Gwar roars into The Crofoot in Pontiac like a hellbound comet trailing blood, gore, and the intoxicating stench of cosmic vengeance.
Forty years ago, former Scumdogs of the Universe gathered to become the band we know as Gwar. To mark this triumphant anniversary, the band has released a new album titled Return of Gor Gor. The record marks the furious resurrection of their iconic saurian mascot, Gor Gor. Now, they are taking Gor Gor across the United States to bathe the bastard apes of this land in blood. The Crofoot, that charming den of heavy metal fury in downtown Pontiac, became the battlefield for this glorious assault.
The evening began with Blood Vulture, who crafted an intriguing and intoxicating melange of grunge and doom. Their music lived in the twilight between the bleak vulnerability of grunge and the crushing weight of modern doom. The grunge aspect of their sound was courtesy of the superb vocals of Jordan Olds, who sounded remarkably similar to the late Layne Staley. The sludgy riffage had elements of Crowbar and Pallbearer with furious leads that elevated the music beyond the realm of doom. It was both mournful and devastating, a perfect invocation for the chaos that would follow.
Next came Savage Master, and the mood shifted from subterranean dread to satanic ecstasy. The band, dressed in hooded capes, emerged from the fog and set about raising hell. Frontwoman Stacey Savage, unleashed from her coffin, commanded the stage like a vengeful priestess leading the charge into the abyss. Their sound was vintage heavy metal, complete with galloping fury and blazing guitars. The crowd responded in kind with fists raised and heads banging. Together, they were drawn into the occult vortex of Savage Master’s conjuring. Helmet brought the sledgehammer to the party. Page Hamilton and crew hit the stage with a devastating set of post-hardcore precision and alt-metal rage. It quickly became clear why Helmet continues to be a standard bearer of modern aggression. Their tone was mean, tight, and explosive. The setlist featured the sharp edge of classics such as “Unsung,” with deep cuts like “(High) Visibility.” Each tune was delivered with deliberate force. It was a stark contrast to the theatrics before and after their set. Helmet let the music do the bleeding. And bleed it did, with each riff landing like a baseball bat to the skull. Gwar emerged in full intergalactic horror-show glory. A dimly lit stage ushered in the monstrous figures looming large in their armor and radiating with pure sarcastic cosmic energy. While Gwar has never shied away from the gore, this show had to be a record for the most beheadings, disembowelments, and eviscerations.The first victim was Elon. Just before ripping into the opener “F**k This Place,” Blöthar the Berserker chopped off Elon’s head. His headless torso (complete with DOGE shirt) spewed bloody gore into the eager fans who roared back the chorus “F**k This Place!” with terrifying glee. Our current U.S. president was easy pickings for Gwar. Carving open his chest, the jets of blood spewed into the audience as Gwar shredded the song “El Presidente.”
Dictator and he-man, Putin joined in the fun as Gwar tore his arms off to start the vile “Salaminizer.” Even the lovely Taylor Swift was no match for Gwar as they reached new levels of debasement while jamming “Slap U Around.” Sawborg, acting as an ICE agent, tried to claim the band was illegal aliens. The ensuing melee during “Viking Death Machine” laid waste to Sawborg and drenched the screaming crowd in a river of body fluids. Crowd surfers churned in the bloody wake as Gwar fed from the energy in a delirious orgasm of sonic obliteration.
After playing the new Gwar-tastic rocker “Lot Lizard,” a terrible roar was heard off stage. As the audience chanted “Gor-Gor! Gor-Gor! Gor-Gor!,” the truck-sized T-Rex lumbered onto the stage for the climactic set-ending tune “Gor-Gor.” More blood, more cheers, more Gwar.
Theatrics aside, the band’s musicianship was razor-sharp, driving the carnage with ferocious intensity. Blöthar the Berserker’s vocals roared over the chaos, backed by the pulverizing riffs of Balsac and Grodius Maximus, while Jizmak da Gusha pummeled the kit with beastly finesse. Dealing thunderous bass with sickening ease was Beefcake The Mighty. The guitars shredded like industrial saws carving through meat, while drums thundered like collapsing planets. Complete musical annihilation was achieved as Gwar drove the fans into their blood-soaked dimension.
As the final power chord rang out and the last sprays of ichor settled on Crofoot’s trembling walls, a strange serenity set in. The audience stood drenched and delirious, as if waking from a shared hallucination. Gwar hadn’t just performed, they had gutted, resurrected, and baptized their followers in glorious gore.
Pontiac will never be the same. Gor Gor lives.
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