Danzig, with Devildriver
Friday May 13 at The National
Of late, the topic of Danzig always seems to start with an account of how the guy went slightly batshit in the ‘90s following the dissolution of the Eerie Von/John Christ/Chuck Biscuits lineup. The inevitable reference to the awful Blackacidevil and the elbow length black gloves with those pointy fingers, then references to the secret agent photos of dude shopping for groceries and cat litter like a regular human. The fact that people choose to place such emphasis on the idea that Danzig is, yes, human speaks volumes about the extent of his rock ‘n’ roll persona. And yeah, it is tough to get pictures of him these days, as he even outlawed most press photos (which is why there are none from the show here). Despite inventing some of the heaviest dark melody in rock history, it would be all too easy for the guy to slide into a spiraling descent of self-parody. But then came last year’s Deth Red Sabaoth, a more than competent album, followed by the announcement that a 55-year-old Glenn was going back on tour. Then, of course, by the condescending chuckles from people who either didn’t hear the new album or were just too cool to care. But who could call themselves a fan of rock ‘n’ roll and not be there, in this dark age of 2011, to witness Danzig perform in haunted Richmond? On Friday the 13th, no less. Even the mere possibility of old black magic stirring should be enough to draw out the few humans with any musical taste left.
Danzig, with Devildriver
Friday May 13 at The National
Of late, the topic of Danzig always seems to start with an account of how the guy went slightly batshit in the ‘90s following the dissolution of the Eerie Von/John Christ/Chuck Biscuits lineup. The inevitable reference to the awful Blackacidevil and the elbow length black gloves with those pointy fingers, then references to the secret agent photos of dude shopping for groceries and cat litter like a regular human. The fact that people choose to place such emphasis on the idea that Danzig is, yes, human speaks volumes about the extent of his rock ‘n’ roll persona. And yeah, it is tough to get pictures of him these days, as he even outlawed most press photos (which is why there are none from the show here). Despite inventing some of the heaviest dark melody in rock history, it would be all too easy for the guy to slide into a spiraling descent of self-parody. But then came last year’s Deth Red Sabaoth, a more than competent album, followed by the announcement that a 55-year-old Glenn was going back on tour. Then, of course, by the condescending chuckles from people who either didn’t hear the new album or were just too cool to care. But who could call themselves a fan of rock ‘n’ roll and not be there, in this dark age of 2011, to witness Danzig perform in haunted Richmond? On Friday the 13th, no less. Even the mere possibility of old black magic stirring should be enough to draw out the few humans with any musical taste left.
With this in mind I sat at Gibson’s contemplating a bubbling cauldron of Budweiser and a demonically soggy quesadilla, while making an intentional effort to miss early openers 2 Cents. Devildriver have been forced down our throats by the major glossy rags lately so mild curiosity led me to the National doors around 9:00. The prediction from the blind witches was that Devildriver would be overwrought, breakdown-studded commercial mediocre-core. This magical vision proved true. But I guess if you’re young and still finding out about music, if all you wanna do is mosh or get some aggression out, then Devildriver is your band. Really, it is just disco with crunchy guitars.
Ten year olds, teenagers, middle agers, and some even older climbed the walls inside. Literally an all ages event. The wide age gap phenomenon is unique to shows by old guard bands like Motorhead, AC/DC, Maiden, Pentagram, Danzig, etc., and it never fails to raise the question of what the landscape will look like when these elders are finally killed by death. And yet most of the old timers seem to lack the desire or ability to pick quality opening acts. Certainly there is no shortage of new bands out there that bury Devildriver, though few that will ever write a song as perfect as “Tired of Being Alive.” But perhaps that’s the whole point of “opening” the show.
Anticipation flooded through the theater as we sat in the balcony drinking whiskey and pondering these questions. The roadies below set up two five foot statues next to the drum riser. Built from a material resembling stone, they were carved in the shape of the famous Danzig logo (long ago appropriated from Crystar The Crystal Warrior). At the bottom of the statues were tentacles resembling a Lovecraft Cthulhu beast. The overall effect was similar to living room furniture possibly belonging to the Satanic Witch Housewives of New Jersey.
Approaching somewhere around 10:00 a bored restlessness began creeping in. And just as I was uttering the words: “Starting to get bore-,” the house lights went down and the stage lights blazed onto a huge Cystar skull banner. Now lit from beneath, the Danzig/Cthulhu statues changed shape entirely and became primordial giant skulls. Clever special effects trick by road techs clearly operating a well oiled machine.
Having not seen the band since 1991, it was cool to finally hear live performances of tracks from Danzig III; “How The Gods Kill” was an early highlight. Despite the strength of the the new material, during “Hammer of The Gods,” “Deth Red Moon,” and “On a Wicked Night,” many people exited to the bathrooms and bars. Certain songs felt rushed, the sinister crawl of “Her Black Wings” slightly thinned out by the band, but saved by vocals from the crowd. But for the most part, despite years of singing these tunes, it was more that just going through the motions. In fact, Glenn and the band seemed spurred on by the strong turnout and responsive crowd. For all of his well-publicized standoffishness (the no pictures policy, the Republican ranting, the general surliness), onstage Danzig is aware that it is the fans that sign the paychecks. The all-too-easy dismissive label of “cartoon evil Elvis” is made irrelevant by the ability to not put himself above the crowd. It is rare to find an instantly recognizable individual performer who can also connect with the rebel spirit of an audience.
Things were wrapping up as the obligatory but inspired riffs of “Mother” rang out. A weaving drunk person standing near us by the soundboard dropped his car keys and leered with a psychotic gaze. Weekenders headed for the door to buy their 2 Cents merch, and the rest were left with the thought that maybe more could have come from the first album. So when the band returned to the stage and asked the crowd if they wanted to hear something from III or I, the answer was clear, and the band ripped off a hellish version of “Am I Demon.” Randy Blythe from local commercial metal stalwarts Lamb of God was brought out for “Tired of Being Alive.” Blythe, of course, could barely hit a note of the stripped down dive-bomb vocals, but it didn’t matter. This was an audience of similarly flawed humans, each one of us fucked up in our own special way. It is the same spirit that has connected artists from outlaw country to early punk rock. Glenn, of course, has had his hand in both of those: founding The Misfits and, more recently, penning the song “Thirteen,” written for and performed by Johnny Cash. And though at one point in the night he sang this song titled with the magic number, no mention of the (in)auspicious date was ever explicitly made. No need to. If there is one truth, amid a constant diet of lies we are fed each day, it is that quality heavy rock outlives age, date, time.
