Gwar
Scumdogs Of The Universe

THE REVIEW

Commando from outer space, servant of a supreme peanut-shaped entity, Gwar represent the pinnacle of musical bad taste. The long path of shock-rock initiated by Alice Cooper finds in this band from Richmond, Virginia, its definitive flag bearers.

Dave Brockie and his associates (countless line-up changes, no point in mentioning any) whether with their deliberately stereotypical sound and disgusting lyrics, or with their obscene alien latex costumes accompanied by torrents of fake blood and brutal stage skits, have nevertheless been on the scene for almost 22 years, going beyond the predictable attacks of critics lacking irony and decency, proving to be, whether one likes it or not, a true band. One of the most frequent criticisms against them has always been total ignorance in the field of music, or at most a lack of imagination. This is absolutely not true. Gwar play Heavy Metal (or Trash-Metal), a genre well-suited for the propagation of stereotypes, but with uncommon flair and inventiveness when you listen closely (this eclecticism is especially found in their album "Ragnarok"). The album I am considering now is, however, one of the least imaginative in a technical and stylistic sense, but surely the most entertaining: "Scumdogs of the Universe" is so full of gratuitous violence, brash ignorance, and grade-C comedy (that of films like "Revenge of the Nerds II" is immensely more cultured) that it really makes one think they are truly aliens, or at least alienated.

The music is a continuous and enjoyable Trash-Metal assault. The group's technique is genuinely good, the sound is cohesive and vicious, Brockie's voice is that of a true brute. If someone didn’t know a word of English and didn't look at the cover, I'm sure they would enjoy these space metalheads with glee.

With "Salaminizer" the landing of the squadron on Earth is narrated to the fanfare of "We're on this planet and we’re running a muck, I should give a shit but I don't give a fuck” and the low cultural level is already evident. It continues with the nauseating double-pedal gallop of "Maggots", dedicated to those charming creatures that feed on rotting corpses. Other memorable episodes include the attack on the hippie generation and others in "Slaughterama", the martial pace of "Sick of You" ("Your socks they smell, your feet they stink, You never take a bath. Your nose it runs, you bust your buns, You always finish last.") which even culminates with almost harmonious push-ups followed by choir of bumpkins, not to forget the anthem of "Death Pod", the disgraceful "Horror of Yig", once again dedicated to the decomposition of corpses, culminating in the masterpiece "Black and Huge" that truly leaves nothing to the imagination in its vile essence, starting with a sexual groan followed by "You know I'm totally flaccid - I'm just a limp, mega-prick, You know I'm looking for a stupid white chick, Because I'm black and huge", then the obscene triumph "And now you know, yeah I'm raising a mound, I'm gonna got you, make you erupt If I could just get out of this cup".

In summary, the album has the same pretensions as a drunkard watching his baseball game, complete with his cozy stained tank top and inevitable onion omelet. Gwar's total rejection of good manners is, in my opinion, commendable, and their rare merit lies in raising doubt in the listener as to whether the atrocities and abominable nonsense they speak of are really that different from reality itself, whether the majority of the American rednecks, who are their critical target, really think that way.