The intergalactic barbarians from Richmond lost Dave Brockie, the man inside Oderus Urungus, when he died in March 2014, and three and a half years later came back with The Blood of Gods, released by Metal Blade on 20 October 2017, with a new frontman in a new costume and a record that rips the old thrash out like a worn gearbox and bolts straight rock and roll into its place. Ronan Chris Murphy produced, mixed and mastered it. It was always going to be judged against a ghost. That is not fair. It is what happened.
The new voice belongs to Blöthar the Berserker, played by Mike Bishop, who had worn the Beefcake costume in the band's early years and here also plays bass on two tracks. Brent Purgason plays lead guitar as Pustulus Maximus, Mike Derks plays Balsac, Jamison Land plays Beefcake on his last GWAR album, and Brad Roberts drums as Jizmak. The lyrics were written by the band together, which is new: Oderus used to write most of them alone.
I think we were all feeling a rock record this time around.
Jamison Land, Notreble, October 2017
He was not joking, which for this band is news in itself. The thrash is turned down and the rock and the punk are turned up, and the two reference points you will hear over and over are AC/DC and Motörhead. The record even ends on an AC/DC cover, "If You Want Blood (You Got It)". I have no problem with that. Half of AC/DC's imitators were AC/DC with worse haircuts, and most of them were less fun than this.
Blöthar's voice is where the record divides. It sits higher than Brockie's, and it takes a few songs to stop missing the old growl. Give it the few songs. By the middle of the record he sounds like he belongs there, and he never tries to do an impression of the man he replaced, which is the right call and the brave one.
Most of the writing happened between November 2016 and February 2017, and you can tell a band that had been through a funeral wanted to make something loud and simple rather than something clever. That instinct is right more often than it is wrong here. The costumes still take the spotlight, as they always will, but the riffs on the good songs would stand up on a record by a band in jeans and t-shirts.
It was always going to be judged against a ghost. That is not fair. It is what happened.
The best of it hits hard. "Fuck This Place" is the high point, a fast, nasty rocker that kicks the door off the tour van and keeps driving, no quarter given. "El Presidente" brings in horns and a political grudge and makes both work. "Auroch" is the one for the old thrashers, a riff tempered on the old records that tramples everything in its path like the beast it is named after. "Viking Death Machine" is fast and bass-heavy and Motörhead to the bone, and better than its silly title.
The problem is the comedy. GWAR has always been a joke you could headbang to, but here the concept tracks get in the way of the songs. "The Sordid Soliloquy of Sawborg Destructo" and "Death to Dickie Duncan" are skits that were funnier in the studio than they are on the third listen, and "War on GWAR" spends seven slow minutes leaning on Black Sabbath without getting anywhere Black Sabbath did not go first. "I'll Be Your Monster" is the record's coin toss; it is catchy, and it is also the kind of song the band could write in its sleep.
"Phantom Limb" is the one that stops you. It reads as a farewell to Oderus, and it is the only moment on the record where the costumes come off.
So: a band that refused to die, a new singer who earns his place, five or six songs worth keeping and a handful of skits worth skipping. If you only know GWAR as the band that sprays the front rows, "Fuck This Place" and "Auroch" are the proof that they can also write. If you need Oderus, nothing here will replace him, and nothing here pretends to.