The Legend (The One They’d Prefer You Believe) of GWAR

According to GWAR’s own mythology, the band did not form on Earth. Oh no, that would be far too normal. Instead, GWAR are supposedly a race of ancient interstellar warriors, banished from the cosmos for being just a little too into pillaging and fart jokes. Exiled to this rock we call Earth, they quickly realized they had two choices:

• Conquer humanity and rule the planet as brutal overlords.
• Form a heavy metal band and spray audiences with bodily fluids.

Naturally, they chose option #2, because ruling the world is hard work, but putting on papier-mâché armor and making punks in the front row slip on fake blood? That’s art.

The Reality (Which Is Almost as Weird)

Now for the “real” story—and honestly, it’s not much less bizarre. Back in the mid-1980s, a group of film students and punk weirdos in Richmond, Virginia, were plotting world domination the old-fashioned way: through bad movies and loud music.

At the center of this hurricane was Hunter Jackson, an artist who had created a DIY sci-fi movie project called Scumdogs of the Universe. His film needed costumes, monsters, and generally more slime than your average dorm fridge. Around the same time, Dave Brockie, frontman of the punk/metal band Death Piggy, was looking for a way to stand out. Brockie’s solution: play shows in front of Jackson’s absurd space-monster sets, wearing costumes so ridiculous that no one would notice if the bass player missed half the notes.

The combination worked like a charm. Death Piggy in monster drag was funnier, scarier, and weirder than anyone expected. Soon, Death Piggy was dead, Brockie was reborn as Oderus Urungus, and GWAR stomped into existence like a Godzilla made of papier-mâché and half-baked art school ambition.

Foam Rubber, Duct Tape, and World Domination

The early days of GWAR were a glorious mess. Their costumes were crafted from whatever could be scavenged from dumpsters, thrift stores, and local hardware shops. Foam rubber, duct tape, and buckets of paint were the holy trinity. If you’ve ever glued a colander to your head and called it a helmet, you were halfway qualified to join GWAR’s costume department.

On stage, things were just as chaotic. Fake blood mixed with fake… other fluids… was sprayed into crowds using glorified squirt guns. Fans left shows looking like they’d just survived a massacre at a ketchup factory. Parents were horrified, which of course made teenagers love it even more. Somewhere in the middle of all this carnage, the music—a thunderous, thrashy, metallic roar—actually kicked serious ass.

GWAR wasn’t just shock value; they were loud, fast, and surprisingly tight for a bunch of guys wearing ten pounds of foam prosthetics.

Early Tours: Chaos in a Van

Like any fledgling band, GWAR’s early years involved endless van tours. Picture it: six or seven sweaty monsters crammed into a questionable vehicle, their costumes stuffed in garbage bags, their van smelling like glue, beer, and latex. Motel clerks had no idea what to make of them. Gas station attendants politely looked the other way. Local cops, when called to venues, had to deal with questions like, “Officer, can you arrest someone for decapitating a papier-mâché pope on stage?”

Despite the chaos, word of mouth spread. Every show was a spectacle. Fans who didn’t know a power chord from a garden hose showed up just to get slimed by these strange beings from beyond the stars. GWAR was building a cult—literally and figuratively.

The First Recordings: From Scumdogs to Stardom

By the late ’80s, GWAR was ready to record. Their 1988 debut Hell-O was a noisy, messy slab of punk-metal mayhem that sounded like it had been recorded inside a dumpster (in the best way possible). The follow-up, Scumdogs of the Universe (1990), was where things clicked: bigger riffs, better production, and even more absurd storylines about space warlords, sex slaves, and global destruction.

Click the Image for a more detailed review of GWAR’s first album

Why GWAR Worked (And Still Does)

You might be thinking: “Okay, sure, funny costumes and fake blood. But why didn’t they fade away after the joke got old?”

The answer: GWAR isn’t just a band. They’re an ongoing, living, blood-spewing piece of performance art. Their universe of characters—Oderus Urungus, Beefcake the Mighty, Balsac the Jaws of Death—created a rotating cast that kept things fresh. Behind the jokes and theatrics, the band members were genuinely talented musicians who treated every performance like a Broadway show… if Broadway were run by aliens with a fondness for dismemberment and fart gags.

Plus, let’s be honest: no one ever forgot their first GWAR show.

Conclusion: Birth of the Scumdogs

The early history of GWAR is equal parts mythology and dumpster-diving art project. Born from the unholy union of punk rock, bad sci-fi movies, and the smell of drying latex, they clawed their way out of Richmond to become one of the most unique live acts in history.

Whether you believe they were banished space aliens or just a bunch of over-caffeinated art students with too much hot glue, GWAR proved that music doesn’t need to be polished or pretty to make an impact. Sometimes, it just needs to be loud, ridiculous, and willing to spray a gallon of fake blood directly into the audience’s nachos.

Hail Oderus. Hail GWAR. And for the love of all that is unholy, don’t wear white to their concert.

Quick FAQ

How did GWAR really form?

GWAR emerged in mid-1980s Richmond, Virginia, when Hunter Jackson’s DIY sci-fi project collided with Dave Brockie’s punk band Death Piggy. The monster-costume-meets-metal experiment became GWAR.

What’s with the fake blood and costumes?

They began as scavenged art-school props and evolved into a signature performance-art spectacle: satire, practical effects, and over-the-top theatre.

Which early albums defined the sound?

Hell-O (1988) captured raw punk-metal chaos, and Scumdogs of the Universe (1990) refined the riffs, production, and intergalactic lore.