The only guarantees in life are death, taxes and that a conversation with Oderus Urungus will involve being on the receiving end of some of the most colourful language you can imagine.
Calling from Santa Ana, California as they terrorize North America on the Fate or Chaos tour, Gwar’s almighty leader immediately lets it be known that I am interrupting some quality coitus time.
“You actually caught me in the middle of sex,” he says in between uncontrollable grunts. “I don’t know what it is either. It could be some kind of animal, I pulled hair off of it. The arms and legs are gone. Head is gone…. It’s a bear. I’m having sex with a dead bear. I will finish quickly…. Okay, I made short work of it. I will now take a question, however meaningless it will be.”
Before I can even spit one out he announces there is a caveat: “I’ll tell you now journalist, I swear to God, there are a few questions where if you ask them I will reach right through this phone with my mind and make your heart explode. So don’t ask those questions!”
Asking what keeps the shock rock satirists going after 28 years of service seems to pass the test.
The secret, Oderus says promptly, is “drugs, pussy and money. Rock ’n’ roll, pussy and fame. Did I say pussy?”
Oderus says his infamous penis, which he’s named the Cuttlefish of Cthulhu, “is good, fucking away merrily. Blowing some princely loads — loads that can only be described as princely. This green, alien space jizz that burns.”
Upon mention that such jizz would make a perfect item for the merch table, Oderus is quick to point out that “there’s no way you could sell it. This stuff would burn through any conventional container within seconds. It cannot be bottled.”
Despite this big blow for collectors, Gwar’s steadfast following means that with each show there will be a new generation of fans flocking to MacEwan Hall for their first time. What on earth can they expect?
“I would lie to them,” says Oderus. “I would say it’s some kind of really cool band that everyone really likes, and that it’s great music and a wonderful show. ‘C’mon down!’ I’d lie. Then I would hit them with a sword or an axe. A swordaxe, actually. It’s a new weapon that I’ve got. It’s a sword with an axe on it.”
Currently, a Gwar concert consists of the following: assassinations of the recent U.S. presidential election candidates, the most reviled dictator in history, and God himself; massive orgies amongst the band’s slaves; more blood than the fridge of a Red Cross (though fake, I think); and a splattering of Oderus’s toxic joy juice. Needless to say, bring your raincoats.
“We’re still doing the same thing after all this time, which is playing with our amps set at 12,” he explains. “We try and put on a rock ’n’ roll show, and these fucking assholes from outer space are, y’know, trying to cut my dick off or beat my brains in. I’m just trying to put on a good show and they’re trying to destroy me.”
The media has tried to prove that Oderus is really an Ottawa-born, Canadian human named Dave Brockie, but he disregards it as “more lies! More lies! They’re referring to my personal butt-boy. He calls himself an artist, but he is my slave. He’s rubbed in butter now and chained up.”
Still, Oderus says he loves returning to Canada to play shows. With an album set to come out “halfway through next year,” he knows he can always rely on Canadians to be faithful, submissive minions.
“It’s the feeble-mindedness of the people that I love,” he admits. “They are so willing to be slaughtered. Perhaps you can turn that around and say they are of greater intelligence because they throw themselves into the Jaws of Death much more willingly than their American counterparts.
“Every show we do in Canada is huge, and not even Americans can say that. We have a special place in our hearts for Canadians, especially because you guys have really good mass murderers. You people are fucked up!”