Twist of Cain

San Francisco’s entertainment dens and gilded ballrooms opulated in wake of the 1906 earthquake. Seventy-two hours after a 5.6 ripple undulates the city and surrounding Bay Area - last Friday - Danzig jolts Market Streeet’s Warfield Theatre in the heart of downtown. At least one man sprints for it.

Opened in 1922, the Warfield tops layers and layers of civilized rubble far beneath the underground tunnels and rumored catacombs, and within its phantom of the rock opera walls, up along the red-carpet staircases and through to the balcony, vaudeville still beats for 2,400 exultant pleasure seekers. In the 1940s, my great-grandmother escorted my mother to the movies there. In the 1990s, Guns ‘n’ Roses previewed its Use Your Illusion tour there, Sinead O’Connor put her current tour to shame there, and Ali Farka Toure made blues for the ages and beyond there, all witnessed by that same man hoofing it down Market at the stroke of midnight.

Glenn Danzig had finally produced the glass slipper/sneaker/steel-toed boot mere minutes earlier.

Ghouls and misfits smoking on the sidewalk out front of the building’s black, proto-porno façade might have been two-day leftovers from Halloween, but tonight they’re gargoyles guarding the gate. Inside, a gallery of baroque advertisements streaks the walls: Metallica, PJ Harvey, Café Tacuba. At 10:50pm, four men in black take the stage as their tribe howls and crows. Skulls begin at the singer’s belt buckle, bookend the drum riser, and menace behind the stage like a Mt. Rushmore-sized longhorn from hell. The "Black Mass" has begun.

That third song of the set touches off the evening’s main attraction, 2-CD The Lost Tracks of Danzig, unearthing bodies from the former Samhainian’s four volumes of American Recordings. "Satan’s Crucifixion" and "Do You Wear the Mark?" omitted from Danzig IV and Danzig III respectively, toll gothic as effectively as the latter album’s "How the Gods Kill," backing trio grinding out monochromatic metal as frontman bellows instruction. With his left arm in a sling and wrestler’s physique not yet turned doughy, the 51-year-old singer still cuts an ever-imposing figure onstage, belied by genial, workingman pronouncements. "Nice to back at the here Warfield," he greets the outstretched throng.

Lost Tracks "Lady Lucifer," a dirge chopped by the guitarist’s helicopter warm-up, and "Crawl Across the Killing Floor," Howlin’ Wolf by way of George Romero, give way to "Lucifuge," the ground floor of the Warfield breaking a sweat as the band grinds out one strip-mining after another. White lights blind, blues and reds scowling on minimalist Big Trouble in Little China stage props. Pound and recede, lash and lick, bang and thrust – group and groupies couple in a carnal concert embrace.

As the Witching Hour approaches, so does the parking curfew for tourist vehicles blocking the street cleaning crews scheduled to begin at 12:01am. That one song, though, first fisting from Danzig’s self-titled 1988 debut. One song sought by the man edging slowly through the lobby, music throbbing through swinging doors down to the stage. A chill breeze swirls through the foyer, restorative enough to make one linger over the building’s history posted a few feet from the door.

Suddenly, off goes an air raid siren inside and that earthshaking snake charmer riff rises. At the precipice of the street, man in black leather turns and runs straight into the hall among the raised salutes and heaving black masses, waves of that one riff sweet relief, Frankenstein unbound compared to svengali Rick Rubin’s original post-metal production.

I can feel it move me
Feel it shove me…
Cuts the numbness
And I come alive

For three minutes, "Twist of Cain" rips through the crowd with electric current, surging through chest and up the spine like lightning. Feel it, possess it. Remember it forever. And when it’s over and done, Danzig’s "Mother" eases beating hearts as a man tears blindly through the Warfield entrance and out into the dark, cold night – alive.

(S.F. chronicles Vol. 3, part 1-2)