Momus records tell somewhat warped, morally provocative stories even as they snap together and crack apart, Lego-like, a big pile of multi-coloured musical styles. In the year 2000 he moved from London to New York, held a one-man show in a Chelsea art gallery, lectured, sang and danced around the world, wrote a whole bunch of essays on his website and cut an album of 'plastic folk'. Over the past 15 years this self-styled 'minor god of mockery' has become something of a major cult, recording witty and inventive songs for a variety of indie-fetish labels like el, Creation, Bungalow and Le Grand Magistery.
Momus is Nick Currie, a New York-based Scot who wears an eyepatch, possibly to cover up a permanent wink. These are the sort of questions rattling around in the head - and essays - of Momus.
What if computers finally began getting more Africa in them? What if folk artists started emerging who sounded more postmodern than Cornelius or Pole? What would Click Folk or Glitch Folk sound like? What would Alan Lomax have said if, in 1965, the Newport Folk Festival had been invaded by boffins and geeks playing modular Moogs?What if you could hear, today, the Country Music of the year 2049? What about the Japanese country music of 2049? What would that sound like? What if electronics had appeared in 18th Century Scotland just at the moment of the Highland Clearances? How many mountains can you fit on a Minidisc?
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