Beyond “Mother”: a primer on Danzig

Is he a genius, or a meme? Let’s take a look at music’s most underrated ghoul du jour

 It’s a dark and stormy night. You’re alone in the house. The dog keeps barking at something outside. You peek through the blinds, but the spattering of rain against the window blurs your view. Is that a man standing outside, or a tree? Lightning strikes and you scream, because, yes, the flash reveals a man—pale, soaked, and corpse-like—lurching toward your door. He looked like he just crawled out of a lake in hell. 

Then, a knock at the door. The room flares again with lightning. You hit the button on your Ring app, and get a good view of the man—it’s even worse than you thought. But you also recognize him. 

“Danzig?” You ask through the little security camera. “Famous singer Glenn Danzig?” 

“My car broke down,” he grunts. “Can I come in and use your phone?” 

Do you let Danzig—solo artist, as well as lead songwriter for The Misfits and Samhain—into your house? 

What do you do? What do you do? 

**** 

I’ve often considered covering Danzig for the “Is This Band Good?” series, but I haven’t for a few reasons: For one, despite his penchant for doing things that will get him mocked or meme-ified, the songwriter has left an undeniable mark on rock music. Let’s not forget that he, with his work in The Misfits, crafted a style of horror-punk so indelible that it’s still being revered and copied today. Can a horror punk band even exist if it doesn’t sound a little like The Misfits? I don’t think so. 

The other reason not to question Danzig’s validity: the dude is fucking scary. If I were in the above scenario, I wouldn’t let him into my home. He’s notorious for his hair-trigger temper and general unpleasantness. When people started talking about a live-action X-Men movie back in the early ‘90s (“people” = me and my friends at recess during 5th grade), Danzig was always the natural pick to play Wolverine because they shared the same fit and temperament (don’t ask me how 5th graders knew about Danzig). 

But the main reason I wouldn’t include Danzig in “Is This Band Good?” is because...I kind of really like Danzig. I just think he’s neat. There are many valid reasons to dismiss him—from the misogynist lyrics to things he’s said about Planned Parenthood and Muslim bans. But his artistic vision is singular, uncompromised and unequivocal, and I respect that (even if that vision is the same as a 13-year-old who’s obsessed with T&A, Heavy Metal and horror films). I’m not trying to defend him, but I get the sense that Danzig doesn’t really care about the politics and systems of the modern world, and therefore does not put much thought into politically-inclined interview questions. He’s just a working class guy who grew up lifting weights and fixing cars with his friends in Lodi, New Jersey, and in their spare time they cultivated a passionate community of punks via intense live performances and a robust DIY fan-mail club, “The Fiend Club.” 

Sure, it’s easy to dismiss Danzig. It’s easy to make fun, mock, and meme him. The man certainly doesn’t do himself any favors. But he’s also, in my opinion, a rogue genius who’s managed to retain artistic control over the macabre empire he’s built. In other words, he’s much more than “Mother,” and The Misfits. 

Let’s take a look at music’s most underappreciated ghoul. 

The Misfits

We don’t need to spend very much time discussing The Misfits. If you’re unfamiliar with them, I’d advise you to consult your local library or evil shoppe. 

Essentially, Glenn Danzig formed The Misfits with brothers Doyle (guitar) and Jerry Only (bass) in the late ‘70s while they were all still in high school. Misfits never had a regular drummer, so when people say “the original Misfits,” those three are who they’re talking about. 

The Misfits blasted out of the gate with their aesthetics intact, which is perhaps what makes them so enduring. They weren’t the first band to supercharge pop melodies of the ‘50s—that’s pretty much what all those early punk bands did—but they blended in their own influences (horror, sci fi, pulp, comic books) in a way that politically-minded bands eschewed. This gave them a sort of license to really dig into whatever depraved fictions they could think up, resulting in some lyrics that are still shocking today (especially whenb delivered in Danzig’s ‘50s-inspired croon). Like, the famous opener of “Last Caress”— “I’ve got something to say, I killed your baby today”—is not even the band’s most lurid lyric. 

Right out of the gate, The Misfits were a spectacle. Even in their earliest photos, they were rocking signature devil-locks and corpse paint—a look that will be emulated by horror punks until the end of time. Even if they didn’t have customized, evil-looking instruments and the iconic Crimson Ghost skull logo spray painted on their amps, the sheer visage of Danzig flanked by hulked-out Doyle and Jerry Only was an awesome sight, indeed. Imagine a band of WWF wrestlers who just returned from the dead—but who also were Jersey-style pissed all the time. That’s The Misfits. 

But Danzig being Danzig, his temper and inability to get along with others led to the dissolution of Misfits, and he immediately jumped into his next music project, Samhain. 

