Rob Zombie
– Venomous Rat Regeneration Vendor
This album sounds like it was cooked up in the back of a haunted drive-in, soaked in beer, neon, and leftover brain matter from a midnight horror marathon. With Venomous Rat Regeneration Vendor, Rob Zombie doesn’t aim for subtlety. He aims for the gut, the ears, and anything else he can splatter with his sonic B-movie bloodbath. It’s loud, crude, funny, fast, and oddly charming in its Frankenstein’s-lab-meets-strip-club aesthetic. You don’t walk into this expecting poetry—you walk in expecting fire, and he brings it by the gallon.
Zombie leans fully into his persona here. He doesn’t wink at the camera; he eats it. The riffs hit like blunt instruments, the synths slither through the cracks, and the drums have the pulse of something that may or may not be alive. His voice? Still the perfect blend of gravel and grindhouse. If this record were a creature, it’d have a chainsaw for an arm and a devil-may-care grin. And yet, it’s not just noise for noise’s sake. There’s structure, pacing, even a strange kind of pop sensibility buried beneath the sludge.
Every track feels like a trailer for a movie that doesn’t exist but probably should. Zombie knows how to sell spectacle. But he also knows how to write a hook. There’s plenty of dumb fun here, but it’s intentional. He’s in on the joke, and if you’re not, that’s your problem. Venomous Rat Regeneration Vendor is a love letter to the loud, the lurid, and the lowbrow—delivered in a flaming hearse with devil horns on the hood.
Choice Tracks
Dead City Radio and the New Gods of Supertown
Easily the album’s peak moment of swagger. It starts with that robotic radio preacher intro and then kicks into a groove that could reanimate a corpse. The chorus is sticky in a way Zombie rarely gets credit for—this thing could crawl into your head and stay there for weeks.
Ging Gang Gong De Do Gong De Laga Raga
Yes, the title sounds like a bad acid trip at a kung-fu dojo, and the song kind of is too—in the best way. Tribal stomp meets garage rock filth. It’s nonsense, and it rips. Turn your brain off and let your spine shake.
Lucifer Rising
A thick, sludgy mid-tempo stomper with a title that pretty much tells you what you’re in for. It’s part Satan, part sleaze, and 100% Zombie. There’s something hypnotic in the way it lumbers, like a possessed parade float.
Rock and Roll (In a Black Hole)
This one feels like the soundtrack to a road trip through Hell—with breaks for snacks and casual sin. The riff has that sleazy, late-’70s fuzz baked into it, and Zombie spits the vocals like he’s halfway between a sermon and a bar fight.
Trade in Your Guns for a Coffin
Fast, filthy, and fun. This one goes full punk-spook, less industrial and more swamp-rock. It’s a short burst of mayhem that knows not to overstay its welcome—like a vampire biker gang kicking in your door and moonwalking out two minutes later.
If Venomous Rat Regeneration Vendor had a mission, it was to blast your speakers, melt some eyeliner, and throw a middle finger at anyone asking for nuance. It’s a trashy good time, lovingly assembled with guts and glitter. Zombie doesn’t want your respect—he wants you to bang your head and laugh while doing it. Mission accomplished.