This Music Leaves Stains: The Complete Story of the Misfits

by James Greene Jr.

  Cursed as he may appear by the hands of fate or his previous musical collaborators, Steele had sunnier moments in life. In April 2011 the still dangerously thin guitarist wed model Jill Kethel, who appeared in the original 1988 black-and-white video for Danzig’s “Mother.” Steele and his bride married at Parsippany, New Jersey’s Chiller Theater Expo; following the ceremony, the brand new Mr. Kethel, adorned in a white tuxedo complete with top hat, performed David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” with Chiller Expo staples the Dead Elvi.[23] Though love petered out quickly for the couple (by the summer of 2012 Kethel claimed irreconcilable differences over Steele’s involvements with drugs, pornography, and falsified claims for government assistance[24]), it is certainly better to have loved the lithe dancer from the “Mother” video and lost than to have only seen her from the other side of the television screen.

  “I appreciate Jerry working so hard,” says Ian MacKaye of the relentless touring Only’s Misfits trio undertook in the 2000s. “I went to see them a few years ago and that guy really works. He’s taking care of all these things backstage while still making time for fans and friends . . . I was really impressed.”[25]

  Indeed, Jerry Only kept the Misfits out on the road and touring constantly in the first ten years of the 2000s, remaining his affable and personable self no matter what the circumstance, always extending himself on behalf of thrilled concert attendees. Yet this latest incarnation of the band again took their time working on recorded product to follow Project 1950 (despite having launched their own label, Misfits Records, in 2002). Eventually the group buckled down to produce 2009’s single “Land of the Dead,” a tribute to George Romero’s 2005 zombie film entry of the same name. A fully realized version of the Crimson Ghost skull (replete with rotting flesh and stringy bits of hair) was created by Heavy Metal artist Arthur Suydam for the cover.[26] Unfortunately, the song itself was too meandering and lifeless to inspire much excitement, a shame considering it boasted the triumphant studio return of Robo. Robo, who spent several years alternating live percussive duties with Marky Ramone, became the permanent Misfits drummer again in 2005 after Ramone departed over rumored pay disputes (the scuttlebutt at the time suggested Marky’s several thousand dollar guarantee for each performance was too draining for Only’s pockets; Marky himself later officially cited his displeasure with the sloppy versions of Ramones songs that Only and Cadena were forcing him to play).[27] Only’s vocals on “Land of the Dead,” while perfectly melodic, lack commitment and end up sounding rather inauthentic. Yet the band still had their supporters. “I thought they were pretty good with Dez and Robo,” says Eyehategod singer Mike IX Williams. “I mean, the whole thing was pretty trippy seeing Dez up there with long hair and that face paint on, but musically they were pretty good.”[28]

  Finally, in October of 2011, the Misfits released The Devil’s Rain, their seventh studio album. Helmed by noted Ramones producer Ed Stasium and including another drum shift—Robo’s recurring visa issues forced his ouster in favor of Eric “Chupacabra” Arce[29] —the album has perhaps the fullest, most spacious sound of any record in the band’s catalog. Still, a hokey nature abounds, from the on-the-nose opening sound effects of a coming rain storm to Jerry Only’s continued lounge crooning to the spate of songs that once again appear to have been written after perusing IMDb (or perhaps it’s a coincidence that the band wrote a song about “Dark Shadows” roughly the same time director Tim Burton began working on his feature film).

  Bits of rich melody exist on The Devil’s Rain, particularly in the breezy sway of “Black Hole” and the ascending UFO croon “Unexplained,” but camp overrides any other quality here. See the dramatic tribute to W. W. Jacobs’ “The Monkey’s Paw” for all the evidence you need. Only is in full Vegas swing here—you can practically see him loosening his bow tie on stage at the Sands as he playfully strains that “tonight, [he] casts this spell.” Just as corny is “The Curse of the Mummy’s Hand,” another phantom appendage-based track in which Only bellows about Ra so often it’s surprising the solar deity doesn’t materialize from your stereo speakers. It’s not fair, however, to unload all the blame here for misfire on Jerry Only—a large part of the problem with Devil’s Rain is the flat production. The oomph that made Famous Monsters such a rush despite its moments of dubiousness has all but evaporated here, leaving hollow guitars and softened drums.

