GWAR, Me, and the Onrushing Grip of Death

The most interesting story to ever come out of GWAR is the one people know the least about. It’s the story of my life, and nobody is more qualified to tell that story than me.

Note from Oderus: Greetings, scum. Don’t believe a word of what follows. This Brockie guy has been claiming to be me for years. I’d shut him up but I can never seem to get my hands on him! Anyhoo, the above shot is of Flattus, Jizmak, and Balsac, hard at work on their upcoming album, Lust in Space, at Richmond’s Karma Studios. Notice I am not in the shot. Thats because I am taking the picture, you knob!

The most interesting story to ever come out of GWAR is the one people know the least about. It doesn’t have anything to do with Balsac the Jaws of Death, Gor-Gor the tyrant lizard, or even the incredibly confusing Dr. Mr. Mrs. Prof. Skulhed…Face. It’s about the people and the city that gave GWAR life. How a bunch of pot-addled art-skool rejects rose from the rubble of an abandoned milk-bottling plant on a mission to make the world a filthier place and put Richmond metal on the map in the process. It’s the story of my life, and nobody is more qualified to tell that story than me.

Thats right, it’s ME, Dave Brockie, semi-renown Richmond malcontent and proud portrayer of GWAR’s be-nutted lead singer, Oderus Urungus. The only surviving original member. Two-time Grammy loser. For 25 years and counting I have been the shame of Richmond, and indeed, my own life. And if someone else isn’t going to write my memoirs, goddammit I will! So lets get this obligatory intro section out of the way and wade into the river of smut and gore that my life has been…

For those of you that have been hanging out with Osama (ask him if he liked the sandals I sent him), GWAR is the most notorious metal band in music history. Never has a group been so successful with their asses hanging out. Our continuing displays of public sodomy, our “satanic blood orgies”, the way our costumes smell…all point towards a group of artists and musicians who are deeply disturbed. But perhaps the most astonishing thing about GWAR is the legs of the project, which is now entering its 25th year of existence (on planet Earth, anyway). Who would have thought such an obnoxious concept (rubber monsters pissing on you) would be so endearing to so many.? But what’s even more amazing is that after 25 years of back-breaking labor (as my herniated L3 will tell you) and international exposure (to cholera) we are all still broke as shit.

It was a typical day. I was up early with a bong jammed in my face. There wasn’t even any weed in the bowl; I was just loosely rubbing my lips on it and staring out the window. I was thinking about Municipal Waste and Lamb of God, two Richmond bands that used to open up for us were now out together on a tour where in one month they would make more money than I had in my entire life. Here I was after 25 years of slaving it out with GWAR and I barely had enough money to blow the rest of it on pot. And Campbell (Lamb of God bass player) was buying a stretch Hummer limo with a camo-paint job! It just wasn’t fair. Then I realized there was a pretty good reason GWAR was never a commercial success, other than the fact that our art sucks and our music is even worse (just kidding, just kidding). It was because throughout 25 years of semi-success, I had been running around with around with my dick hanging out. I had even been arrested for it once, but did that stop me? Of course not! I just made it a foot longer and insisted in court that it was a fish. You see, I don’t equate success with riches – I judge it by how much I run around with my dick hanging out. But the older and fatter I get, the more I find myself challenging some of my earlier, more idealistic notions about life. Like good things happen to good people. I was a bad person, and good stuff happened to me all the time! Like just last week, when I got sucked off.

But at the age of 45 there was one thing worrying me a little. I didn’t have health insurance, and I was unlikely to get it on a GWAR salary. We are required by law to buy tour, building and just about every other kind of insurance under the sun except for… us. And ever since my ass rotted out out I have been more concerned about my health. But health concerns and funeral arrangements are just the beginnings of my lust for money! But what’s an aging rocker to do, besides fill a bus with strippers and make a TV show? Then it hit me like a wet mackerel! I would write a best-selling novel filled with smut, blood, sex and rock and roll…and all of it would be true…except for the bits I make up. The story of the many lives that gave GWAR its. So let’s start at the beginning…


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Dave Brockie

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