The Glory Of GWAR

Gwar, often styled as GWAR, is an American heavy metal band formed in Richmond, Virginia, United States, in 1984, composed of and operated by a frequently rotating line-up of musicians, artists and filmmakers collectively known as Slave Pit Inc. [Wikipedia]

After seeing GWAR in 1991, my freshman buddy Chris ran into the cafeteria to meet us the following morning. He bugged out his eyes with a grin, making a hard side-glance to push his contact lenses slightly off his irises. They were stained bright red, from GWAR blood.
I met GWAR’s manager, Sleazy P. Martini, at a DragonCon in the late 90s. I timidly asked him, “Gee Sleazy, do you really know GWAR?” He laughed and replied “Yeah, I know GWAR. I’m their FUCKIN’ MANAGER.”

I saw the undead corpse of Elvis Presley onstage at a GWAR show. The band decapitated him, and his green embalming fluid stained my Mr. Bungle shirt.
At the end of one GWAR show in Atlanta, I was soaked from head to toe in “blood”. Some of it turned out to be my own, from a gash on my left wrist. I got slashed in the mosh pit.
I have many GWAR VHS tapes, including Tour De Scum, Phallus In Wonderland and Skulhedface. I keep them stowed away in case Congress decides they’re punishably obscene. I don’t have a VCR to watch them on, anyway.
I have many issues of Slave Pit Comix, too, because for a while there, they were the only real “underground” comic books. They’re signed by Sleazy P. Martini.
I saw Scroda Moon, disavowed Scumdog, on stage.

How to spot Slave Pit members out of costume, shooting pool in a tavern: red fingers.
I saw Gor-Gor on stage. A giant T-Rex, on crack cocaine.
I saw Cardinal Syn on stage. An alien religious monster, powered by the soul of a human fetus. It was 14 feet tall.
These characters would battle the band, while they played metal. Any time a body part is severed, the audience is sprayed with gallons of blood. Everyone goes insane.

Photo: Kelly Reinhart, examiner.com

During the show, Oderus Urungus would rape something; a dead dog he loves, a rival musical performer, his biker “girlfriend”. He would climax and blast the crowd with semen from his grotesque, mutant penis. This led to the confiscation of the penis by authorities in the 90s, and the movie Phallus In Wonderland.
In that movie, Oderus’ cock (“The Cuttlefish Of Cthulhu”) returns to him, and revives his comatose form by passionately kissing him with its piss-slit. Nobody ever surpassed GWAR when it came to shock.

Photo: Scott Elmquist, styleweekly.com

Skulhedface has Sebastian Bach, Jello Biafra, a hysterical and well-produced “GWAR Kids” cartoon intro, and a commercial for “Sperm ‘N Slide”, one of the funniest things ever.
At one show around 1998, Oderus exclaimed “Now’s the part of the show where we GRIND YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO THE BONE!” At the rear of the stage, a gargantuan meat grinder was revealed, the size of a dumpster. Girls were passed atop the crowd, and hurled into this thing, causing torrents of blood to pour out of long saw-arms onto our heads. The venue was stiflingly hot, and the blood was wonderfully cold. As I caught the stream full-power right on the top of my skull, I realized that no concert would ever surpass the experience.

I saw Slymenstra Hymen sing her jazz song “Don’t Need A Man” before a booing crowd. She toughed it out for the whole thing, and rightly so; fuck those fools. They were another example of Those Who Want To Get It But Don’t. Almost everything great in entertainment is sullied by these assholes. They are the rabble and wannabes.
GWAR never backpedaled or apologized, no matter how nasty they got. They’re the Scumdogs of the Universe. They don’t care about your human ways, unless it involves crack they can smoke. As Oderus said, “You humans aren’t a bad lot… as long as you know your place. And your place is digging your own grave, with the bridge of your nose, with my dick up your butt.”
When GWAR cut a shitty album, they were relatively honest about it. Or they’d go nuts with the liners, like Ragnarok. The inside booklet was often as good or better than the songs on the album.
My local video store had all the GWAR videos I mentioned on DVD for $1 apiece. I hesitated like a dumbass. The next day Dave Brockie died, someone swooped in and bought the discs, and I felt like an even worse dumbass.
Aside from the terrific music, GWAR is all brilliant designers and fabricators, the equal or better of Hollywood. They’ve been a force against censorship since the late 1980s. They’re an indomitable band and concept.
I’m glad that Sleazy’s helicopter crashed in Antarctica, and that the sunlight refracted off his mirrored disco jacket thawed out the Scumdogs. Crack-addled space monsters have never sounded more beautiful.