  The most interesting entry on The Devil’s Rain is “Ghost of Frankenstein,” the lyrics of which could be interpreted as a rant concerning Jerry’s estranged brother Doyle. “Now these tragedies surround me,” Only laments, adding he’s “forever locked” with the titular spirits as they “bear the same name.” Dez Cadena relieves Only on the concluding charger “Death Ray”; sadly, Cadena’s voice has mellowed so much since his days of screaming for Black Flag that it’s barely distinguishable from that of Only; it’s hard to believe this is the same throat that once exploded over Black Flag’s incendiary “Police Story” and “Jealous Again.”[30] The general two-to-three star review The Devil’s Rain garnered accurately reflect its mediocrity; summing it up succinctly in the Delaware County Daily Times, Michael Christopher wrote “[Jerry Only] retains the [Misfits] name in rights only, because there is no true legitimacy left within the group.”[31] “The question is not whether the Misfits are really ‘The Misfits’ without Glenn Danzig,” added noted Internet rock critic Mark Prindle in his Devil’s Rain review. “The question is whether any of the remaining or replacement members have had any songwriting talent at all. And the answer is Hell Fucking No. Glenn Danzig may be an irrelevant prima donna asshole in 2011, but his songwriting was untouchable between 1977 and 1994. Jerry Only, on the other hand, is just some guy. Anybody could write the garbage he writes. . . . “Remember that old Dead Kennedys song, where Jello Biafra sings ‘imagine Sid Vicious at thirty-five?’ Think of how much more pathetic and depressing that verse would’ve been with the lyric ‘imagine Jerry Only at fifty-two.’ Then buy The Devil’s Rain and hear that image come to humiliating, devilocked life.”[32]

  Undaunted by the indifference or disappointment that greeted The Devil’s Rain, the Misfits continued to tour through 2012,[33] playing all manner of gigs to those still holding out hope that a real reunion with Glenn Danzig might one day be forged. In fact, the title of the album could be viewed as a subtle invitation for Glenn’s return; “devil’s rain” is one of the more memorable phrases in the Danzig-penned “Skulls” from 1982’s Walk Among Us. Perhaps this titular nod was meant to be little more than a reminder of the glory days; perhaps it was simply inspired by the legendarily awful 1975 William Shatner vehicle about a satanic cabal of the same name. Yet true Misfits devotees must have wondered, if ever briefly, that The Devil’s Rain was in some way supposed to be a signal to Danzig preceding a true mending of fences—that this was maybe the first step in the reunion fans had waited so long to see. When faced with the inevitable reunion question by Rolling Stone, Jerry Only reaffirmed his status as a Christian family man[34] only moonlighting as a satanist when he replied, “If Glenn went and got baptized again, maybe we could talk [reunion].”

  Danzig has never acknowledged the current activities of his former band and has kept his head down and forged ahead in the latter half of the Aughts. His public image may have been tarnished by the knock-out video but his bank account was not; in 2005 the singer purchased a three-bedroom home in Los Angeles for $1.5 million. The Cheviot Hills property, complete with swimming pool and decorative frontyard waterwheel, was previously owned by legendary comedienne Lucille Ball[35] and proved a considerable upgrade from Danzig’s previous abode. For years Glenn had lived in a modest but cozy home in Los Feliz that, thanks to his residence, became a tourist attraction for all manner of admirers.

  Perhaps expediting Danzig’s move to a new home was an incident on Halloween of 2005 at the Los Feliz home wherein a deranged fan began smashing the front gate before vaulting onto the property. Danzig’s bodyguard gave chase, but the intruder slipped away, lea
ving behind a backpack allegedly full of pornographic magazines featuring Danzig’s head pasted on the various bodies of the performers. Also in the backpack: a notebook with “Kill Danzig, October 31st” written obsessively over and over again. The entire incident was kept hush hush for years, perhaps in a calculated attempt not to undermine Danzig’s ferocity in the post-knock-out video world.[36]

  This could also explain the lack of activity from Glenn in the latter half of the decade. There was a six-year gap between Circle of Snakes and 2010’s Deth Red Sabbaoth. Much was made of Deth Red’s “back to basics” approach via analog recording; the results were hailed as Glenn’s greatest offering since the late 1980s (especially in Glenn’s vocals, which many fans and critics feared were slipping as the years rolled on). 2010 also yielded an unexpected creative union between the usual lone wolf Danzig and Hole/Smashing Pumpkins bassist Melissa Auf der Maur on the alternative rock stateswoman’s sophomore solo effort, Out of Our Minds. Auf der Maur had long been a fan of Glenn’s work and wrote a somber croon in his style, “My Father’s Grave,” that she hoped he would agree to duet on—despite the fact Danzig had never shared the microphone with anyone up to this point in his career.

