Can - Monster Movie (LP) - Blue Vinyl

Pulling a clean copy of Monster Movie from the racks still gives me a little jolt. That turquoise cover with the comic-book monster feels like a promise. Inside you get the sound of a band inventing its language in real time. Can’s debut landed in 1969, recorded in a rented castle near Cologne called Schloss Nörvenich, and it still moves like a strange engine. Four players with deep roots in avant-garde and jazz, plus an American poet at the microphone, finding out how far repetition can go before it tips into revelation.

The lineup is essential to the story. Holger Czukay and Irmin Schmidt had studied with Karlheinz Stockhausen, so tape, texture, and discipline were part of their toolkit. Jaki Liebezeit came out of free jazz but locked into a drum style that was all patience and pulse. Michael Karoli, young and fearless, brought the bite on guitar. And Malcolm Mooney, the first of Can’s two iconic singers, gave these grooves a human edge, chanting and yelping like a subway preacher who somehow found himself fronting a European art-rock band. It should not cohere. It absolutely does.

“Father Cannot Yell” sets the tone in seconds. Liebezeit’s hi-hat ticks like a metronome with swing, Czukay digs a trench with bass, Schmidt’s organ swirls, and Karoli smears fuzz across the stereo field. Mooney surfs the racket, riding phrases until they turn hypnotic. This is not solo-showboating music. It is group mind. The mix feels roomy, because it was. You can hear the air of that castle, the hum of amplifiers, the slight wobble of tape. Czukay’s editing sharpens it. They were already cutting long improvisations down to their most charged passages, a habit that would shape the band’s classic run.

Side one holds two more short shocks. “Mary, Mary So Contrary” slows the tempo without loosening the tension, Mooney murmuring while little organ figures flicker like bad street lights. “Outside My Door” kicks the door off the hinges. Karoli’s guitar strafes, Mooney’s voice frays, a harmonica slices through like a siren. It is proto-punk, but not in a straight line. The groove never quits.

The whole of side two belongs to “You Doo Right.” Twenty minutes of trance that feels outside of clock time. Critics love to bring up the idea that it was carved from hours of jamming, and you can hear why. The band settles into a narrow lane and refuses to drift. Liebezeit’s drum pattern never falters, small cymbal touches blooming like ripples. Czukay keeps the bass taut and economical. Schmidt paints the margins with sustained tones. Karoli juts in and out with shards of guitar. And Mooney, somewhere between mantra and meltdown, becomes part of the percussion. It is a lesson in how repetition does not mean stasis. Tiny changes matter. By minute fifteen you are either converted or you never will be.

Monster Movie tends to get overshadowed by Tago Mago or Ege Bamyasi in casual conversations, but it is the seed for everything that followed. The mix of strict rhythm and fearless texture was a new route out of 60s rock. You can trace a line from this record to post-punk minimalism, to noise-rock’s patience with drones, even to certain techno producers who learned that a locked groove can be a psychedelic device. Mooney left the band not long after, and Damo Suzuki would become the voice on their most famous records, but this first chapter has its own heat. The studio experiments are real, the performances ferocious, and the personality unmistakable.

If you are building a shelf of Can vinyl, this belongs near the front. Spoon Records has kept the catalog in good shape, and Monster Movie vinyl reissues have a punchy low end that flatters Liebezeit’s kick drum. It is one of those albums that rewards the ceremony of dropping a needle, because the room tone and the tape hiss fold right into the trance. You can buy Can records online without much trouble, but stumbling on an early press in a Melbourne record store feels like winning a small lottery. For collectors chasing Can albums on vinyl, this is a foundational piece that never sits long in the “new arrivals” bin. And if you are in the habit of flipping through crates of vinyl records Australia sellers ship across the country, flag this one when you see it.

Come for the history, stay for the groove. Monster Movie is the sound of five people deciding that the simplest beat can hold the wildest ideas, and then proving it with conviction. Put it on loud, let “You Doo Right” stretch the afternoon, and you will understand why this band still inspires long arguments and longer listening sessions.