I’ve been awfully spotty with my blogging as of late, but tonight I find myself bedridden with a thrown-out back (this is a first for me, and it is not fun, and I don’t like it) so I figure I may as well.
And despite my spotty blogging record, I’m choosing to write a post not about cats, but about my favorite band. I have lots of whacked out theories about life, and while some of them are wishful thinking and pure speculation, there’s one that’s held true. Never trust a person who doesn’t have a favorite band. I have no actual evidence to back this up. I have, however, found that the people I know who have favorite bands (or artists, whatever) end up being people I like and remain friends with. Perhaps this is a loyalty thing. Whatever it is, it is a theory that works for me. And while my 2nd favorite cycles around a large mix of eclectic types of music (namely 2 Chainz, Lady Gaga, Bloodhound Gang and Blood for Blood… imagine THAT concert), my #1 has been around since the ripe old age of 14, when my 8th grade boyfriend (I think we “went out” for a whole week) lent me a cassette tape. That band has been and forever will be the illustrious Gwar. Yes, those dudes in the costumes. Back then I was finding myself still, I started 8th grade into alternative and ended as a punk rocker, which at heart I suppose I’ll always be. But I’ve never strayed from Gwar. Through everything, they’ve been my go-to. When I got my first car, I plastered it with Gwar stickers. And I’ll always remember how ecstatic I was to see them the first time. And while I’ve seen them countless times since, I skipped quite a few, too. Why? Because I’ll catch the next one. Because I had to work. Because I was tired.
I regret those missed ones now, because I can’t catch the next one. The lead singer, Dave Brockie (better known as Oderus Urungus), died. There’s no Gwar without him. You can’t find a karaoke singer to replace his madness like the Asian Steve Perry in Journey. And I’ve found myself devastated. My logic side feels silly for being so upset. But I am. I lost part of my teenage self. The one I found every time I saw them live, even now as an old lady (the last two times I ended up giving myself whiplash from the headbanging, this didn’t happen when I was younger). That constant in my life is gone.
The 3rd time I saw them, none of my friends wanted to go so I went myself. I was sitting outside when I saw Dave Brockie walking around, and no one else recognized him out of costume. I remember going up to him and talking to him, and he was just cool as shit. He didn’t get creepy and hit on me like a lot of douchebags in bands do when they talk to girls, or talk down to me like some stupid starstruck kid, he just talked to me like I was a fan and friend. I will never in my life forget that. It’s not like I could like the band any more than I already did, but it meant a lot to me. Yeah, he’s not uber famous. I didn’t have some amazing, rare encounter. But I think the affirmation that I liked the people behind the band I was such a fan of meant more.
So I’m not apologizing for being a grown adult and crying over the death of someone I barely knew. I’m crying over the loss of what really is a legend. There’s nothing in the world like Gwar and there never will be again. Dave Brockie was a fucking genius. He was hilarious. He was offensive. He never failed me, except for two really really bad albums (but I still know them note for note). Gwar was more than just a band, they were ART. Beautiful, offensive, bloody art. So Oderus, I will miss you horribly. And in your memory, I will remember to offend the living shit out of everyone I possibly can, because above all, you truly taught me the meaning of “fuck em if they can’t take a joke.” So fuck ’em.