Danzig
Danzig II: Lucifuge

THE REVIEW

Already from the cover, shamelessly reminiscent of The Doors' debut, there's a whiff of revival in the air. And listening to "Lucifuge", the second act in Glenn Danzig's solo career, only confirms those suspicions, since we are faced with the customary recipe of seventies hard rock, Sabbathian obsessions, and vocal excesses that incestuously blend the most apocalyptic Jim Morrison with the most devilish Elvis Presley.

Danzig's music, after all, has always been derivative. And while this may be seen as a huge limitation in the compositional abilities of the former Misfits singer, it is equally necessary to recognize his ability to stitch together, with remarkable ease, forty years of music and pull something extremely personal and recognizable from miles away out of the hat.

For this reason, what is most important to underline about this release from 1990 is actually the fact that we are facing an artist in splendid form and a band finally cohesive and ready to run at full speed: Chuck Biscuits gains power and precision, and furthermore nails the right timing; Eerie Von's bass finally makes itself heard and, vigorous, constitutes a solid framework for the compositions, as energetic as ever; John Christ is certainly not a six-string virtuoso, nor the most original guitarist in the world, but it's pleasing to find him more relaxed and more versatile in supporting the histrionic singer.

Danzig is Danzig, after all: you either love him or hate him.

"Lucifuge" thus ends up becoming probably the most successful work of Danzig's solo career, on one hand remedying the naivety and uncertainties that plagued the raw debut while keeping the level of inspiration high, which would experience a slight decline already by the subsequent "How the Gods Kill".

And if you really have to find a flaw, that flaw lies essentially in the overly polished sounds, unfortunately akin to the typical glossy productions of eighties metal. Because if it's true that Danzig's music finally enjoys a professional guise, it's equally true that a bit more sonic dirtiness would have certainly done some good.

The punk of origins, it's clear, is now a distant memory. Instead, those who love the more visceral and frantic rock will rejoice.

How to resist, for example, an opener like "Long Way Back from Hell": driving guitar, pulsing bass, crackling drums, and then Danzig's scream, a sort of infernal Elvis intent on vomiting obsessions, dark omens, searing visions, a disruptive Charon in a convulsive, unstoppable river of electricity.

How can one not be thrilled by the Sabbath-like "Snakes of Christ", destined to become a classic of the band; or not be moved by "Killer Wolf", a kind of electrified "Love Me Tender" elevated to the nth power, or by "Tired of Being Alive", a wrenching blues with darkly twilight tones.

And how not to smile, finally, at the macho poses flaunted in "I'm the One", a sly acoustic blues that presents us with the most conceited and paradoxical Danzig (as the lyrics say, a worthy manifesto of Danzig thought: "I was born in the dirt, I never had no home, and the places I've lived, you don't wanna know, but if you wanna hear evil, come a little bit close; I was a snake-eyed boy, and at the age of five, I made love to the howl of the wolves, w/a dark-haired girl, so if you wanna hear evil, come a little bit close").

"Her Black Wings" retraces the paths of a rowdy hard rock decidedly more suitable to our protagonist, even if, in my opinion, the track itself represents the dullest and most predictable moment of the entire album.

Of a completely different caliber is the succeeding "Devil's Plaything", half nightmare ballad and half powerful hard rock assault, where the undeniable AC/DC once again become the reference point. The final choruses are unmissable, among which stands out the desperate cry of a Danzig who doesn't want to hold back even when he should: an epic and tragic ending at the same time that shows us how the most pumped rock can, under Danzig's direction, take on the movements of an abysmal gospel for the damned.

"777" is another masterpiece of the album: opening with a hypnotic blues riff, it will soon turn into a roaring Zeppelin-style rodeo, boasting an anthem-like chorus ("Seven seven seven is my name, seven come and seven go and seven will remain!"), a chorus to shout mercilessly at your neighbors until the end of their days.

 With "Blood and Tears" you catch your breath for a moment: it's the inevitable slow track of the album. Full of fifties moods, it boasts a fundamental Hammond organ that imparts pathos and a retro feel to a truly engaging piece. But, needless to say, it's the heart-wrenching performance of the fearless vocalist, once again transformed into a heart-breaking Elvis, that makes it something special. One of those tracks to listen to when the woman leaves you, and you find yourself crying in bed, biting pillows, with knuckles cracked from punching the wardrobe, and already massively drunk by eleven in the morning.

"Girl" proceeds majestically with a guitar riff that evokes the most solemn AC/DC, while the last track, the apocalyptic "Pain in the World", is a blatant theft at the expense of Led Zeppelin, and in particular the superb "Dazed and Confused", from which the main riff and smoky atmospheres are pilfered.

And so what?, I say, even if he copies like a rogue (but then again, Led Zeppelin also copied like rogues), Danzig proves to be a truly respectable interpreter, capable of embodying the most authentic spirit of a thoroughbred rocker. With the added attention to the desperate blues of African-Americans, those who came back with broken backs from the cotton fields and sang all the world's pain in the evening.

With the only difference being that Danzig breaks his back in the gym...