Malcolm Mooney is an artist, poet, singer and lyricist, and one of the most celebrated figures in contemporary music circles. He was the original vocalist with a seminal late-1960s-70s German band and his recordings with Can remain among the most influential of the past fifty years. Malcolm Mooney has performed his music and exhibited his artwork extensively over the past fifty years; most recently with exhibits at Aspen Museum, CO, (2021), Ulrik, NYC (2022), Galerie Max Mayer, Dusseldorf Germany (2023), Tilton Gallery, NYC (2024), and Illingworth Kerr Gallery, Calgary (2025). Recent music performances include Festival International de Musique Actuelle, Victoriaville, QC, (2022), Union Pool, Brooklyn (2022), Club Jaki, Cologne (2023), and SLED Island, Calgary (2024). His latest music productions include Pavees Dance, Slide Gate, (2023), the Eleventh Planet project with Sonic Youth drummer Steve Shelley and others, currently in postproduction, Consketeons with Alexis Marcello, and Motherless Children with Ava Mendoza, on Bandcamp. Malcolm Mooney has a BFA from Boston University and an MFA from California State Los Angeles; he is an instructor of abstract painting at Alberta University of the Arts.
Explore Malcolm Mooney’s history, craft, performance insights, and original poetry below.
History
Mystory vs. History
Early on, I started thinking … about the neighbour, and a story about the person next door. I had a story—My Story, and the neighbor had a story—HISTORY. And this was how our conversation went, after knocking on my neighbour’s door.
I said
Mystory: Ghetto dreamer
And he said
History: Blah
Mystory: What is a ghetto
History: Blah
Mystory: What did you say?
History: Blah
Mystory: Is that a question about reality?
History: You are talking about philosophy
Mystory: What is philosophy?
History: Blah
Mystory: Miles of fortune on this Trane
And if you roll-in’ you’ll never be the same
Monks are fine when you get Dizzy
My mind with a Coleman who’s got a
Horne, Sonny was caught in the Earth
After Nat went in the Fire, and Satch’ is Mo
Then most you know
History: Blah
Mystory: There is the King, there were some more
It comes to mind that there were four
Nat King, Martin makes two, B.B’s Blues
and Ben E., four
There are some more: daughter and all
Make um say, give um more
give um more
Stairways with 88-crescendo-wonder, all that’s good
Sherwood Forest—Robin Hood? Yesterday found
Mac’s knife, Abe’s birthday—take a slice
Liberty Bell
Move the thing
Did that bell ever ring?
I turned around from my neighbor and said
“Enough, I’m going to bed!!!!
History prompt
After reading Mystory vs. History place yourself as Mystory and reply using a similar approach as you are talking with History. You being the Mystory speaking to the History.
craft & writing
The craft of writing is an explosion at first, of a thought or an expression of an idea. A rambling of thoughts that may not make sense, as they explode into territories of the unknown, the known, and beginnings without ends, or endings. You?
I may write because … what else should I do with this keyboard, except explore, adore to explore the truth of these finger movements from the brain to the draining of thoughts. The words, the unheard words, that manage to take the fingers on an adventurous keyboard journey.
Now, if what I have written does, or does not, make sense, then upon review, we, I start again.
For you to follow the meaning or meanderings of the passage above, maybe the passage of time above these lines can provoke a sense of thought, a thought that gives meaning, provoking a sense of truth. Providing a way to go.
The word maze is ablaze with meaning, if only to tease the ears of thought and communicate with that large organ, the brain.
That rain is plain, plainly playing on your brain. Or was it … the train remains, or the brain rains plainly … ok ok ok.
Back to the head …
The craft of writing is an explosion at first, of a thought or an expression of an idea.
A rambling of thoughts that may not make sense, as they explode into territories of the unknown, the known, and beginnings without ends, or endings.
craft & writing Prompt
Write 20 rambling sentences making sense or non-sense.
Write 20 thought out sentences about writing.
Write 10 sentences about truths.
Cut each full sentence and place them in a pile together, in a hat or box or bag. Shake the bag, box or hat. Pick one of the sentences, then another and compose a story, a meandering thought, or just non-sense with the 50 sentences you have created.
Performance
Black As Seven Midnights
They enter stage left. The audience is staring at the glittering costumes of the lead singer and band members. It is a dream. The lights dim and the house lights go out, out to darkness. When the lights come up, the musicians are now in sparkling turquoise green costumes, glowing as they take theIr places on stage.
Earlier, while in the green room, the lead singer said that when they become tired on stage, they get down on one knee, or two knees, and sing or speak to “little people” they conjure up right there on the stage.
The stage goes black again, the performers enter from both sides. The darkness lifts gradually; the smoke drifts, leaving a greyness through the blackness. The performers are now dressed in black.
The guitar starts to play an insane 4/4 rhythm, then comes the bass and drums, and next a roaring horn section. The lead singer and backup singers cry out in unison:
BLACK AS SEVEN MIDNIGHTS.
AS WE TRAVELED THRU THE UNKNOWN
FEATS OF COURAGE IN THE STORM
HOLDING EACH OTHER
WAITING OUT THE STORM
YES IT IS
BLACK AS SEVEN MIDNIGHTS
ARE OUR HOPES GONE?
OUR HOPES ARE SOARING
WITH AT LAST A HOME
FROM WHERE WE WERE
WE WERE TORTURED AND ALONE
INSULTED, JAILED, BROKE, BUSTED
AND DISGUSTED
BUT
WE WOULD JOURNEY ON
REMEMBERING, REMEMBERING
THAT SONG
BLACK AS SEVEN MIDNIGHTS.
Performance Prompt
After reading BLACK AS SEVEN MIDNIGHTS, WRITE a piece substituting a different colour for BLACK, in your new description of the performance and poem.
Poem
Their Song
I was aware that I wanted to be heard
I remember hearing the poems of
e.e.
with the teacher speaking as if they knew
how e .e. or Ogden or Yeats yammered on
maybe even struggling through the images
and metaphors
It was their song
Even Howling Wolf, a blues poet
could be just as stoic as a Greek
But to complete this as a thought
I remember wanting to be liked,
but only liked for what was said
not for what was done
instead
I could not find the secret key
to the success of the longevity quest
It’s not only the age,
And then life began
you see