Rob Zombie doesn’t seem to get a great deal of respect in certain circles in 2016. Maybe there’s a valid reason for that, but I’m not entirely sure what it is. As I understand it, popular consensus asserts diminishing returns with each successive solo album he puts out. That may be true, but I really wouldn’t know, as I kinda stopped paying attention to his music after he broke up White Zombie.
White Zombie, to my ears, was a genuinely great, fun band. Now, sure, the layperson might lump them in with the whole lamentable Nu Metal scene of the mid-90’s, although I’m not entirely sure why. I suppose it’s because Rob sorta-rapped his way through most of the band’s hits. One could also make a credible argument for their inclusion under the laborious “grunge” umbrella, but again — why get so hung up on genre tags?
One sticking point the prevents White Zombie from fitting snuggily within any of the afore-cited categories is the fact that, sonically speaking, they started off as a somewhat entirely different sounding band, owing way more to punk, hardcore and the burgeoning noise rock scene in NYC they grew out of. While they’d later fill stadiums alongside indisputable metal acts, White Zombie cut their teeth in the East Village club scene, playing alongside storied outfits like Pussy Galore, Rat at Rat R, Live Skull, and even Dig Dat Hole, the fledgling outfit that would later morph into Cop Shoot Cop.
I certainly remember seeing the band around Avenue A at the time. Even then, their scraggly raggamuffin aesthetic was easy to spot. They looked so emaciated and bedraggled, more like Dickensian miserables than future rock stars. I’d heard a couple of their earlier records via the independent music `zine I was toiling for at the time, the oft-cited New York Review of Records, but it wasn’t until the release of their God of Thunder EP circa 1989 that I really sat up and took notice. Given my long-standing affinity for KISS — then still deeply unfashionable in 1989 — I knew this band was onto something. Their paired-down, sludge-laden bludgeoning of that Destroyer-era standard (originally penned by Paul Stanley but forcibly bequeathed to Gene Simmons by producer Bob Ezrin) displayed both a cheeky insouciance but also an underlying reverence … a penchant for bombast and spectacle that was soon to fully blossom beyond the claustrophobic confines of dank downtown haunts like the Lismar Lounge, Pyramid Club and CBGB.
Shortly after that, I vividly remember browsing lazily around Rocks in Your Head on Prince Street in SoHo (tragically long gone, replaced by a real estate agency) and hearing the young gent behind the counter (not owner Ira …. he wasn’t around that afternoon) slip in a cassette into the tape deck, filling that basement level shop with a maelstrom of very metal noise pollution, rife with bizarre snippets of movie dialogue and walloping, monster truck grooves. A couple of numbers in, I had to know what we were listening to — turns out it was the advance cassette of what would be their breakout `92 album, La Sexorcisto... Yeah, the Russ-Meyer homage, “Thunder Kiss `65,” was invariably the winning track therein, but there were other great songs like “Black Sunshine” and the entirely entertaining “Welcome to Planet Motherfucker.”
The band took off into new frontiers after that, releasing Astro-Creep 2000 in 1995, boasting the irrepressible “More Human Than Human,” and becoming high-profile stars of the decade, complete with a lampooning by “Beavis & Butthead.”
What happened after that, I’m not sure. I gather it was Rob Zombie’s decision to break up the band in order to pursue both a similarly inclined solo career and to also break out into other ventures like moviemaking, comic books, etc. He did that with great aplomb, it seems, for quite a while, until more recent years, when more than a few people have suggested he doesn’t seem to even enjoy the process of making music anymore. But, again, I’ve not been following the narrative so closely.
In terms of the others, bassist Sean Yseult’s stayed active, playing in a couple of bands and releasing a great, photo-laden book a couple of years back called “I’m In the Band” (predating Kim Gordon’s similarly titled tome). Somewhat bizarrely, I’ve become "internet friends," in recent years, with former White Zombie guitarist Jay Yuenger, who continues to keep an excellent blog and is currently a record producer and engineer. `Tis also Jay that put together the forthcoming box set, It Came From NYC, which promises to handily tell a much more complete story of White Zombie than the somewhat rote Let Sleeping Corpses Lie (a frills-free project helmed half-heartedly by Zombie) did a few years earlier. Here’s a teaser….
I’ve already ordered my copy. You can get yours by clicking right here.
In any case, the impetus for this post wasn’t that impending box set — although it does look supercool — but rather an interview in a recent issue of the Daily News with Rob Zombie, who takes a look back at White Zombie’s early days in the East Village. It’s well worth a read, so check that shit out here.
To close this off, meanwhile, herewith a truly time-capsule worthy live set by White Zombie circa 1988, well before they punctured the ceiling into heavy metal stardom. This was filmed at ye olde Cat Club on East 13th Street by Flaming Pablum friend, the preternaturally cool Greg Fasolino.
Today, a White Zombie reunion remains strenuously unlikely. Rob Zombie, true to form, has a ridiculously titled new album out. The Cat Club closed eons ago, morphing into the Grand and that about three dozen other ventures before being closed, gutted and transformed into the SINGLE lounge, a high-end scotch bar for dickish tourists and insufferable douchebags.
Enjoy the trip back in time....
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