Meet Gwar's New Frontwoman: Vulvatron

For all you '90s bitches out there who loved the indie flick Empire Records (I promptly bought Doc Martens 4 days after viewing it, much to my mother's chagrin), you might remember the character of Marc, who was obsessed with the thrash metal, horror circus band Gwar. (Which, as Wikipedia reminds us, should not be confused with guar, an annual legume.)

Founded in 1984 in Richmond, Virginia, Gwar is nothing short of a cult phenomenon, toggling between "shock rock," satire, performance art, and a Halloween aficionado's wet dream. Comprised of a rotating cast of musicians, filmmakers and artists (known as Slave Pit Inc.), Gwar boasts elaborate costumes and decidedly twisted stage shows, which offer up everything from human sacrifice (often celebrities and politicians) to unhinged monsters. And everything—and I mean everything—gets soaked in (fake) blood. Audience included. And yes, there's lots of nudity.

Oh, and every one of their thirteen studio albums revolves around their self-created sci-fi mythology—every member is an intergalatic barbarbian warrior. But of course. Every band member has a pseudonym—obviously—and don names like Flattus Maximus, Beefcake the Mighty, and Oderus Ungus.

(Some of their albums include Scumdogs of the Universe, Diarrhea of a Madman, You're All Worthless and Weak, We Kill Everything, and America Must Be Destroyed.)

Despite a churning cast, there was one man that stood in the center of it all: Dave Brockie, who transmogrified his punk rock band—Death Piggy (which often featured grotesque mini plays)—into a new entity, which he dubbed Gwaaarrrgghhlllgh. Seriously.

Eventually Gwaaarrrgghhlllgh became Gwar (rolls off the tongue just a bit easier) and proceeded to blow minds for the next 30 years. That is, until Brockie died of a heroine overdose this past March. 

A hush fell over the metal community; who on God's green earth could fill Brockie's sadistic shoes? Who has gall, balls and delights in decapitation enough to carry the mighty torch? (As my pal who is a Gwar devotee spat back, "It's like replacing David Bowie in David Bowie.") In short, things felt impossible. Then again, if there was one sentiment that Gwar could singularly get behind, it's that the show must go on.

So who the hell is daring to sully the minions?

While Gwar has occasionally featured female performers (including fire dancer and occasional singer Danielle Stampe, known as Slymenstra Hymen) the only other vagina-clad warriors (Temptress, Amazina and Gwar Woman) were decidedly peripheral.

But holy hell, is that about to change.

Meet Kim Dylla, the dinosaur-slaying, Nazi-disemboweling Vulvatron. A terrifying, purple-spiked corseted Amazon boasting a thong and huge, blood-spewing breasts. While fans are quick to note that Vulvatron is actually a co-frontperson—sharing said honor with Beefcake the Mighty—rumor has it she is dominating the stage.

Dylla—all hail the high priestess—boasts art and computer science degrees from UVA, which she's used to underscore multi-media and often mind-melting projects; she's headed up the heavy metal band Thismeansyou since 2002. 

So in addition to everyone being generally amped about Vulvatron's potent performances and unabashedly embracing the fluid-soaked depravity that put Gwar on the proverbial map, it also has huge implications for the shifting gender disparity that has long plagued the metal scene:

"It’s no secret that metal’s demographics still skew heavily towards straight white cis men, but this decade has marked a definite shift; audiences are diversifying. But there is still a lot of work to be done. Representation matters, and now, all of a sudden, there’s a big, brash, bold new female personality on stage with a legendary band." — Kim Kelley, Wonderingsound.com

While not every woman will gravitate towards Dylla's particular brand of feminism—even I, gore-head that I am, wince a bit at some of the antics—promoting a formidable combination of ferocity and sexuality is undeniably exciting. While some would argue that Beyonce and Lady Gaga more than occupy this elusive space, Vulvatron takes the female power anthem that much further; you will never, ever find her mincing about in heels, lamenting love lost or wrestling with loneliness.

After all, she's not even of this world, thus she can't get mired down in all this boo-hoo, but-I-love-him crap. She's a skull-crushing warrior; woe be the (hu)man who wrongs her. For every young gal searching for music to turn her gears who doesn't want to bop to pop, shuffle to shoe gaze, or even fist-pump to rock—she's too angry for all that shit!—she now has a monster-goddess to soothe her soul. Hell, now I've got a monster-goddess to soothe my soul. 

I might never attend a show or fully understand the gruesome glory that is Gwar, but I bend a knee to Vulvatron for expanding the public perception of what constitutes a woman. (Both here on our pitiful water planet and across the twisted galaxy.)