG!”

1.  Hippo sweat is red.  (A lot of people will tell you that hippo milk is pink – but it's not.)

2.  The Barbie doll has a name: Barbara Millicent Roberts.

3.  Vending machines kill twice as many people as sharks.

4.  Maine is the closest U.S. state to Africa.  

Betty White is older than sliced bread

5.  Betty White (who was born in 1922) is older than sliced bread (which was first sold in 1928).

6.  Technically, a strawberry isn’t a berry, but a banana is.  (So are avocados and watermelons.) 

7.  John Tyler, who was President of the United States from 1841 to 1845, has two living grandsons.  Tyler was 63 when his son Lyon was born – his wife was only 33.  Lyon was 71 and 75, respectively, when his sons Lyon, Jr., and Harrison were born – his wife was 36 years younger.  Today, Lyon, Jr., is 91 and Harrison is 87.  (Harrison Tyler lives in a house that his grandfather bought in 1842, and which had also been owned by William Henry Harrison, the President who Tyler succeeded.)

John Tyler and his grandsons

By the way, John Tyler fathered more children than any other U.S. president.  He had eight children by his first wife Letitia, who was the same age as Tyler.  After Letitia died of a stroke, Tyler married a woman who was 30 years younger than he was – he was 54, she was 24 – and fathered seven more children.  Subsequent presidents have had sex in the White House with women younger than Tyler's second wife, but didn't end up buying the cow. 

8.  For every human being now alive, there are over 1.5 million living ants.  (The weight of 1.5 million ants is about the same as the average human being.)

9.  You can’t hold your nose closed and hum at the same time.  (Just try it if you don’t believe me.)

10.  Certain turtles can breathe not only through their mouths, but also through their anuses.  

Box turtle

By the way, turtles don’t really have anuses – like other reptiles, birds amphibians, and certain fish, they have cloaca, which is a body cavity into which the intestinal, urinary, and genital tracts all open.  (Ewwwww!) 

I was originally going to feature a different Monkees song in this post.  “Hard to Believe” was released on the Monkees’ 1967 album, Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones Ltd.  (The title of that album refers to the astrological signs of each Monkee: Mickey Dolenz was a Pisces, Peter Tork was an Aquarius, and both Michael Nesmith and Davy Jones were Capricorns.  I guess they didn’t want to name the album Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Capricorn.)

“Hard to Believe” was written by Davy Jones and three guys you’ve never heard of.  It’s not one of the Monkees’ best efforts.  (I hope saying that doesn’t offend anyone.  Some of my readers are very quick to take offense.)

By contrast, “I’m a Believer” – which was penned by Neil Diamond – is a winner.  It held down the #1 spot on the Billboard “Hot 100” chart for seven weeks, and was the best-selling record of 1967.  

Here’s “I’m a Believer”:

Click below to buy the song from Amazon:

Monks -- "Cuckoo" (1966)

Someone played a joke on me

That ain't very hard to see

Did you take my-y-y-y

Cuckoo, cuckoo

Who's got the cuckoo?

The Monks were formed by American GIs who were stationed in Gelnhausen, Germany in the mid-sixties.

Monks bassist Eddie Shaw talked about the varied musical backgrounds of the band's members in a recent interview:

[Drummer] Roger [Johnston] served as a clerk in a tank company.  He was from Texas and had played drums with local groups who played Texas swing music. He was influenced by big band drummers like Gene Krupa.  

[Organist] Larry [Clark] was a clerk in an infantry company.  He was from Chicago and had some classical training as a legitimate pianist.  He enjoyed the music of various blues organ players.  

[Rhythm guitarist and banjo player] Dave [Day] was an infantryman from Jim Hendrix’s hometown of Renton, Washington.  The first time he heard Elvis Presley, he knew that he had to get a guitar and do the same music.  Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, and all those players from Sun Records Studios were also his heroes.  

[Lead guitarist and lead vocalist] Gary [Burger] was a truck driver for an artillery battery.  He grew up in a rural area of north Minnesota and learned to play guitar, influenced by a neighbor who played country music in a local band.  In the army he quickly adapted his playing to the Ventures and people like that.  [NOTE:  Burger died from pancreatic cancer last month, aged 72.]  

I was [assigned to] an artillery battery.  I had recorded my first LP in 1956 when I was 15 years old, playing trumpet in a Dixieland band.  My first job was at the Nugget Casino in Carson City, Nevada. Wayne Newton (about 14 years old at the time) was the headliner on the main stage and I played in the back room.  I was a jazz player, having played drums before trumpet, copying everything I could from Miles Davis. 

The Monks initially called themselves the Torquays.  One of the places they played was The Top Ten Club in Hamburg, where the Beatles had played between March and July 1961.

The Top Ten Club in Hamburg

But when the Torquays met Karl Remy and Walther Niemann, two German ad agency execs who have been described as "agent provocateurs" and "loopy existentialist visionaries," they changed their name to the Monks, and became the anti-Beatles.

Instead of playing Chuck Berry and Merseybeat songs, the Monks played primitive, noisy, pre-punk music, with simple lyrics – not a bad tactic when you're singing in English before German audiences – and lots of feedback.

And instead of wearing natty suits and ties like the Beatles, Dave Clark Five, Gerry and the Pacemakers, and others of their ilk, the Monks dressed like demented monks – black robes, nooses around their necks (instead of ties), and tonsured hair.

To say that the Monks were not always well-received by audiences is an understatement.  One attendee at a show in Hamburg attempted to strangle lead singer Gary Burger (who is currently the mayor of Turtle River, Minnesota – population 77) for what the fan perceived as the band's blasphemy.

The Monks' one and only studio album – Black Monk Time (1966) – sold just 3000 or so copies in Germany.  (It wasn't released in the U.S. until years later.)

But today it is widely acclaimed by rock music critics, and is viewed as a very significant protopunk album.  The influential musicians who have praised it include Jack White (White Stripes) and Colin Greenwood (Radiohead).

Julian Cope (who is not only a major rock star but also an archaeologist who is an authority on Neolithic culture) wrote that "no one ever came up with a whole album of such dementia."  

Here's what London's Daily Telegraph newspaper had to say about that album when it was rereleased in 2009:

Listening to it now, finally, in full, remastered glory, it's hard to imagine how this primitive and often nightmarish music could have been allowed to be made at that particular time and place. . . . It may not be to every taste but, lurching according to its own sublimely clueless logic, it has a purity and heedlessness which can never be repeated.

You'd be hard-pressed to find another song on the album that lurches along more cluelessly and heedlessly than "Cuckoo."  

Maybe "Drunken Maria," which features these lyrics:

Sleepy Maria don't drink!

Drunken Maria don't sleep!

That's pretty much the whole song.  Click here if you'd like to hear it.

Here's "Cuckoo":

Here are the Monks performing "Cuckoo" live on German television.  Note especially the tonsures and the crazy banjo playing:



In 2006, a tribute album titled Silver Monk Time was released.  Click here to hear a cover of "Cuckoo" by the 5.6.7.8.s, an all-female Japanese rock trio.

Click below to buy the song from Amazon: