
Originally designed for the 1946 Republic serial "
The Crimson Ghost" by Russell Kimball and Fred Ritter, this deeply iconic image was borrowed by Glenn Danzig and Jerry Only from a poster for the film in 1979. For years I pooh-poohed and pshawed
The Misfits - psychobilly is less "Down to the Sea in Tweed" and more "Moby Dick" - but when I finally saw Danzig and Doyle in Los Angeles at the end of 2004 for one of Danzig's solo tours, I had this to say about the show in the subsequent month's issue of Terrorizer (and keep in mind that the assassination of Dimebag Darrell - born Darrell Lance Abbott, of Pantera; August 20, 1966 – December 8, 2004 - was still fresh in our minds):
"Rousing cries of "fuck you!" punctuate the night in electric anticipation - the horns of the goat are the only things bar heavy metal itself that can cut through this excitement.
Opening bands make heads nod like sleepy babies strapped into a minivan barreling down the road to...
Satan?
Very emotional, these saints of the pit, as their fellow demons start a pit of their own as the crowd crushes tight and does the wave in sympathy with recent tsunami activity. Even in the face of recent on-stage death that is not just a comically frightening backdrop, here is the defiant Glenn Danzig, touching open hands of an audience so rapt in adulation that the mental faculty required to fire a gun simply is not there.
It's an odd inverse of gospel call-and-response, singing as his fans scream back lyrics at him, especially fervid as the band seamlessly rockets into "How the Gods Kill".
It's a deeply, visibly rewarding situation for
Danzig, or anyone who writes songs, really: that people are so moved by words that they would commit them to memory and return them from whence they lovingly sprang. A quick sudden darkness, and with the molecular excitement of an atomic bomb detonating, the enormous Lurch-like shape of The Misfits bassist Doyle steals onto the stage, devil-lock of forward hair firmly in place and face painted bone-white.
The group immediately annihilates The Misfits' "20 Eyes" and the floor erupts in countless slam-dances borne from desire unleashed after literally two decades.
A metal trashcan surfs the crowd. The setlist - "Earth A.D.", "Skulls", "Die Die My Darling ("...because Metallica fucked it up!") - surprises everyone through the more more encore.
We must not weep for these misfits when they do die - but rather remember what talented people the worms are eating when they get to them."