Danzig
4

Too brash for the rockers, too soft for the metalheads, Glenn Danzig never managed to go beyond the status of a cult figure. His macho poses and his attitude as an incorrigible show-off certainly didn't help him. If we then consider that his solo career started during an era when the cultural model of the sensitive, depressed, and troubled young man began to emerge, which would explode finally in the early nineties with the advent of grunge, the reasons for his lack of success become quite clear.

When there's no target audience, there's nothing to be done, especially when even the free publicity from illustrious figures like Metallica, long-time admirers of this small but mighty music craftsman, proved of little or no use.

Yet, from the days of the horror punk of the seminal Misfits, followed by the death-rock of the lesser-known Samhain, and even with the unfortunate experiment "Black Aria" (a negligible foray into gothic-symphonic music), a thread, or rather a black thread, can always be found in Glenn's convoluted career, revealing a consistency in intention, themes, and attitude that undoubtedly render him a structured artist with a strong and well-defined personality. Danzig is a dark and visionary showman, always over the top, capable of painting even the most carefree rock'n'roll black.

Under the moniker Danzig, our hero abandons the past jovial escapades for a robust hard rock, a shift that allows him to indulge his seventies urges, where bands like Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Doors undoubtedly play a key role. Not, of course, neglecting the always-present love for the fifties.

Danzig is a hell-bound Elvis, a Jim Morrison for the common folk, and the first three chapters of the saga (the self-titled debut album, the masterpiece "Lucifuge," and the underrated "How the Gods Kill") are a good example of granite hard rock drenched in dark and decadent atmospheres. This result is achieved by ignoring, paradoxically, the universe of dark and gothic music, but by drawing directly from the most outlandish and desperate blues tradition, which is naturally updated to new standards of metallic violence. Perdition, morbid attraction to evil, eternal damnation: Danzig plays and sings to his own tune, exuding a damned attitude that might appear laughable today (as it did then), but that takes nothing away from his visionary talent and his honesty as a performer and musician.

"4" (the album is actually titled with indecipherable symbols) marks a further turning point in the career of the versatile artist. It was released in 1994, in the middle of the grunge era and in conjunction with the success of a film like "Pulp Fiction," which revived a certain interest in pulp literature, trash cinema, and the music of the fifties and sixties. For Danzig, it's the right moment to shake off the somewhat polished metal that characterized his previous works and embrace an attitude more in tune with the times: thus, the sounds become tinged with alternative, the sounds become dirtier and more alive, and the songwriting becomes simple, spontaneous, and, if possible, even more aligned with the sixties and seventies. Far from purely commercial aims, Danzig seems to finally find his ideal dimension, which reclaims him to his people and elevates him, in his own small way, among the exponents of "other America," that of free and independent intellectuals and artists who, by virtue of unconditional love for their homeland, firmly oppose the establishment and dominant cultural models.

From a love for certain B-movie cinema, to horror-fetish comics, bodybuilding, martial arts, and pornography, Danzig is the perfect embodiment of the anti-intellectual, or even more so, he is the product and at the same time the proponent of a popular subculture that makes kitsch and excess its strengths. However, his music also holds insubordination, freedom, dissent, irony, and a sense of provocation. Not surprisingly, a humorous photo in the booklet features band members lying in four coffins, and a Bill Clinton look-alike triumphantly shaking hands with the Police Chief right after making the arrest.

In detail, "4" offers us twelve tracks that, between spirited assaults and moments of extreme pathos, deliver a Danzig in great shape. In the opener "Brand New God," altogether rather banal, the violence of the early punk'n'roll is resurrected, but things seem to get significantly better with the following "Little Whip," animated in the first part by the alcohlic lament of the burly singer, only to electrify halfway and turn into a rousing rock piece. "Cantspeak," complete with an earnest text, is a slow tune with dirty sounds and a hypnotic progression: an unusually cacophonous moment that serves as the perfect prelude for the poignant "Going Down to Die," a power ballad with bluesy hues in typical Danzig style. "Until You Call on the Dark" meanwhile delves deeply into the Black Sabbath cauldron, graced with rotten and apocalyptic atmospheres, over which our hero's prophetic and magnetic singing stands out. "Dominion," with its acid guitar strokes, presents a suave journey into the night that will surely delight all Doors lovers of "Strange Days."

We reach the halfway point: despite the various sounds explored, Danzig demonstrates a strong and well-defined personality. Everything is indeed branded with fire by his unmistakable baritone lament and the unhealthy atmospheres that have always distinguished him.

Sirens and gunshots: with the metropolitan settings of "Bringer of Death," Danzig shows us his rudest and loudest side, crafting a raw and rocky rock, with a final gallop where the drums finally return to pound and the mind inevitably races to the "almost hardcore" of the Misfits of "Earth AD." The following "Sadistikal," a negligible industrial twist for perverts, meanwhile shows the singer's more lurid side, with the gloomy recitation accompanied by relentless whip cracks. "Son of the Morning Star" certainly won't be remembered in the annals of music, but at least it takes us back to the calm rock sounds where our hero seems to fit well. A chilling finale, however, with a respectable triptych: the rousing "I don't Mind the Pain," the emotional electric flow of "Stalker Song" and the very sad "Let it be Captured," a dark ballad with crepuscular tones that brilliantly closes the album in an epic melancholic vibe.

After a few minutes in which brief traces of pure silence follow one another anonymously (the tracks are 66, and the album duration is 60 minutes: guess which magic number will materialize on your stereo display? Danzig knows so much...), an eerie church organ and dark chanting appear, just to emphasize the evil imagery from which the singer's uneasy visions draw inspiration.

Unfortunately, "4" will also be the last dignified artistic testimony from good Glenn, who already with the following "Blackacidevil" will decide to disperse the historic lineup (which included Eerie Von on bass, John Christ on guitar, and Chuck Biscuits on drums), and venture, in my opinion with catastrophic results, into the territories of industrial and nu-metal, changing beyond recognition and delivering the ugliest and most irritating works the human mind can conceive.

I must tell the truth: I still haven't figured out if Danzig is a misunderstood genius or a comprehended fool. Today he is undoubtedly a finished man, but as long as he held up I liked him a lot, and I am here to absolve him, well aware that due to his idiotic attitude and a musical proposition that may appear anachronistic, he will result for most to be a negligible parenthesis in the vast world of music. After all, there were few of us who listened to him, but we were cool: we were people who didn’t overthink and listened to a bit of everything, even Paolo Catena, although everyone kept their distance because it was said he brought bad luck (and maybe he did bring it after all, who knows!). But Metallica (before the complete insanity) were with us, and that consoles us a bit…