(Before we move onto Samhain, let’s talk about my favorite Misfits story, which is when Misfits opened up for The Damned in NYC, and afterward Jerry Only asked Damned singer Dave Vanian if they could open up for The Damned in the UK. Vanian was like, “um, sure?” The Misfits flew out to the UK, only to realize that Vanian hadn’t thought they were serious. So they just kicked rocks around London, and Danzig ended up in jail after fighting with British skinheads, resulting in The Misfits’s song “London Dungeon”)

10 Essential Misfits Tracks: 

Where Eagles Dare
Last Caress
Hybrid Moments
Skulls
Die, Die My Darling
Halloween
Horror Business
Astro Zombies
Devilock

Samhain

Is it pronounced “sam-hain”? Or “saw-wain” after the Celtic dark harvest festival (i.e. the original Halloween)? Whatever the case, Samhain, in my opinion, is the best synthesis of everything that Danzig does well. The band does away with all the fun Halloween-y aspects of The Misfits and dives into straight-up evil. It’s like going from a spook house to an exorcism: they’re more serious, darker, and just grimy. Listen to “Horror Biz”—a reworked version of The Misfits’ “Horror Business”—and you get the idea. 

PS: “Horror Business” might be my favorite Misfits song, and I like Samhain’s version better. 

It’s strange to think that Samhain is the least-known project in Danzig’s canon, because for a certain sect of punks, Samhain’s emergence in the mid-’80s had the same impact as Foo Fighters’ post-Cobain death. A phoenix rising from the ashes and all that. Danzig had enough scene cred that musicians were traveling from out of state to audition this new, darker, moodier version of The Misfits. With this type of artistic control, Danzig is at his most unadulterated self—a quality that would become watered-down once he started hanging out with Rick Rubin (which we’ll get to). 

I fucking love the production on Samhain’s first album, Initium. It sounds simultaneously pummeling and distant, as if you just walked into an empty warehouse and witnessed sacrificial ritual going on at the other end. The album’s chock-full of distorted vocals, church bells, and primordial caveman-like chants. Simply, Initium sounds like something you should not be listening to, a forbidden thing. 

Samhain’s next release, Unholy Passion, is great, and even more so for the large-breasted bat/woman/ghoul thing illustration on the cover. This is Danzig’s idea of art. I can imagine him finishing this drawing, leaning back in his chair, and being like, “Danzig, you’ve done it again.” 

November Coming Fire is my favorite of the Samhain releases—partly because I have a soft spot for their then-new drummer London May—but also it shows the band stretching their style while retaining their evil. “November’s Fire,” dare I say, sounds almost dancey? I mean, you could probably get away with playing this at a goth club night. 

I’m not really familiar with the final Samhain release Final Descent, but this was about the time that Def Jam founder/music meddler Rick Rubin caught an “incredible” (his own words) blood-soaked Samhain performance and made it his personal mission to turn Danzig into a rock star. At Rubin’s request Danzig kicked out everyone in the band (except bassist Eerie Von), and replaced them with guitar and drum powerhouses, John Christ and Chuck Biscuits. For this reason, Danzig’s first solo iteration is almost like a boy-band experiment in metal music, masterminded by Rubin. 

Samhain’s music is very difficult  to find—you can’t find it on streaming services (yet), and Danzig, god bless him, just lets his shit go out of print, which I think is a cool and effective way of maintaining and controlling his art—not to mention giving those in the know a feeling of exclusivity. But it’s frustrating as a consumer. I’m certain this is why Samhain is the least-popular of Danzig’s projects, but also it adds to the band’s forbiddenness, in my opinion. If anyone has an extra $666 to spare, can you buy me the box set? 

10 Essential Samhain Tracks:

Horror Biz
Archangel
Black Dream
November Fire
He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named
Mother of Mercy
In My Grip
Unholy Passion
All Hell
Twist of Cain

Danzig

Unlike The Misfits-to-Samhain transition, Danzig’s first solo album isn’t really a departure of what came before it. Conceptually, sonically, and lyrically, it’s pretty similar to Samhain’s later stuff. The way I see it, Rick Rubin saw an opportunity and offered a Faustian deal that promised Danzig creative control which, in reality, was always Rubin’s. 

And the reason I say this is because there’s no way a musician would make an album that sounded as bad as Danzig’s first album. Like, the songs are good (“Mother”, indeed, is a great song), but what the hell is going on with the production? It sounds like Rubin was trying to make a hip-hop record: everything sounds dry and high-pitched. Nothing about it feels scary or dangerous. The album is like listening to music on iPhone speakers. 

Rubin—who produced Danzig’s first, second and fourth albums—famously hated reverb, and loved AC/DC’s flat sound, but by putting everything so high and dry in the mix, Danzig feels defanged. I generally avoid listening to Danzig, despite my forever love for “Mother.”

