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Compared to the decapitations and the torn-open torsos, compared to the infant that was cut in half and then each half impaled upon a sword, to the geysers of blood that shot out at least thirty feet from severed limbs - compared to the general carnage, the music seemed pretty extraneous. How seriously are you supposed to take guitar riffs and drum beats at an event billed as the Intergalactic Wrestling Championship?

Very seriously, if you're a true fan of Gwar, and you adhere to their semi-nihilistic, semi-totalitarian politics that make up the content of their songs. In which case you were probably one of the several audience members in a trance last night at First Ave, mouthing obediently along to indecipherable lyrics. (And it's not unlikely you were at the Ron Paul rally a couple months ago, too.)

But if you were attending the show ironically (yeah, you, with the mustache and the tight vintage t-shirt), or because you'd heard that everyone should see Gwar once - and only once - before dying (hi), you were probably there for the theatrics, and were disappointed to find that the novelty wore off about three songs into the set.

On stage, Gwar's appearance fell somewhere between Kiss and the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. There were ridiculous, oversized costumes - the MC, Sleazy P. Martini, had something that might be described as a pompadour cubed - and there was clearly a lot of money put into fleshy-looking props, but I guess the acting was just poor. My comrade remarked that the concert was akin to a "Sci-Fi channel original." Really, the band seemed uninterested in what they were doing, chopping off all those synthetic limbs with something less than enthusiasm. I will say, though, that each musician has impeccable buttocks, an opinion afforded me by the fact that they all wore thongs.

The show's conceit was that it was a wrestling championship. I'm pretty sure that Gwar was supposedly the reigning champion, because all night long they kept talking about how "No one has belts like these," meaning their IWC title belts that proved they were the hardest rockers in the universe or something. Between songs, they staged mini-bouts. First they paraded out John McCain, who fought against an apparent alien named Bone Crusher who was fighting on behalf of the band. It was funny at first, but the verisimilitude of it was ruined when the guy playing McCain kept raising his arms above his head. Is this too nit-picky? It just seems to me that if you're going to make fun of McCain, his arm movements are the most basic gesticulations to perfect. Nevertheless, it was kind of cool when Bone Crusher shredded open the senator's stomach and blood sprayed out all over everywhere.

The next round featured Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama pitted against Bone Crusher and some other identical-looking alien. (It should be noted at this point that this is the "Electile Dysfunction Tour.") Obama tickled the extra-terrestrial and then got his head chopped off. At some point Clinton was given a double mastectomy, spraying blood, yes, out of her nipples. The law of diminishing returns was very much in effect at this point.

So the Main Event was a veritable anti-climax. It involved two aliens that had stolen Gwar's title belts during one of their songs going against Bone Crusher and Bone Crusher's twin. Surprise of surprises, the Bone Crusher team won, and restored Gwar's belts back to the band members. In the name of continuity, why would you follow up McCain, Obama, and Clinton with anonymous aliens? Wouldn't it be more natural, if you're going to make overt political statements in the first place, to have Bush and Cheney in the title bout? Or George Washington and Abe Lincoln? I understand that anarchy is probably a foundation of Gwar's appeal, but this spectacle falls into the unfortunate subset of over-contrived anarchy, an oxymoron in definition.

During all this, there was music going on. But to a casual fan, the songs were effectively indistinguishable - a collage of super-fast guitar progressions, rumbling drums, and sub-acoustic vocals. Once in a while there was an audible ‘Fuck yeah!' or ‘Gwar!' but aside from that it was kind of smeared. Now, I understand that I may not be the top pick to critique their show, as it's highly unlikely that I'd ever play a Gwar album on my stereo at home. Death metal is not my chosen genre of music, but of course that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad; it's just not for me.

However, I can say that the members of Gwar - the ones who played instruments - seemed a little lifeless on stage, rarely moving from their spots (albeit understandably hampered by their wardrobe). Even the crowd, though, became a little disenchanted by the end of the show. During the first few songs there was crowdsurfing and ecstatic screaming, but toward the end even the front rows were filled with quiet standers.

Still, watching the audience file out of First Avenue was surreal - a bunch of exhausted, bloodstained fans wandering slowly through the streets of downtown like so many zombies. If theater is supposed to, at times, provide a respite from our real lives, then this show was successful. At the very least, no one seemed to care that this year's presidential candidates had just been dismembered on stage.