  Circumventing the usual channels Auf der Maur wrote a letter to Danzig care of his comic book company, Veritok; apparently touched by her earnest appeal and impressed by the song, Glenn agreed to the duet, and the two quickly cut it in a Los Angeles studio. Like Deth Red Sabbaoth, “My Father’s Grave” throbs with the pain of classic Danzig as it lays out the heartfelt conversation between the hurt tenor of a daughter in mourning and the baritone workman who buried the man who raised her.[37] Out of Our Minds received waves of positive press and many reviewers made sure to emphasize the wounded beauty of “My Father’s Grave” (Maria Schurr of PopMatters.com praised Danzig’s performance on the song as “his sinister best”).

  Yet any artistic achievement was overshadowed by another Internet embarrassment, albeit one far less devastating than the North Side Kings confrontation. In October of 2010, mere months after Deth Red’s release, paparazzi photos began circulating online of an exhausted-looking Glenn returning from a brief shopping excursion. Clearly visible in one of his translucent plastic bags was a bright blue box of Fresh Step kitty litter, its smiling feline mascot sharply contrasting the tight black ensemble (topped off with one his band’s own T-shirts) Glenn chose for the day.

  Rock fans the world over were enormously amused seeing the self-proclaimed “Bringer of Death” lugging around pet supplies, and before long Internet parody artists began splicing errant cat noises into YouTube videos of “Mother.” Danzig himself, apparently unaware of the inherent humor in an allegedly satanic rock star caring after house pets, was mostly annoyed by the attention. In an interview with Buzzgrinder shortly after the paparazzi photos found their way online the singer accused anyone interested in his cat situation of “wasting their lives.” “Hey, you know what? Why do people even care?” Danzig wondered aloud. “I just play music, you know what I mean? That’s what I want to spend my time talking about.”[38]

  The pattern of Danzig doing something great only to have it quickly overshadowed by strange or ridiculous hijinks continued in 2011. That August the singer announced he would indulge fans by performing a series of legacy concerts in the fall that would include material from all stages of his musical evolution. Audiences in Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and Austin would be treated to a special Danzig concert in three acts—one dedicated to his eponymous group, one for Samhain, one for the Misfits. As with previous assemblies of this nature spearheaded by Glenn, the only spirit from his past invited to visit was Doyle, though Steve Zing was playing bass in Danzig the band at this time and indeed participated in the Samhain sets.[39]

  The first legacy gigs went off without a hitch; Danzig appeared to revel in his trips down memory lane, even engaging in new bits of myth-making (the singer was now prefacing performances of “Bullet” with claims that the city of Dallas responded to the first gory Misfits single in 1978 by threatening to arrest the band on site). The fourth show in Austin on November 4, part of the city’s annual Fun Fun Fun Fest, was marred by what event organizers later characterized as Glenn’s fussbudget behavior. Audience members disappointed that the set that night only lasted an hour were later informed via Fun Fun Fun Fest’s Facebook page that Danzig purposely took the stage forty-five minutes late as many of his backstage demands had not been met.[40] The festival’s booking agent accused Danzig of threatening cancellation from the moment he arrived in Austin that morning, citing a severe cold—or, as he called it, a “death bug.” Piping hot french onion soup, a handful of vitamins, and a Wendy’s chicken sandwich were all allegedly demanded by and procured for the singer to ensure his comfort. A doctor was also summoned to the concert site, but Danzig, a long-time critic of Western medicine, refused his non-holistic treatments.

  The Austin promoters went out of their way to accommodate Danzig, but to no avail. Half an hour before his time slot Danzig holed up in his trailer and refused to go on (upset over the stage size and some improperly hung banners). Eventually he was cajoled onstage, still fearful that the crisp fifty degree temperatures would weaken his health further. As ordered by the city, festival organizers pulled the plug at 10 p.m., only sixty minutes into Danzig’s performance. “I guess they’ve never heard of a thing called a riot before,” Danzig groused as his set abruptly screeched to a halt.[41] The crowd was irritated but not livid; a riot would not be forthcoming. In less than a day, however, there was a new way to mock Danzig on the Internet: images of the singer surrounded by Wendy’s takeout bags and bowls of french onion soup shot around the e-world just as quickly as the previous undoctored image of Danzig hauling his cat’s Fresh Step.

