After two blood-drenched decades, GWAR continues pleasing hard-core fans, slamming out thrash metal and gleefully beheading celebrity effigies in concert. But for Oderus Urungus and his mutant band of foul-mouthed space pirates (guitarists Flattus Maximus and Balsac the Jaws of Death, bassist Beefcake the Mighty and drummer Jizmak Da Gusha), uncorking champagne still takes a back seat to sharpening the blade.
The members of GWAR, seen here posing as nominees
for People's Sexiest Men Alive 2001 issue.
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Dallas Observer: Congratulations on reaching the 20-year mark.
Oderus Urungus: We don't consider it much to celebrate, being marooned on your planet for 20 years--thawed from Antartica and still unable to escape. It's more like a curse! It's incredible that you put up with 20 years of abuse from us. And that's all you'll get is abuse. Hatred. Murder. Decapitation. Disembowelment. But I must say you humans have learned well. I was just reading in the paper about American prison guards feeding their captives to lions!
Do you get many fan letters from soldiers stationed in Iraq?
Constantly. They send us severed ears. Fingers. Photographs of themselves posed next to charred corpses of children. They're automatically enrolled in the slave club. Osama's a huge GWAR fan. He doesn't say much 'cause he's strapped up on our torture machine, living in eternal damnation of nipple flaying. But if he could talk, I'm sure he'd say, 'GWAR is okay!'
What pre-show rituals have stuck for you throughout the years?
I like to drive a railroad spike through my penis into a 400-pound hunk of wood. And then ruin the dressing room--kind of throw that around, like a mace. That stretches my cock out pretty good. I pour sulfuric acid in my ears to get rid of the wax and dried come. Then I like to drink: baby blood, mucus, phlegm, bile, diarrhea, urine and lots of Jägermeister and shots of Jack Daniel's. Then smoke joints and do rails. Snort some crystal. Some crack. Shoot some heroin. Do some Xanax. Rohypnol. Viagra. Valium. Klonopin. Seroquel. By then, I'm able to put my costume on. I'm so fucked up, I can't really tell if a show is happening. Then I wake up the next day in another city. And it all begins again.
I understand you were particularly affected during a concert by the passing of Dallas' Dimebag Darrell?
I knew it happened as soon as it did. I'm Oderus. I felt a disturbance in the musical flow. The cosmic metal flux was wounded. So we made an announcement, then we stripped nude in tribute to our fallen metal comrade. For once, the crowd could tell GWAR was serious. I believe that was the only time. It sucked. It was a horrible experience. He's dead. And even worse, he owes me a lot of money for coke.
