Monsters of Rock: GWAR

MonstersOfRock-GWAR-header

We are deeply saddened to have heard about the death of Dave Brockie aka Oderus Urungus of GWAR. He was an amazing guy and quite the entertainer. Here’s our visit with him from INKED’s Horror Issue, including a Spotify GWAR playlist:

The extraterrestrial Heavy Metal band GWAR invites us into their lair.


Since day one of this magazine, it has been INKED’s mission to fully document the wild world of tattoos. Up until now, we have mostly focused on humans, but in order to broaden our horizons we decided to reach out to the aliens known as the Scumdogs of the Universe. You may be familiar with them because they started a band here on Earth called Gwar. Although the band members have a bit of a reputation for killing humans that cross their paths, they agreed to let us into their fortress—in Antarctica, naturally—on a lazy Thursday afternoon. With bloodlust and regular lust fulfilled just prior to our visit, Oderus Urungus, Gwar’s leader (who is sometimes known as the human Dave Brockie), discussed tattoos, tanks, and the amount of blood that Gwar has spilled over the years.

INKED: Hello, Oderus. What took you so long to answer the door?

ODERUS URUNGUS: Hello! Sorry, I was slogging my knob—you know what I mean? I’ve got that feeling like most dudes do after they get their fucking nuts fucking cracked open. I came like a keg of beer, like a fucking water fountain, for at least 30 or 40 minutes. Drowned the chick in sperm. Well, I don’t really know if you would call it sperm. She didn’t really drown, either—she sort of melted. It was disgusting either way but I enjoyed the hell out of it. I’ve been kicking back, smoking weed, smoking crack; it’s a beautiful day in Antarctica.

The penguins are not attacking the castle right now. So it might be one of those most rare of things in the Gwar universe, a peaceful day. Now, if it is peaceful that means that we’ll have to start a war. We’ll probably invade somewhere like South America or South Africa, somewhere that’s fairly close to us so that it won’t be too inconvenient.

What’s going on with the band? Have you been working on recording anything?

That was, like, two questions at once! Jesus! What the hell is going on out there? What are you people smoking? ’Cause I want some right now. We are unleashing yet another completely savage assault on the human race: our album [Battle Maximus, released in September] and a huge, world-encompassing tour with a brand-new show telling the whole, disgusting story of Gwar and what has been going on with us the last couple of years. There will be new creatures to be destroyed and a few celebrities and historical and political figures that we put to death in as rude a fashion as possible. So there’s lots of cool stuff going on in the world of Gwar. But let’s never forget that at all times the whole point of the entire thing is to get my dick sucked and be fucked up all the time!

Isn’t killing your main goal?

That’s so important that I don’t even feel that I need to mention it. That’s such an inherent part of my being that I don’t—I mean, literally, you can die just from smelling me. That’s how I originally got my name, Oderus—I was such a bad-smelling baby that I wiped out all the other babies in the infirmary. Actually, it was in a gladiatorial pit, I think. I was born with a sword in my hand, which of course made for a rather difficult labor for my mother.

In all the years Gwar has been touring how much blood do you think you have spilled?

That is the single-most-asked question of all of the incredibly stupid questions that I’ve gotten over years. Not to say that your question is stupid; it’s certainly not any stupider than all of the other times it’s been asked. I may be stupider than that stupid question because I can’t count. I do know it would have to be measured in gallons. It’s definitely more than a few buckets. Sometimes it depends on what size of a crowd shows up. Let’s say we have a thousand people and we actually manage to kill every single one of them and drain them of every single drop of blood that is in their body. At that point—I don’t know. It’s too confusing. There’s the victim, and here’s the sword, and I just don’t give a shit anymore. Let’s just say that at [one] Gwar show there was so much blood spilled that the fans who survived performed a slam pit using rowboats. It was amazing. It became a mosh-boat-pit thing. It was the first mosh pit that was ever floated. It was a very unique experience. The handicapped were encouraged to join in the fun. We’ve always encouraged the handicapped because most times these people became handicapped at a Gwar show. We want them to come back so we can finish the job!

Last summer you executed Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi and her baby onstage. What was the most fulfilling celebrity murder you’ve committed?

There have been so many. You seem to think that I make some kind of distinction between the different people that I kill onstage. That couldn’t be further from the truth. I have no idea who these people are or why they are famous, nor do I care. That’s like paying attention to the actions of an insect or trying to write a thesis on the philosophy of being a fucking tree sloth. I don’t give a fuck about these people! I just wish I could kill Woody Allen. I want to kill Woody Allen. I don’t even know why, but I do. Kill him!

Tell us a bit about how Scumdogs get tattoos.

I have various war symbols all over my thorny hide. Let me tell you, it is not easy to tattoo a Scumdogian; our skin is designed to deflect broadswords. It’s a little bit tough on tattoo needles. Though certain artists have mustered the force required to brand our flesh with various symbols to commemorate particularly gruesome and dis- gusting orgies of violence and terror.

Can you describe the kind of artwork that would properly commemorate such a thing?

Recently I had an image of myself tattooed on me. It was myself as a boy in commemoration of a song that is on our new album. The song is called “Raped at Birth.” It recalls the time of my life when I was born, fully grown, already in armor, a broadsword in hand, directly into a gladiatorial arena where I fought for my life in front of an intergalactic pay-per-view audience. So that would be one of the symbols. Of course my back is branded with the chaos arrows, the closest thing we have to a talisman, I suppose. The great chaos arrows—eight red rays emanating from the essential orb with an eyeball in the middle, which implies the third eye, or the second eye, or the fourth eye, whatever. The eye that can see within, the eye that can see through time, the eye that can see through space. The mind’s eye, if you will. Then wings sprout from the eyeball and in this way I say let these visions take flight and spread my filthy majesty across the universe. There’s all kinds of symbology in my tattoos. I could sit here and babble on about it repeatedly for hours. For instance, the tank I have tattooed across my arm. It isn’t any particular model of tank, and that was done on purpose. I wish to fuse all forms of human tanks into one and therefore not have a nationality associated with it. I just wanted the symbol of the tank, one of my favorite things that humans have ever created.

What makes you so fond of tanks?

So much time and effort and skill and care and money goes into the crafting of these machines that are designed to destroy each other. It’s the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. The utter futility and waste of it all is hilarious to me. So it’s kind of a symbol of what your race is capable of doing but that they are doing it in a completely backward direction. I would have to say: More of that, please. It has always been Gwar’s goal to destroy the human race and escape this planet. Unfortunately, humans seem to love each other so much that you are breeding faster than we can kill you.

Uh, thank you?

You’re welcome, and mercifully this visit has come to a close! Thank you, human, and all of the readers of INKED. All you readers keep going out there and having your bodies scarred and mutilated with all sorts of outlandish designs.

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