Blackie Lawless and Chris Holmes of W.A.S.P.

Editor’s Note: The following W.A.S.P. piece was originally written in June 2000, shortly following the conclusion of the tour in support of “The Best Of The Best: 1984-2000.” Intended for a notably influential and widely-read media source, inability to reach mutually acceptable terms of publication resulted in the article remaining unpublished until now.

With the release of “Unholy Terror” and the subsequent interest in W.A.S.P., it was decided to now publish the article with Prime Choice. We hope you enjoy the article, keeping in mind that its context is from nearly a year ago.

Primal in appeal, something about the defiant exhilaration of shouting “fuck” out loud is gloriously cathartic, inherently rebellious against societal mediocrity and repression. The same can be just as readily said of W.A.S.P., a band that has been a mouthful of spit in the proverbial face of complacency since its inception. Profane, and yet thought-provoking in appeal, W.A.S.P. perfectly captures the sound of raging ferocity, with a lyrical intensity that reflects infinite sides of human nature.

It’s also a rambunctious attitude, as well as the music, that is held in high esteem by restless hearts, equally berated by the establishment as being vulgar or immoral—epitomized by parental advisory stickers. “The ability to be violent and reckless, there was a lot of that,” admits vocalist Blackie Lawless, recalling the earliest days when the band had something to prove, and literally nothing to lose. That attitude later came to reflect the character of Jonathan with the conceptual The Crimson Idol disc. “Believe me, it is purely unnatural, pure horror stories of how we survived,” he says emphatically.

“They hated us, every other band in L.A.,” laughs guitarist Chris Holmes, remembering the existent rivalry between W.A.S.P. and the rest of the burgeoning music community that populated Los Angeles during the early ‘80s.

Still, unappreciated by their contemporaries and feared by their social detractors, the true appeal of the band has ultimately been characterized by the devotion of their fans. “I’ve always been hardcore into them, more than any other band,” exclaims Matthew Zuber, who finally saw the band live for the first time at Jaxx in Springfield, Virginia, during The Best Of The Best: 1984-2000 tour. “They are the most underrated band,” Zuber continues, explaining that “to say they’ve paid their dues is an understatement. [Blackie’s] vocals cannot be matched, and his showmanship was the best—and I expect nothing less. He knows what he means to his fans, and you can tell he does not take that for granted.”

That devotion, characterized by Zuber’s sentiments, was particularly evident on that same tour with a particularly exuberant fan at a show at Mulcahy’s in Wantaugh, New York. “That guy was totally cool!” Holmes exclaims with approval, talking about an overzealous fan who forced his way onstage past security guards—all in hopes of getting a vinyl copy of the debut W.A.S.P. album autographed by the band. “I give the guy credit, man,” says Chris. “Anybody gets that close, that’s cool!”

“Who’s that guy jumping up there, trying to give Chris some sugar?” jokes bassist Mike Duda, remembering that particular night. “It got even better than that,” he elaborates. “That fuckin’ maniac climbed the side of the building and started pounding on the window of the dressing room, screaming ‘L’mour’s 1984! L’mour’s 1984!’”

That intensity makes it obvious that W.A.S.P. appeals to one extreme or the other. Like ‘em or hate ‘em, there isn’t room for indifference. But the bottom line is always the music. “It was always about the music, first and foremost,” Lawless insists. “The show was just a thing for us to entertain ourselves with. It always was, it always will be. It just happened to catch on with people.”