Nearly four decades after some pimple-faced, D&D-playing pothead that I went to high school with grabbed me by my Metallica shirt and screamed, “Dude, have you heard fucking GWAR?” we’re still talking about them. Heavy metal, as the genre was so eloquently referred to back before the post-Pantera crowd reduced the term to simply metal, hadn’t seen anything like the “Scumdogs of the Universe” (title of the band’s 1990 release on Metal Blade Records) since, well, not fucking ever. Not even when KISS was getting all gussied up in the 1970s, spitting fire, blood, and singing tunes in the Key of Sexual Innuendo, was there anything this depraved for smelly youngsters barely wading in the first circle of puberty to sink their braces into before jacking off into a dirty sock. But GWAR, fuck off! It was for the freaks, weirdos, the heads, the sarcastic bastards, those who’d beat the breaks off any jock in the locker room who dared spurt such blasphemy like “headbangers suck.” Boom, Pow, Whop, Smack, Kapow! Die, you preppy scum!
We always imagined GWAR was a wild-eyed pack of social lepers, burnouts, just like us, whose greatest ambition in life was to perhaps get a GED and a factory job if their shitty band didn’t pan out. Also like us. And they surely wouldn’t last long. There was no way that something so blatantly rotten and depraved would be allowed longevity in America. The PMRC would have them killed! So, we obviously bought in, and “Scumdogs” quickly became the soundtrack of our degeneration. We didn’t care if they were just a bunch of losers from Richmond, Virginia, or barbarians from outer space banished to live out the rest of their pathetic existence on the planet Earth for …
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Author: Mike Adams / High Times
