“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: September 20, 2009

Monday, September 21, 2009

Saturday night Mistress Victoria and I were on hand for the latest visit of our galactic lords and masters GWAR at the Newport Music Hall.


GWAR 2009

If you weren't there you should have been, because it wasn't just a kick-ass show (as usual) but it was the 25th anniversary of what is in my opinion the greatest on-stage rock and roll spectacle EVER.

A lot of people shy away from GWAR because they don't like metal, but even if you hate the music (in which case there truly is something wrong with you) the stage show will melt your unworthy fucking brain.


Eons ago, there existed an elite group of chaos warriors who ravaged the galaxy with a boundless hatred of all things alive. They were called the Scumdogs of the Universe, and they grew in might and fury, the greatest weapon in the arsenal of their cosmic Master.

But they became too powerful, and too defiant, and for their cosmic crimes were banished to the most insignificant planet in the universe…the seething mudball known as Earth.

Millions of years passed, and they slumbered, until the pollution of your world de-thawed these creatures from their ageless coma…and now they stride the Earth, living gods, dedicated to one goal, the destruction of the human race, and the eradication of existence itself! Wait- that’s two goals!

Hark to the hideous majesty of your MASTERS, rulers of Earth, the MIGHTY GWAR!!!

It is I, ODERUS URUNGUS, lead singer of the sickest band in metal history, Earth’s only openly extra-terrestrial rock band, and the destined destroyers of not only the human race but also reality itself. GWAR! Hulking, heaving, dribbling WAR-GOD’s who like nothing better than putting hordes of our sniveling fans to the sword while playing the marauding mutant metal that we are famous for! Star’s of stage and screen, carvers of stem and spleen! GWAR LIVES!

Vocals: ODERUS URUNGUS – GWAR’s supposed “leader”, the size of my ego is matched only by the heft of my broadsword, and the girth of my Cuttlefish!!

Guitar: BALSAC THE JAWS OF DEATH — The most cultured of the group, this bear-trap jawed monstrosity is rumored to have a scrotum for a face.

Guitar : FLATTUS MAXIMUS — This gassy disaster slaughters thousands with his shredding solo’s and reeking flatulence. Eats only vegatarians.

Drums : JIZMAK DA GUSHA—Dog-headed Jizmak is the most obnoxious GWAR-rior and delights in the pounding of all things, including himself! Hails from The Wide World of Sports.

Bass: BEEFCAKE THE MIGHTY— Immensely angry and immeasurably violent, Beefcake is, quite simply, a sexual god.

I first saw GWAR in 1996 at my favorite bar in Morgantown WV, the Nyabinghi Dancehall. Don't bother looking for it, it's not there anymore. The old Nyabinghi was charmingly dangerous with it's busted walls sprouting bare wires, unexpected steps in the middle of the dance floor where walls (possibly load-bearing ones) had been removed and the scorch marks (which I had initially mistaken for black paint) covering the celing from the last time the place had caught fire. It was the kind of place that made you feel glad to be alive once you got out.

GWAR 1996

The next time was right here at the Newport last year.

Here's the shirt I wore:
GWAR 2008

Well when I got my GWAR-stained shirt home I wanted the stain to remain, so I ran it through the dryer and hung it in the back of the closet to set. Well when Victoria told me they were coming back I remembered the unwashed shirt and decided to wear it again!
GWAR 2009

I got much better coverage this time around since last time was in late October and I was wearing my trenchcoat. This time was just the shirt. It looks way cool I know, but it comes at a price. See, to get into the spray I had to get into the pit. If you get into the pit, you have to deal with the mosh.

I am too old to get into a mosh pit. I know this now. However, even though I know this, the pain keeps reminding me...

Seriously, I feel like I've been hit by a fucking truck, but it was totally worth it.

PS: The autographs on the ticket? Oh yeah, they're real. We got to meet the band after the show (credit goes to Victoria on that one as I severely doubt I could have gotten back there without her) and get this, they remember the Nyabinghi Dancehall!

Granted, they mainly remember what a 'logistical nightmare' it was to set up and perform there, but still, they remember it!

I'm gonna go have some vicodin and go to sleep now...