This Horrific Life: A Legacy of Brutality
Glenn Danzig, horror and New Jersey
Three thousand people are screaming “I want your skull” at the top of their lungs. Glenn Danzig is howling into his microphone, but no one can hear him over the crowd. Doyle, with his campy Frankenstein make-up and muscles to match, hammers on his guitar. It looks like a toy compared to his bulk. He might not even be plugged in. It doesn’t matter.
“Demon I am and face I peel / To see your skin turned inside out, ‘cause / Gotta have you on my wall / Gotta have you on my wall…”
From John Carpenter’s synths to Goblin’s prog rock to the Halloween novelties of Screaming Lord Sutch to dramatic goth of Bauhaus, horror has as many soundtracks as it does things that go bump in the night. For this North Jersey kid, though, it always comes back to Glenn Danzig.
When you tell someone from out of state that you are from New Jersey, the first question they usually ask is a joking reference to the New Jersey Turnpike, “What exit?” The next question is “Bon Jovi or Springsteen?”
There is nothing that could make me listen to Bon Jovi’s chick rock. Springsteen is a more complicated quandary. I understand the appeal of his South Jersey rock, but I don’t enjoy it. He sings to some mythological working class of an American heartland dream that I have never experience nor desired. I grew up in a town surrounded by the post-industrial wastelands of Newark, Jersey City and Paterson. Freehold, Springsteen’s hometown, may as well have been a foreign country.
The Misfits are crude and raw. The distorted guitars thunder along at a blistering pace as Danzig wails over the clangor like a pack of wolves. Gritty punk rock collides with horror B-movies. Thrash metal riffs tear into doo-wop song structures. Sometimes it is campy, sometimes it is full of menace. Sometimes the speed drops off to something resembling 1950s style rock and roll and the vibe moves from snarling to haunting; a slow dance at Hell’s prom.
The band formed in Lodi, New Jersey. From 1977-1983, the Misfts chewed through a dizzying number of members before they disbanded. During that time, they never found a comfortable home on a record label. Only two LPs saw release, with the bulk of their material appearing on hard to find singles and EPs. It wasn’t until the mid-90s that their entire catalog became readily available in a two volume collection. When I was in high school, they were standard issue for any kid who was weird, spooky or otherwise outside the norm.
The Misfits were a cult phenomenon and the cult was headquartered in North Jersey. Something about their music meshes with the abandoned factories and all night diners and forlorn highways, especially on long fall nights. When we had venues for rock and roll shows the local bands would almost always have a Misfits cover in their set. It was a guarantee to get the crowd up close and singing along. The Misfits sound like home.
Out of The Misfits’ wreckage, Danzig formed a new band. Samhain left behind the bounce of punk in favor of the darker sounds of metal and goth rock. The imagery grew more sinister - the cover of Initium, the first LP, features the band covered in blood. Silly references to B-movies were replaced by lyrics examining occult topics and sexual perversion.
The marshes east of town are a wasteland of garbage dumps crisscrossed by railroad tracks, which an adventurous kid can hike along. The path alongside the tracks was perfect for dirt bikes and every trestle and retaining wall was covered in heavy metal themed graffiti.
There is one particular spot, a clearing that backs up against a trucking depot, where you could find spent shotgun shells, empty beer cans and, on occasion, a pentagram scratched into the packed earth. I can’t help but wonder if the burnouts who hung out there had Samhain tapes playing in the boom box.
In 1987, Samhain evolved into the band Danzig. Collaborating with producer Rick Rubin, Danzig created three blues infused albums that stand as some of the most unique metal albums ever recorded. Rubin smoothed out the rough edges of the previous bands and crafted a sound that is big and clean and spacious. Danzig’s vocals, now a powerful croon, are front and center.
These Def American albums feel more Los Angeles than New Jersey. Danzig relocated to California while recording Danzig I and the rest of his catalog since has picked up the atmosphere of L.A. sleaze and desert highways.
Over the course of his career in the band Danzig, Danzig the man has developed a reputation for egomania, a tough guy with a Napoleon complex. There is a feeling that he takes himself too seriously - there used to be a hint of a sly smile on his face when he talked about the devil, now there is just a brooding frown.
I like that people think Danzig is washed up, or was never that great to begin with. I like that people roll their eyes at his obsession with horror and evil. It is what keeps him bound so intrinsically with New Jersey. Bon Jovi is pop rock fluff, Springsteen is rock and roll royalty, Danzig is maligned and dismissed as inconsequential. Which of those three really best represents New Jersey, the butt of every easy joke about garbage dumps, highway exits and guidos?
Eight of us make the trek from various points in North Jersey to the show in Midtown Manhattan. I’ve had bigger groups of friends come out in the past - several Christmases ago a train of five or six cars braved ice and slush to see him play at Starland Ballroom in Central Jersey - but eight is still a big number. Combined, we’ve seen Danzig play at least two dozen times. Probably more.
We grumble about the ticket price. We grumble through the terrible opening act we had the misfortune not to miss. We grumble about the lack of good bars in the neighborhood. We grumble about how we are too old to wade into the crowd of weirdos and metalheads.
Then the guitar chugs and squeals into the first song of the set and Danzig explodes across the stage. We forget the ticket price and the opening act and the pain in the ass commute. Instead, we remember lyrics. We remember that, when it comes to both Danzig and New Jersey, the joke is on the rest of the world.
Minutes and songs flow by. The crowd at the Roseland Ballroom is riveted. It is October. Danzig is on stage. We’re singing together, at the top of our lungs.
Danzig’s 25th Anniversary Tour is winding up, but there are still a few dates left. Check the official site to see if your city is still on the list.
Unfamiliar with Danzig? Check out my Spotify playlist, New Jersey’s Favorite Son for more than 50 tracks culled from his 35 year career (unfortunately, the Spotify doesn’t have any Samhain in their library).
This Horrific Life is a daily exploration of horror, covering movies new and old (and half-watched), games, comics, music and anything else even vaguely spooky. Follow the collection to make sure you don’t miss a single installment.