  The fifth legacy gig on June 9, 2012, at the Bonnaroo Festival in Manchester, Tennessee, contained another segment of haughty rock star behavior from Glenn. Photographer Michael Bunch was taking photos of people in the crowd during Danzig’s set when the singer suddenly singled him out mid-song, leaping off the stage in an attempt to confront Bunch for violating his “no photo, no video” rule. Startled, Bunch later told his employer NashvilleScene.com that he was sure he was about to be beaten down by the still-imposing fifty-something singer. Thankfully, security held Danzig back, who returned to the stage to grumble into the microphone about certain people spoiling a good time.[42] No explanation was forthcoming from Danzig himself regarding this or the Austin incident, but these particular episodes probably did little to engender respect from younger fans.

  At least Glenn Danzig could still retreat to the studio. For his band’s tenth full-length release Danzig decided the time had come for his own Project 1950 of sorts—he began assembling an album of cover songs to pay tribute to the artists and music that touched him most profoundly. In an early interview concerning the album Danzig stated that “of course” he’d be including an Elvis song, an odd statement considering the lengths the singer went to early in his career to paint himself as not much of a Presley devotee (usually in the wake of covering the King’s material). Perhaps Glenn simply caved to the perceived public groupthink that an Elvis song should be on his covers record. Danzig later confirmed the covers album would include a rendition of an unknown Black Sabbath song and a duet with Runaways singer Cherie Curie. In May of 2012, Danzig leaked the first single from the project to a handful of radio stations, a cover of the obscure biker theme “Devil’s Angels” by Davie Allen & the Arrows (taken from the film of the same name).[43]

  A ballsy, cocksure anthem sewn up with simmering guitars, minimal production tricks, and a rich astounding vocal laid atop by Glenn, “Devil’s Angels” evokes the same passion and danger as any given vintage Misfits recording. That barely contained fury, that sense of blood-pumping danger, that carefree laughter in the face of evil as Glenn ends the bridge with a joyous cry of, “Motherfucker!”—if this song were the last Glenn Anzalone ever recorded, it would be a succulent and fitting note to end
on. Thankfully, there is talk of an album soon to come.

  The Misfits are not a Ramones or a Nirvana or a Radiohead; they did not single-handedly sway the course of rock music a certain way, nor did they inspire legions of imitators across several continents. They created something incredibly unique, though, mixing brutality with melody in such a fashion. It touched enough people to prove monumentally important, a firm stepping stone for purveyors of the extreme and unflinching. Their touch can be heard in various critical sonic pockets since their inception. And no other band—not Metallica nor Guns n’ Roses nor White Zombie nor Gwar nor Cradle of Filth—has been able to convey the same startling passion or fury as the Misfits. No other band has had the same kind of raw voice. Like the long-running horror franchises they invoke, the Misfits are oft imitated but never truly duplicated, even when they slip into self-parody or irrelevancy.

  “Once I was with my friend, at his house, talking about punk names,” remembers Ian MacKaye. “I said, ‘You know, Danzig’s not really his last name. That’s a town in Poland. His real last name is [something] Italian. But who cares?’ The phone rang a few minutes later and it just happened to be Glenn. My friend said to him, “Oh, we were just talking, and Ian says Danzig isn’t your real name.’ Glenn goes, ‘Put him on phone.’ ‘Hello?’ ‘Fuck you, that is my last name! Don’t be talking shit about me!’ I was like, ‘No, Danzig isn’t your last name.’ ‘Fuck you, yes it is!’”[44]

  The story is humorous but speaks to a larger fact: he may have been born Glenn Anzalone, but for all intents and purposes he is now Glenn Danzig, not just because he legally changed his name to the latter but because Glenn has transformed into that particular character he crafted oh so many years ago. In turn, Gerald and Paul Caiafa, Jim Catania, Frank LiCata, Robert Kauhfold, Joe Poole, Michael Emanuel, and the rest are the Misfits. What are they to do if they don’t like it, or if others don’t like it? These men cannot escape their past. Most of them rely on it to survive. It can be strange to see the human side of figures once lurched menacingly at listeners from the cover of “Beware.” They have children to feed, mortgages to pay, lawsuits to settle. But nothing can diminish the accomplishment or meaning of the band’s earliest pioneering efforts. That power is still present the first time anyone lays eyes on that unblinking skull staring out from a ratty old T-shirt or experiences the powerful pause that finishes off the mournful death rattle “Last Caress.” “The Who never scared me,” asserts Bruce McCulloch. “The Misfits scared me.”[45]