Pitchfork

Oh, you little devil, you. Chill man, we're not derogatorily speaking of the diminutive devilman Glenn Danzig, but rather those "little devil" triads that so cleverly, in a poof of brimstone, seem to magically appear any time a dark-leaning rock and/or metal artist churns out a diabolical jam. Ever since Tony Iommi branded the world with his ominous tritone three-note riff at the front of the Satan-summoning "Black Sabbath", you find those same "evil sounding" progressions all throughout the bedrock of heavy-metal-- and quite notably sprinkled all about the pop-metal arcana of Danzig.

Glenn Danzig needs no introduction, the dude is legend: From his origins as the devil-locked Undead Elvis frontman for the Misfits and Samhain up through his blues-metal, hellish comic book romps under his given name, the dude has been the one-man soundtrack to outsider-teen angst and cartoon occult flirtations for three decades. One explanation for his durability may be that the sixteen-year-old brain responds obediently to demon and devil talk. This new double album features a collection of lost tracks and outtakes-- or tracks that Glenn felt didn't fit thematically-- from throughout his entire career: From his classic first four strobe-lit, stripper-pole grinding, titanium-blues strutting albums, through his mid-to-late 90s missteps into industrial and electronica territories, all the various styles are represented-- warts and all.

The warts would be OK, if there just weren't so many of 'em. A carefully chosen single album that would've had the devil-locked denizens drooling 'til the cracking of the seventh seal winds up being a flabby, overstuffed warehouse of unnecessary not-as-good-as-the-original tunes. Those who worship epic fist-pumping headbangers like "Twist of Cain", "Her Black Wings", "Brand New God", and "Dirty Black Summer" from the first four records will experience ear-to-ear-smiling déjà vu when they hear previously-unreleased counterparts such as the awesome boogie bashin' "Pain Is Like An Animal" or the killer dirgey, blues-y swaying "When Death Had No Name".

But when a bloated cavalcade of PVC corset/meshed half-shirt/Herman Munster-boot wearing goth-metal-industrial whatzits sizzle past, followed by the useless cover of Bowie's "Cat People", one might be fully bummed if they'd paid the full cover charge. Thankfully, a few Zeppelin-y, classic Danzig bluesy ballads ("Dying Seraph" and "Crawl Across Your Killing Floor"), a groovin' T-Rex cover ("Buick Mackane"), and a catchy dark-pop tune called "Warlok" help split the difference between the great and the stinky. Overall, a good argument for iTunes. But seriously, the keepers are down right essential!