It’s no coincidence that the rise of the monster B-movie coincided with the invention of the teenager in the early 1950s. As long as those hormones are pinging about uncontrollably, there’ll be an audience hungry for blood, guts and creatures that want your brains on a blini for an amuse-bouche.
Which is good news for Wednesday 13, whose zombie-eye view of the world continues to draw from a bottomless well of gore. The Dixie Dead is music for people who find The Misfits, Marilyn Manson and Rob Zombie too refined and highfalutin – high camp glam-punk-metal chugging generically along while Mr 13 growls such gems as ‘I’m a bloodsucker, motherfucker’.
There’s no attempt to hide his influences (Ghost Stories is pure Alice Cooper) and yet, in its unashamed idiocy, there’s a glimmer of charm lurking under the pantomime layers of rotting flesh.
