Live Report: Gwar, Dirge WIthin, and Mobile Deathcamp at the Starland Ballroom, NJ, June 18

Chris Krovatin is the author of the young-adult novels Heavy Metal & You and Venomous, as well as Revolvermag.com's “Final Six” blog. The latter book was the inspiration for Deadlocke, a one-shot published by Dark Horse Comics. He is also the vocalist New York sludge-metal band Flaming Tusk. Feel free to follow him on Twitter (@bloodinmystool), but honestly, it’s mostly just dick and weed jokes.

On Sunday, I went to the Gwar (left), who played with Dirge Within and Mobile Deathcamp. I brought my girlfriend with me. Here’s what happened:

 

Number of times I’ve seen Gwar: Three, if you include Wacken.

Decision to bring my girlfriend to the Gwar show: Poor.

Amount of time spent lost in New Jersey: Twenty minutes.

Sad truth: That’s a record low for me.

Number of warning lights that came on in my car: Four—brakes, seat belts, brake lamps warning, and battery.

Number of prayers said on the way to Starland: Three.

Approximate description of the stench of a Gwar crowd: Hot dogs made by lepers from Boozetown.

Fravorite Gwar-related term: Bohab.

First up: Mobile Deathcamp from Toledo, Ohio.

Sounds like: Hatesphere-style thrash/death played by Laurel and Hardy.

Good band promotion move by MDC frontman T: “MOBILE DEATHCAMP TOLEDO OHIO. MOBILE DEATHCAMP TOLEDO OHIO.”

Favorite post-song stage banter of the night: “Come back to the merch booth! We’re selling shirts, CDs, poorly drawn pictures, all kinds of fuckin’ cheese, string, bits of clay, you name it!”

Amount of alcohol consumed between sets: None. I have to drive, with my girlfriend in the car. Ugh.

Amount of alcohol this reporter would consume he wasn’t driving: All of it.

Awkward moment of the night: “All right, honey, I have to warn you, there might be some poo flying around tonight. And some green semen. So just, uh, be careful.”

Next up: Dirge Within from Chicago.

Prognosis: I’ve seen lamer bands with stupider hair who are worse at playing this kind of music. So yeah, they’re OK.

Crowd reaction: Absolutely rabid. These kids love some big riffy circle-pit action.

Favorite band merch: Gwar toilet seat lids.

Those are drum heads: With Gwar, though, they’re sort of the same thing.

Note to Gwar: Get rid of the neon colors on all the new shirts. Let’s get back to that old merch, all poorly drawn and covered in countless dicks.

Speaking of countless dicks: These diehard Gwar fans are some of the rudest and grossest motherfuckers I’ve ever met. It’s just one slimy, obnoxious douchebag after another.

Proud moment of the night: Watching my girlfriend get in a fight with some fat, shit-talking Jersey chick.

Number of fat, shit-talking Jersey chicks encountered on any given night at Starland Ballroom: 141.

And then: Gwar, from Antarctica.

WOW, CHRIS: YOU PLAY A MEAN GUITAR, MAN. IT’S TOO BAD…YOU MUST DIE.

Gwar’s Behind the Murder opening video: In true Gwar fashion, barely tolerable.

Things killed onstage: Mutants, gorillas, dissected space-fiends, Michael Jackson, a deformed baby, Cardinal Synn, and the dignity of the entire crowd.

Badass new track: “Metal Metal Land” off of Lust in Space.

Historical fact: Gwar invented music by stretching dinosaur guts across the grand canyon and plucking them in tune with their own rancid flatulence.

Most poetic moment of the night: Gwar front-genital Oderus Urungus raping a deformed baby with a sword while softly singing Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.”

Favorite Gwar stage banter: “YES. BRING FORTH MICHAEL JACKSON. HE HAS CANCER OF THE BALLS. FUCK HIM.”

Colors sprayed onto my girlfriend: Green, red.

Number of hammered people getting behind the wheel post-show: All of them.

Best way to end a Gwar show in Jersey: Barely making it out alive.

 

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