You forgot about Monotonix didn’t you? Who can blame you, the band is extinguished, gone, kaput for all intents and purposes. But time doesn’t forget and here, in the now—and oddly on “Now”—the band is giving a warmly received farewell. The minimal bursts of repetitive guitar and the rattling bass still feel energetic. There’s life behind this supposed hideaway, stashed until this particular moment because we need it “Now” more than ever. Yes, a pun. We need those too. And more shirtless hairy gentlemen who care not about coiffed hair and get-ups. We need the rock and Monotonix, even in the afterlife, deliver. And you can only hear it by griping the flexi by its bulbously skinny square—no digital on this series, just the sound produced by a whirling table and needle.