Venom kicked the door in. Bathory set it on fire and snarled something unholy into the smoke. This isn’t just a history lesson—it’s the moment black metal stopped pretending and started whispering. Lo-fi filth, demon vocals, punk bones. Quorthon didn’t follow—he built the altar. And I’m standing at the edge, listening.
Sebastian Bach was too pretty, too loud, and exactly what glam metal needed—until it all fell apart. Skid Row’s wild ride from platinum dreams to post-grunge confusion.
Poison had it all—big hair, radio hits, sexed-up lyrics, and the glam metal chaos to match. From Rock of Love to reunion tours, this is the band that never changed, never apologised, and somehow made it work.