By Jacob Katel
By Laurie Charles
By Nate "Igor" Smith
By Abel Folgar
By Kat Bein
By Jacob Katel
The remark almost makes you want to say to him, in your best Church Lady voice: "Well, isn't that special?"
But Danzig, who has been accused of preaching Satanism throughout his career, hardly breathes fire. In fact he comes off as thoughtful, articulate, and, well, awfully serious. Despite his heavy-metal posturing, no one will ever mistake Glenn Danzig for the boys of Spin al Tap.
In fact Danzig is nothing less than a protean figure in the annals of metal. Born into the same infant punk scene that spawned the Ramones and the Damned, he's had more than a bit part in the evolution of American hard rock.
Danzig's first big gig came way back in 1978 as singer for the Misfits, a B-movie tribute that mixed horror-house themes with blistering (but toe-tapping) protopunk. Next came Samhain, the late '80s precursor to Danzig, whose sound veered toward polished Goth-metal.
Danzig -- the band -- emerged with an eponymously named album in 1988, its sound rooted in Black Sabbath-like intensity and lyrics drenched in pagan sex, devil worship, and blood sacrifice. Danzig II: Lucifuge, released two years later, added a few stylistic enhancements and demonstrated that Danzig's world view isn't all dark shadows. More sophisticated than its predecessor, Danzig II introduced sharp, detailed, wide-screen production that moved away from bludgeoning sludge to emulating the cold, desolate danger suggested by the lyrics. Danzig III: How the Gods Kill garnered as much attention for its frightening cover (by Swiss airbrush artist H.R. Giger) as the heart-of-darkness riffage contained within. The diabolically powerful Danzig 4, released in 1994, plunged back into ferocious simplicity.
But by 1995 the group's long-time label, American, began to sink, threatening to pull the band down the drain with it. Around the same time, Danzig sacked his original bandmates when he felt creative differences -- and substance dependencies -- had rendered them inefficient. New cogs were installed in the Danzig machine, and the reborn clan created Danzig 5: Blackacidevil, borrowing heavily from the computerized malevolence of industrial purveyors such as Ministry, Nine Inch Nails, and Foetus.
With American embroiled in lawsuits and bankruptcy, several parties, Danzig says, expressed interest in releasing Blackacidevil. He decided to go with Hollywood Records, a Disney subsidiary, because they offered him the opportunity to launch his own small label as well. But the deal quickly fell apart.
"We had religious groups protesting the signing of Danzig to Hollywood," he recalls. "Then we had Roy Disney [vice chairman of the board of directors for the Walt Disney Co.] protesting the signing of Danzig to Hollywood!
"Roy freaked out when he found out we were actually on a label that Disney owned," Danzig continues. "That was it. And after that it was a nightmare. Later on the same thing happened to Insane Clown Posse. Eventually we were able to get all our stuff back, sever our deal, and get out of there pretty clean."
These artistic and moral conflicts of interest weren't uncovered until paperwork committing Danzig to Disney was already finished, which meant Blackacidevil was officially lost through the cracks, though it should see re-release later this year. Danzig finally set himself up with his own label, Evilive, to handle reissues and new material without corporate/parental control. Now comes Danzig 6:66 Satans Child, which is being issued by Evilive through E-Magine Entertainment, an NYC-based Net-centered imprint.
Satans Child is stereotypically excessive, channeling comic caricature into head-banging glory and focusing Danzig themes (pain, evil, death) into a shiny black mass. Combining the band's trademark mayhem with Danzig's finest Metal Elvis/Lizard King vocals, Satans Child has much in common with the scary apparitions that grace those old monster-comic mags.
The album opens with a fast, lean (and to be fair, hummably melodic) anthem, "Five Finger Crawl," which bursts forth with sneering, chanted vocals and a panzer-division guitar assault. "East Indian Devil (Kali's Song)" shows that Danzig's love for dark entities runs multiculti, while "Unspeakable" and the plodding "Apokalips" depend on raging, circular guitar lines and undercurrents of synthetic bass for their firepower -- typical Danzig fare. But "Cold Eternal," one of his best-ever compositions, breaks through the pain.
The album ends with "13," a tune Danzig penned for Johnny Cash that originally appeared on the country stalwart's 1994 album American Recordings. The dusty country and western undercurrent remains, but back in Danzig's hands, the song becomes a pulverizing dirge.
E-Magine Entertainment also is responsible for hosting www.danzig-verotik.com, a Website devoted to the band's music, and Verotik, the comic book side of the Danzig equation. Verotik, which Danzig began in 1998, is a hobby/business that allows him to manage a stable of artists producing colorful comic books devoted to -- what else? -- sexually charged, violent imagery.