Review: 25 Years of Impaler

From a wall of fog emerged the face of a corpse framed by thin, twisted blonde hair. Blood dripped out of his mouth, forming a red death grin. He raised his microphone and began singing some of the greatest horror rock songs ever written.

Impaler began their 25th anniversary celebration by slicing through a pile of tunes from their first EP, Rise of the Mutants, and their first full length, If We Had Brains, We’d Be Dangerous. Among them, “Crack That Whip,” in which the singing corpse lasciviously details how he doesn’t “want no intellectual, I want something hot and wet, I want something sexual.” Lyrics like those are what brought them to the attention of Tipper Gore and her PMRC, who would have rather seen Impaler dead than, well…

If anything the singer’s delivery of such lyrics has become more potent. To the malicious snarl heard on those early recordings, he’s added a barrage of evil growls, howls and roars. Impaler has grown more sinister through the years.

As I sang along, I looked around at the sparse crowd, shocked by the fact that this celebration of a band that has become a Twin Cities institution was not going to be witnessed by more people. This was especially disconcerting considering the treat the band had put together for the people who did manage to climb out of their tombs, and by the looks of some of the old metal heads in the audience, I mean that literally. They announced that they were going to take us through all of the eras of Impaler, one by one, with the members who originally played during those eras coming on stage to give us a blast from the past.

On the stage at the moment: Impaler 1983. While most of the band had dressed the part of the gore mongers they are, their guitar player must have missed a blood-soaked memo. His fancy clothes made it look like he had been expecting to do banker business. Luckily, his playing made it clear he was there to do the devil’s business. His solos shined like butcher knives, cutting their way out of the songs and becoming their own evil entities.

One of the key elements that sets Impaler apart from all other shock rock bands is that these dudes understand old school punk rock. They demonstrated this by mutating classics like “Search and Destroy” and “Kick Out the Jams” into tunes that fit perfectly side by side with their own.

During one of the monster songs, a costumed psycho came on stage with a torch. The singer grabbed it and charged into the crowd, eventually landing right next to me. He looked around, his eyes wild. I backed away as he opened his mouth, spraying flammable liquid onto the torch, creating a burst of flames just above my head.

He ran back to the stage to join the band in proving that they understand the confines of their narrow musical subgenre, but aren’t afraid to push against the walls to make certain everything they do brings something new to the table. Sometimes that means branching out into related B-movie topics like the fine art of lucha libre. Other times it means bringing the speed up and thrashing out on songs like “Goblin Queen.” They don’t rehash. They reinvent.

After they had finished taking the crowd through the first few eras and were changing over to the Undead Things era, I went down. Maybe my head banging and singing along got the best of me. Maybe I should have eaten more than baked beans and ice cream that day. Maybe I just got sick.

Whatever it was, it pulled the fog in too close. I stumbled to the bar, fell onto it and begged for a glass of water. My legs went out and I tumbled to the floor. The bartender yelled down for me to take my water. I mustered up the strength to grab it and swallow some.

A blurry dude asked if I was okay.

“I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Do you want to sit down?”

“Uhhh,” I said, climbing onto the barstool he shoved my way.

“Must have had too many to drink.”

“I haven’t had any drinks,” I replied.

He said something about anxiety.

Kate, my girlfriend and partner in metal appreciation, emerged from the bathroom. I told her I wasn’t doing so good. Babbled some stuff. I don’t know if I was talking very clearly. I had to use my energy to keep from fainting.

Sometimes I like this feeling. I like the thought of my world curling up at the edges because my body is pissed about something. I liked forcing my mind to keep my body in check as foggy images of drunken metal heads and rocking corpses with mouths spewing blood circled around me.

Also, I had to shit. I kept thinking, if I pass out, I’m going to shit my pants all over Station 4’s slimy floor. I pictured myself lying there, metal heads gawking as the brown stuff glopped up in my jeans. Not a cool scene.

When I got my strength up, I made my way to the bathroom, happy to find a clean toilet and two full rolls of TP. Passing out on the shitter seemed like a distinct possibility, but at least I’d be able to clean up if I did. Luckily, I won the fight and stayed upright.

After all that, do you think I put my tail between my legs and bailed? Fuck no! That’s how serious I am about the greatness of Impaler.

I hunkered down at a little table with Kate and watched the rest of the show. Impaler took us through their horror rock history. Severed heads were impaled on stakes, the meat eaten out of their necks. Band members were bashed with giant mallets. Fire was sprayed overhead.

Impaler 2008 played tunes from their latest release, Habeas Corpus. Then they took us into the future of Impaler. They proved that they can still introduce new twists and turns by playing songs from their upcoming concept album, Cryptozoology. These songs, “Minnesota Ice Man” and “Jersey Devil” tell the stories of mysterious creatures, while remaining as memorably monstrous as the rest of the band’s catalog.

To close the night, they brought the whole gang onstage. The past and present collided as all the old band members joined the new. A virtual army of guitar players synchronized up to play the song that defines the band, “Shock Rock.” As they tore through it, their stage psychos – Dr. Corpse, Crisis Control and other costumed goons – tore up the stage. They went wild, slamming folding chairs into each other. In the melee, the singer fell to the ground. A nurse rushed onto the stage to help, only to have her caring attention repaid by getting her guts chomped out and spit all over. Never before and probably never again will that song ever be played with such intensity.

Happy 25th anniversary Impaler!

(Impaler played at Station 4 in St. Paul, Minnesota on 9/20/08)