It was my own fault that I was covered in blood and slime. I looked like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. I knew this could happen, I let it happen. I wanted it to happen, and like the hundreds of others at the Belasco Theater on Saturday I was thrilled it happened. Seeing GWAR live is an experience unlike any other. It’s one I think everyone needs to try, but let’s start at the beginning.

The night built the right way. King Parrot came out fast and abrasive, the kind of set that shakes a crowd loose. Matt Young prowled the stage and was just having a blast splashing the crowd with water for the whole set - a palate cleanser for what was to come. “F*ck You and the Horse You Rode In On” was such a classic tune that really got the audience going. Soulfly followed the carnage with a heavier, more deliberate rage, locking the room into a groove that felt almost ritualistic. By the time they finished, everything had tightened. Then GWAR walked onstage and dismantled it with their insane mythology. Their whole mythology sounds like the writers of H.R. Pufnstuf wrote a Nickelodeon show while on crack. It’s perfect.

They opened with “F*ck This Place,” and within seconds the first wave hit. The blood flowed and the front row, with their pristine white outfits, were ready for it. I was ready for it. Seeing a GWAR show is not a passive event - it’s a full-force blast that erased any line between stage and audience. The front rows leaned into it. Everyone else adjusted quickly. I ducked out of the wave of the first torrent of blood and went to dodge the second when I got hit full force by a stage diver, got caught flat-footed, and paid the price in blood. There is no safe space at a GWAR show. From there, the set moved with precision. “Crack in the Egg” and “The Eighth Lock” drove forward musically while the stage action escalated, characters emerging, bodies dragged into the chaos. By “Have You Seen Me?” and “Tormentor,” the show had fully crossed into spectacle: exaggerated violence, absurd imagery, and a constant barrage that never quite lets up.

It looks chaotic. It isn’t. Underneath everything, the band is locked in. The rhythm section hits hard and clean, guitars sharp and controlled. Blothar runs the stage like a conductor, pacing the show as much as performing it. Every moment feels timed, every escalation intentional. Mid-set, the classics land. “Saddam a Go-Go” cuts through with direct force. “I’m in Löve (With a Deåd Dog)” leans into the band’s warped sense of humor without losing momentum. By “Metal Metal Land” and “El Presidente,” the room is fully submerged - floor slick, bodies packed, everyone part of the same environment. That’s where the shift happens.

You stop watching and start participating. Not by choice - by inevitability. “Tyrant King” and “Hail, Genocide!” push the scale higher, the imagery bigger. Then “Gor-Gor” turns into a full event inside the set, a complete commitment to the band’s mythology played at maximum volume and maximum absurdity. By the end of the show, the Belasco itself feels transformed. The theater’s old bones, built for spectacle, now coated in a layer of sticky slime.

The encore hits without hesitation. “Mother F*cking Liar” snaps the room back to attention, followed by the night’s sharpest left turn: “Pink Pony Club.” It shouldn’t work, but it does. The entire room locks in, voices cutting through everything else, turning chaos into something briefly unified.

Then they close with “Sick of You.” No gimmick, just a direct, driving finish that lands exactly where it should. That’s GWAR in 2026. Not nostalgia. Not a legacy act leaning on shock value. If anything, it feels more controlled now, more deliberate, more aware of exactly how to shape the chaos. The spectacle is bigger, but the discipline underneath is what makes it hold together.

Anyone can be loud. Anyone can be outrageous. Very few can sustain it with this level of precision. By the time the lights came up, nobody looked the same as when they walked in. Clothes soaked, faces marked, floors wrecked. People weren’t leaving a concert - they were coming out of something they’d been inside of. And for a couple of hours at the Belasco, that was the whole point.