(Also, I’m not a parent, but I feel like heeding Danzig’s warning in “Mother” by not allowing your children to approach Danzig or listen to him—is pretty good parenting advice).

Danzig II: Lucifuge is better. For whatever reason, the sound is fuller, and “Long Way Back From Hell” is a, uh, hell of an opener. This album also finds Glenn exploring some more traditional rock ‘n’ roll, blues, and even country sounds, as in “I’m The One.” Don’t get me wrong, I love the man’s pained wolf howl, but it turns out his voice can be good when you strip away the distortion. The opening of “Devil’s Plaything”, dare I say, actually sounds tender? (Again, parents, don’t let this tenderness trick you into allowing your children near Danzig). 

Danzig III: How the Gods Kill is my favorite Danzig album. This was made when Danzig’s popularity began to wane, which caused Rick Rubin to lose interest in the project. But without Rubin’s meddling, Danzig made a truly weird and great album that goes fucking hard. Some of it feels a little like Metallica’s Black Album, like the slow builder “How The Gods Kill,” but “Dirty Black Summer” and “Left Hand Black” showcase the man at his most confident doing what he does best: slinging heavy, dirty rock should be played in From Dusk Til Dawn-style strip clubs.

Danzig III also has probably the coolest, strangest and most affecting song he put out, “Sistinas,” a haunting ballad that sounds like whatever Lana Del Rey has been trying to do for the past decade. 

Sometime after Danzig III came out, “Mother” became a radio hit, despite it having been released three or four years earlier. This renewed attention brought Rick Rubin back to the producer’s chair for Danzig 4 (seriously, the guy has not met an opportunity he can’t exploit).

Objectively, Danzig 4 is probably the guy’s most accomplished and accessible album, despite it being the most Satanic. At the time, the band was getting a lot of flack for devil-worshiping lyrics and imagery, so with 4, they just leaned into it. The album features tons of backwards-recorded messages, Gregorian chants, and spooky experimental elements. It’s textured and meticulous—it’s obvious the band pushed themselves on this one. 4 also has a hidden track called “Invocation” which Danzig described as "about a demon fucking somebody." Wordsmith, that guy. 

Despite all the evil they pumped into the album, this is the first album where Danzig kind of sounds… normal? And that’s a bummer. A lot of these songs could have been alt-rock singles in the mid-‘90s. There are good songs on this album (“Little Whip” and “Dominion”), but for the first time, it feels like he’s traded in his lone wolf status and started running with the pack. 

After 4, Danzig got rid of everyone in his band and set out to make a techno/industrial record. Danzig 5: Blackaciddevil is an unhinged trainwreck of an album. Nothing normal about this one. I’d recommend listening to this only if you want to hear Danzig screaming “I’M GONNA MAKE YOU COME!” through distorted vocals [shudders].

Honestly, I really haven’t given albums 6 and 7 very much attention, but haven’t liked what I’ve heard. They just sound like the type of heavy music that was popular in the late-‘90s: heavy guitars with lite techno elements, similar to shit like Rob Zombie Orgy or Filter. But I would suggest listening to “Thirteen”, the song Danzig wrote for Johnny Cash, which was also used at the beginning of The Hangover. 

After putting out his seventh album, Danzig just stopped making music. I’m not sure what he did in that time. Probably just squandered in his dilapidated Los Feliz home, spending money on action figures and Frankenberry cereal. 

But in 2017, fifteen years after his previous album, he put out Black Laden Crown, featuring one of the worst album covers in history, but also totally appropriate for a Danzig album (“Danzig, you’ve done it again!” he said to himself, again). 

Black Laden Crown has no business being as good as it is. For one, weariness sounds good on Danzig, and the man’s voice—ravaged from decades of howling—is like pouring a fine aged whiskey into your ears. You know the joy that comes from witnessing an old cat get the zoomies again? That’s what it’s like listening to Black Laden Crown. “Devil on Highway 9” is the type of leather-cowboy-hat sleaze that we’ve been missing since Danzig III, and “Last Ride” has the ominous menace of “Thirteen.” Black Laden Crown is Danzig’s “Watch the Throne.” 

In 2020, Danzig put out an album of Elvis covers, many of which were deep cuts. I can’t really vouch for these songs, but during the pandemic, it was a small joy amidst all the uncertainty. Because if there’s one thing that provides a sense of comfort and consistency, it’s Danzig. May he never die. 

10 Essential Danzig Tracks

Mother
Sistinas
Left Hand Black
Devil's Plaything
Dirty Black Summer
Long Way Back From Hell
Little Whip
Thirteen
Devil on Hwy 9
Black Laden Crown

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