Laidback and wielding two bottles (one of whiskey and the other of wine), Monks is quite happy to discuss the philosophies surrounding his band’s approach to music, the crowdsourcing of their most recent album, and, given the nature of where they’re headed up north in regional Victoria, his attitude regarding custom cars.
No, no, he reckons, when asked if he’s a petrol head at heart. “I am a fan of being driven around in cars!” he chuckles. “And I like the sexy ladies who like cars and don’t realise I don’t know about cars. I like cars as an excuse to play rock ‘n’ roll!”
Rock ‘n’ roll is the name of the game when it comes to The Last Good Party, a rollicking and gleefully macabre affair released earlier this year. Chockablock with gruesomely humorous and banging songs such as Minotaur: Shibboleth Brooks No Brotherhood, Son Of A Butcher Parliament, and first single Ash Wednesday Boudoir Party, Gay Paris have unleased a sound that brings to mind Kyuss being slowly drowned in a gothic swamp.
This bloody terrific record is both terrifying and danceable. It’s like a Grand Guignol production performed in a get-naked-and-fuck atmosphere with epic riffs and a vocalist who sounds genuinely evil.
Monks is understandably proud of this album, which ended up taking a little longer than planned to finish. “I got really sick and couldn’t sing,” he says, “but it all turned out alright in the end. I feel we’ve been touring it for almost as long as it took to write it – and the joy of touring it is much greater than the joy of recording it, ‘cause now we can be sloppy and slovenly!”
The Last Good Party was realised with the help of crowd-funding through Pozible – and Monks is pleasantly surprised with how successful the campaign went. “We had what we wanted in two days!” he exclaims. “But we didn’t ask for a lot because we weren’t quite aware of how much people wanted to give us their money. When we asked for it, they did.
“Also, the prizes were good, because our fans are terrible people … and I’ll say it time and time again: we’re terrible people, and we’ll do terrible things!”
Such as? Monks chortles maniacally as he shares with me some of the prankish things done in the name of art: the band re-enacting the orgasm scene from When Harry Met Sally in a Macca’s, for instance, and other such shenanigans. “You want to see a band breakdance to technical dance metal?” he asks rhetorically. “We’re the band that can do that, that’s no problem!
“We’re not rock ‘n’ roll musicians,” he adds. “We’re idiots … to a degree.”
Already legendary for their unpredictable shows, it is perfect timing for these stalwarts of grimy bluesy horror rock to once again wreak havoc here in Melbourne – Halloween is in the air, and the hour of the wolf is once again at hand.
“We’re well known for our enthusiasm for the theatrical,” Monks says with relish when asked what to expect at their upcoming show at the Espy for the Creepshow Halloween Festival. “I think at this show we’re going to get to express even more of that than we’re usually allowed to!”
Because, at the end of the day, Gay Paris is all about having a good time, Monks tells me. “You know, [The Last Good Party] made us realise … we’re a fucking heavy band, and there’s not much that can be done about that – that’s how we like to party! This record made us comfortable with that. I think after the first record, it was like, ‘Man, we’re too heavy!’ and now it’s, ‘Fuck it!’
“We know what we are; we’re a party band!” he howls with glee. “And we’re here to have a good time; we don’t want to prove how tough or brutal we are! We just want to hang out!”
BY THOMAS BAILEY
