It makes Danzig’s primal energy all the more fearsome by contrast. Rubin rightly establishes the frontman’s vocals as Danzig’s true north, alongside pared-down arrangements that treat guitar riffs like samples. Consider it the pinnacle of goth populism.ĭanzig’s strength stems from his devilish voice: a deep, coarse, serpentine croon that fills the space from the bottom up, like a deluge of poisoned honey. Danzig is a thunderous debut that sharpened and streamlined the preceding project’s moody, blues-rock aesthetic without dialing back the darkness. In 1988, Samhain 2.0 staged their triumphant return under a new name-the frontman’s own, so as to avoid royalty lawsuits-and released a self-titled album. The producer honored both requests, but insisted Danzig fire guitarist Pete “Damien” Marshall John Christ eventually took his place. Danzig was up for pressing the reset button on Samhain-but only if bassist Eerie remained, and only if Rubin could convince drummer Chuck Biscuits (D.O.A., Black Flag) to sit behind the kit. Remarkably, Rubin’s backhanded compliments resonated. To Rubin’s ears, “ Eerie can’t play the drummer can’t play.” His interests were pointed: “I never liked the Misfits,” he said. “I don’t want any of these old guys,” Danzig recalls Rubin telling him. He saw immense potential in Danzig and offered to sign him-provided the frontman cleaned house. He’d come to the Ritz in search of talent for his Def American label at the previous year’s conference, he’d discovered his inaugural signees, Slayer. This much-hyped rap producer and label owner was one Rick Rubin. That’s when Danzig got around to talking with the mysterious beardo he spotted backstage earlier in the night. Instead, lurking backstage just three years after launching his supposedly definitive project, the erstwhile horror punk found himself feeling restless and insatiable. (The show was part of industry conference New Music Seminar.) You’d think the pasty-faced prince of darkness would be in higher spirits, happy to soak up all of Samhain’s hard-won praises, just as he’d done with earsplitting horror-punk progenitors Misfits earlier in the decade. Who the fuck is that guy with the ZZ Top beard, Glenn Danzig pondered, and what’s he doing going crazy backstage at MY show? It was a sweltering night in July of 1986 in lower Manhattan, and Danzig had just stormed the stage of the Ritz with his beloved goth rock band Samhain.
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