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Album review by Lil Miss Terror
This record has Rob Zombie returning after four years, doubling down, dragging the amps back into the garage, wiping dust off the grindhouse lens and turning the volume knob until it snaps off. Locking shoulders with his old crew, Riggs back on guitar, Blasko’s bass rumble returning and Ginger Fish on drums makes for an injection of early-era voltage straight into The Great Satan’s veins that is groove-heavy, nasty, cartoon-evil and smugly uncomplicated.
The album is stitched together with disembodied voices that feel lifted from grindhouse reels, late-night radio broadcasts, vintage documentaries and half-remembered nightmares. Those inserts give the record a continuous and cinematic flow. Less track list, more reel change. They frame the songs rather than interrupt, exactly what you want from a bloke who has built a career on horror swagger tinged with industrial filth.
‘F.T.W. 84’ opens like a revved engine and a raised eyebrow. Drums hit with that familiar Zombie roll and stomp, guitars crunch instead of racing. It feels like a manifesto more than a song and sets the mood, cracking the knuckles, telling you this album is not here to be clever. It is here to move bodies. A banger!
‘Tarantula’ crawls rather than sprints, all tension. Then snap. Short, sharp and coiled. Zombie’s vocal delivery is pure sneer, riding the groove instead of fighting it. It sticks because it does not overreach.
‘(I’m a) Rock ‘N’ Roller’ is Zombie leaning into his own myth knowingly. Big swing, dumb grin, boots planted wide. Sleazy without being embarrassing, celebratory without trying to be timeless. Zombie is reducing rock ’n’ roll to persona, volume and momentum. You can picture the crowd chant doing half the work live.
‘Heathen Days’ is one of the early standouts. Faster, punchier and more chaotic than most of the record, but still locked into that groove-first mindset. The guitars buzz and snap, the rhythm section drives hard, and the apocalyptic devotion baked into the lyrics gives the track its urgency. His voice lands like a sermon from someone who absolutely should not be trusted. Less confession, more command. Zombie is shaking off the cobwebs and reminding everyone he can still write a track that kicks, not just lumbers. It could pass as a lost cut from Psalm 69 if that bark was not so instantly recognisable.
‘Who Am I’ eases to spoken word that broods for a tight 35 seconds. It is not introspective in a soft way. It is existential with a switchblade in its pocket.
‘Black Rat Coffin’ stinks. That is a compliment. Filthy, crawling, the riff feels like it has been dragged through dirt before being plugged in. It does not rush the payoff. It grinds until you are fully under it with “no wants” and “no needs”. One of my favourites.
‘Sir Lord Acid Wolfman’ has an absurd title, deliberately ridiculous energy and a chaotic pirate trip through B-movie nonsense. The groove lumbers, the hooks are blunt and the whole thing feels designed to make you smirk while head-banging and rocking side-to-side.
‘Punks And Demons’ is the first single and a mission statement. Short, sharp, no filler. Punk attitude fed through Zombie’s industrial horror machinery with a nod to Ministry, colliding fragments of history, spectacle and provocation without stopping to explain itself. The chorus lands because it is simple and aggressive, not because it is trying to be clever. “Satan” is a chant not a statement. It translates immediately, whether rattling car speakers, shaking the loungeroom walls or detonating inside a packed venue. It feels built for impact. Australia would eat it up live if it ever gets the chance.
‘The Devilman’ sinks back into menace. Slower, darker and heavier, with a creeping rhythm that prioritises atmosphere over speed. It is less about hooks and more about mood. The track crawls rather than explodes.
‘Out of Sight’ is a mid-tempo stomp with road-song energy. It grooves hard without feeling lazy, letting the riff and melody do the heavy lifting. Not flashy, just solid and nasty.
‘Revolution Motherf..kers’ is exactly what it says on the tin. Loud, confrontational and deliberately unsubtle. Built for shouted choruses and raised fists. Zombie in full middle-finger mode.
‘Welcome to the Electric Age’ is a brief, prophetic commentary on a force reshaping human life faster than we can process.
‘The Black Scorpion’ slithers with the riff and locks the rhythm section tight. Its short venomous rockabilly bite works perfectly in context.
‘Unclean Animals’ is raw, primal and deliberately rough around the edges. It feels feral and unhinged. It could fall apart at any second but never does.
‘Grave Discontent’ closes things out with weight of words instead of fireworks. The vintage cinematic sci-fi groove drags low, the atmosphere thickens. The album ends not with a bang but a grim, satisfied smirk. No redemption arc, no tidy resolution.
The Great Satan is Zombie committing fully to his lane with groove-laden, horror-soaked, unashamedly dumb when dumb works best. The singles prove there is still torque in the engine and the deeper cuts lean into mood and filth rather than flash. It is loud and greasy over a sandpaper static base. It knows exactly what it is and it does not give a sh.t if that is not enough for everyone else.
The Great Satan does not ask to be liked. It just keeps coming loud and filthy until something gives and it gonna get my dollars!
The Great Satan is out 27 February
