#wv03

An excerpt from Tah the Trickster's essay, as seen in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

Pandemonic was a thrash metal band formed in Upplands Väsby, Sweden. They are the earliest example of the "werewolf metal" trend later adopted by more modern bands such as Powerwolf, GrimWolf, and Canis Lupus, describing themselves often as “werewolf worshipping thrash metal.”

The band itself cited many big name thrash metal musical influences such as Testament, Exodus, King Diamond, and Slayer. Many reviewers and interviewers noted in particular the similarities between Pandemonic and Slayer, as vocalist Micke Ullenius frequently employed high-pitched screams in the vein of Slayer frontman Tom Araya. The band has mentioned that, while the screams began as a joke, they were later seriously incorporated into the music because “people seemed to like them.”

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC! Download the entire issue for any price on Gumroad or Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe

A preview of Lew Viergacht's original cover art for WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

See the rest (without any text over it) in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC! Download the entire issue for any price on Gumroad or Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

An excerpt from Quebecoiswolf's story, as seen in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

Bourbon Street, 1985

I looked over my shoulder to make sure that no one was watching and then, with the care of a bomb expert defusing a Soviet suitcase nuke, I removed the CD from the rack of newly released Rougarou albums. On the cover, lurid red cursive letters declared:

BAYOU BITCH QUEEN LEASHED

Beneath the title was a woman’s finely manicured hand, wearing a fishnet glove and clutching a heavy steel chain. My eyes followed the chain, link by link, down to the spiked, black leather collar worn by the Bayou Bitch Queen.

I knew there was a drug called “Rougarou” that turned people into werewolves, supposedly just for a few hours, but as I looked at the Bayou Bitch Queen, it seemed impossible that such a powerful she-wolf was merely a woman on a pill. Her fur was jet black and as lush as a ten thousand dollar mink coat. There were white bone beads and vulture feathers woven into her mane. She wore the charms of a voodoo priestess: dozens of thin necklaces of silver, pearl, and onyx, draped low around her neck. Four shining gold hoops pierced each of her large lupine ears, complementing the assortment of bejeweled rings she wore on her clawed fingers. She smirked with the lustful confidence of a debutante, her long, pink tongue curled over her white fangs as her bright yellow eyes stared into mine. Even on a leash, she was untamed and unbroken, heedless of the chain and the woman who held it. And yet, she looked my age. Maybe she even went to Tulane University with me. What if we both took the same class and-

I heard footsteps approaching and tucked the CD away, waiting until the witness, a fifteen year old girl clutching the new Duran Duran album, passed.

When she was gone, I pulled the CD back out of its hiding place. Rougarou music drew from Cajun traditions of swamp-dwelling beastmen. Girls weren’t supposed to have fur and fangs. In fact, girls weren’t even supposed to be in this section of the store, neither as artists nor as customers. But here I was – and not alone. The Bayou Bitch Queen wasn’t afraid to be seen here, in all her proud, sinful glory. Why was I? What would I do if I was Loup Garou like her?

I grabbed Leashed and ran to the register. It was just a CD, but once I got some Rougarou? I’d be unstoppable.

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC! Download the entire issue for any price on Gumroad or Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

Some uninvited guests are about to crash this outdoor rave in Andrew Scott's story from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

As he paced to the decks, a chill clouded over Kier’s arms. A glance to the lighted crowd showed a scene he was more familiar seeing when fog machines were in play, but he hadn’t brought any. The real thing was rolling through the valley, following the cool of the night. The flashes of the strobes created momentary whiteouts as the wet mist enfolded the crowd.

“Aw, bangin’, I’m dyin fur a pish” Shug heckled, a cheeky grin made luminous under UV, and barely stifled on his lips as he handed over his headphones. “Enjoy yersel...”

Listening to the cans, he heard Shug’s parting gift – that bloody Duck Sauce track and its godawful howling sample, lifted out of some bargain basement sound effects library. Shug knew well Keir’s loathing for the track, and would make of a point of mixing it in whenever possible. This time it sounded like he had stirred in something different, a throaty moan somewhere low in the mix. It sounded more real at least. Kier gleefully scratched the needle before cutting into Rhino Jockey and laying a second beat on top.

Halfway through the track, he saw the first glimpse. A photo finish outline caught in the strobe-lit silhouette. One to start with, then another. Then more. The lights flashed, the bass pumped out its double thump. Nothing for a second, then… five? They were closer. The arms, the legs, shook and writhed. Another pulse. The outlines were more definite now, less trace of the smearing distortion of the fog. Tall. Bulky. Four legged? Closer. Clattering drums swung around the audible forest. The strobe pulsed once more. Just at the edge of the treeline. Rearing up.

Flash.

Closer.

Flash.

Nothing.

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC. Download the entire issue for any price (including free) here, and explore the entire WEREWOLVES VERSUS catalogue here.

As the Sun Sets

An excerpt from Colin Janz's instrumental music track, available exclusively as a download in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

This song is based on a character who built himself while I was writing. Every full moon, he transforms; however, he never remembers anything about his transformation, only that it happens. On full moon nights he travels to a grassy hill above his forested town, far away from people, to watch the light fade. But instead of succumbing to a torturous, violent experience, everything becomes hazy, peaceful and quiet, as if he was falling asleep to the sound of wind and morning songbirds.

An excerpt from Byron Dunn's story, as seen in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

Everyone else in the chorus was making melodies and harmonies between and against each other. We weren't The London Werewolves or Scavenge of Song. There would be no Grammys for the Kansas City United Scavenge House Junior Chorus. No blurbs in Rolling Stone saying we were the breakout hit of the werewolf community before the feature article on Beyonce's secret project. Pitchfork wasn't listing us in their top ten picks of “magically diverse” musical groups. That doesn't happen to inter-scavenge extra-curricular teenage howl choruses from Kansas City.

But we weren't those mundies singing on TV either. Put any one of the other chorus members on something like The Voice and they'd wipe out the competition—so long as no one revealed their magical status and brought out that bigot vote. I, however, was probably nowhere close to that sort of shaming. At least not from mundies.

“Emmerton Morris!” Ms. Lianne said. She waved her hands and the chorus hushed. “What was that?”

Of course people laughed. When weren't they laughing at me?

“Uh...” I wanted to say 'howling' but I had no choice. The truth had to be told. “Singing?”

“Exactly! That was just singing! Shallow, human singing!” She smacked the back of her hand with each word as if she were smacking my own. “Are you human?”

The American Scavenge Association would tell me the answer was yes. More militant groups would say hell the fuck NO. My real answer would have been “Yeah, I mean... I guess> so, but—” and that was not the answer Ms. Lianne wanted. It wasn't the answer I wanted either.

“No.” I said.

“Then why are you doing it? Howl!” She pointed at my chest. “Isn't there a wolf in there? Is there anything in there?”

Remember

Duran and Blackbird reminisce over "their song" – plus running from the cops, werewolf transformations, and sex – in JD Laclede's "Ask The Werewolves" comic, published exclusively in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC.

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: MUSIC! Download the entire issue for any price on Gumroad or Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

Violent Violets Aren’t Blue

A preview of Laura “OC” B.'s illustration from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: ROMANCE.