Review: Rob Zombie – The Great Satan

March 3, 2026

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A new Rob Zombie album hits us during what seems to be the waning era of the resurgence of nu metal within pop culture, a resurgence that primarily involved nostalgia for the old bands and not much in the way of enthusiasm for newer ones, except for the occasional, tangentially-related outlier like Fleshwater. Honestly, the spiritual legacy of nu metal, pop-industrial and post-grunge cock-rock seems better represented right now through bands like President or Sleep Token—bands considered tasteless and “cringe” by many, bands that don’t have any real critical laudits behind them and are regarded as a bit embarrassing in polite society. The average Sleep Token fan can probably relate to what it felt like to wear a Spineshank shirt to a metal festival as a teenager. They’ll also inevitably undergo some attempt at re-evaluation in the future, so we have that to look forward to.

Rob Zombie sat squarely in the middle of all that, managing to age pretty gracefully by combining the more palatable bits of industrial rock, millennium pop-metal and glam overindulgence. Looking back though, the peak years of Rob Zombie following the end of White Zombie didn’t actually last very long. For as much as his closest contemporary Marilyn Manson gets mocked in retrospect—largely due to the fumbling of high-minded concepts and general air of pretentiousness that defined him as opposed to the deliberately trashy, campy shield that surrounds the work of Zombie—most fans would contend we at least got three or 4 good records from him, depending on how charitable their definition of “good” was. Rob Zombie, though?

Everyone fucks with Hellbilly Deluxe. Some will shoot for The Sinister Urge and his contributions to and curation of the soundtrack for House Of 1,000 Corpses. Beyond that? The more superficially focused fans ducked out the second the promotion for Educated Horses started. Though pretty underrated, it’s easy to understand how with its cleaner image it felt like an attempt to shift the popular conception of Rob from Zombie-the-Novelty to Zombie-the-Auteur. Considering now how his directing career has played out, with its surprising peaks and crushing valleys carving out a uniquely manic landscape of a filmography, it’s difficult to remember a point in time where he was just two films deep with a clear style and place within the industry, equally as prominent at that point in both music and film. He was, despite critical disapproval of his work, a relevant name, even as late as 2006. It’s not impossible that had he continued carving away at original niche properties, combined with a more approachable image, he could have swung things and started to be regarded as one of those genre figures that are eventually accepted and exalted by the high-brow classes. Cards on the table, a remake of Halloween in the works—adapting a film made by a former critical outsider also once considered tasteless and low-brow in John Carpenter—it seemed he had the potential for crossover in a big way, becoming the American face of splatter.

But Zombie’s career didn’t work out that way. The Halloween remake duology might have some shooters, particularly in the wake of the mostly dull clean-slate quasi-non-reboot Halloween trilogy thing that seems to have killed the franchise for good (though you know how these things always go) but he had peaked as a director by then, and would only occasionally pop his head above the verge, often to a chorus of derision, most notably with his bizarrely poor adaptation of The Munsters from a few years ago. It might seem weird to go on a tangent about his film-making career, but I do truly believe that Zombie’s trajectory as a director, something that seemed to occupy most of his time and passion in the 2000s, shifted his trajectory as a musician for the worst.

Rob would spend the 2010’s marinating himself in an all-enveloping acid-soaked aesthetic across a trio of cumbersomely named records, a period that for all its visual and thematic excess never read to me as anything other than deeply disingenuous in its delivery. There’s no doubt Zombie has a deep love for his influences, but his well-produced simulacrum of dirty, vice-fueled rock ‘n’ roll decadence came across as forced and inauthentic. I don’t doubt Zombie’s passion, I just can’t buy into his kayfabe. When Zombie puts out a ’70s sleaze rock throwback track called “Pussy Eatin’ Acid Witch From The Hot Rod Hell Dimension” that sounds like an imitation Wednesday 13 outtake with a sheen of fuzz overlaid, I’m just reminded of those YouTube horror videos that use cheap analogue VHS plug-in filters. In hindsight, Zombie at his most authentically gross was that first White Zombie album, back when the filth was a natural by-product of budget, context and time: a bizarre post-pigfuck oddity that more accurately translates the appeal and nature of films like Spider Baby or Maniac. But even as White Zombie continued, the edges were sanded, the presentation commercialized, and the “YEAH!”s were uttered in multitudes.

Marvin Hagler once said that “It’s tough to get out of bed to do roadwork at 5 a.m. when you’ve been sleeping in silk pajamas” and I think it’s just as hard to make genuinely dirty music when you’ve sold 10 million records and are on a major label.

And so Rob returns, 5 years on from 2021’s The Lunar Injection Kool Aid Eclipse Conspiracy with The Great Satan, an album that, among other things, tries to carve out a new direction in his discography and attempts to figure out just what should a Rob Zombie record sound like in 2026.

“F.T.W. 84” introduces itself with grandeur and fanfare, while Zombie’s voice is more biting than it’s been in a while. We’re in angry times, and while introducing an album saying “Fuck the world!” and invoking Orwellian horror might seem a bit forced, I think it fits the brusque immediacy of the music. The blues rock embellishment of John 5 that was dotted throughout previous records continues to be found here. The line “This is what you’re waiting for” seems a bit too on the nose to not be self-reflective, because The Great Satan is an attempt to return to what people have wanted from Rob. The lyrics talking about the influence of television do seem hopelessly and expectantly stuck in the ’90s, but the song’s spirit is strong, and I can’t imagine the track would be much improved by him singing about Italian brainrot Instagram reels or something.

In comparison, “Tarantula” is a compressed, swirling mess of triplets and triggered-sounding drums that bleed across the mix and engender a bizarre, nauseous quality to the music. The electronic elements are much more evocative of Hellbilly Deluxe, with these bubbling, disjointed synth-burns that connect each section. Despite its production oddities and abrupt ending, it’s a fine little track, suitably braindead for what it’s aiming for, though it’s a bold move to be Rob Zombie and have another song with a title and chorus ending in “-ula.”

The single “(I’m A) Rock ‘N’ Roller” articulates better than any song the main conceit and appeal of The Great Satan: the bubbling, thick veneer of industrial metal acting as the skin over the bones of lank, dirty blues rock. Here though, it’s less of a combination and much more of a back-to-back, where sections of capital-letters RAWK bookend bits of rhythmic groove metal chugging, all against his trademark backdrop of wails and not-quite-piercing synth-squeals. It is remarkably bare-bones, less notable as an engaging, hype-up single and more as a proof of concept. It develops little and goes nowhere, ending suddenly in a way that on another album might come across as almost cowardly but here genuinely just seems like Rob is banging out the most serviceable, fit-for-purpose and as-on-tin tracks for the sake of completion.

“Heathen Days” is shorter in its length and brisker in its pacing, something that seems to have injected the track with a lot more energy and drive. If Rob is going to attempt balls-out adrenaline in 2026, this is the way that maximizes his abilities: catchy and immediate, managing to be precise in its delivery while still having a bit of dirtiness in its looser riffing and wonky harmonics. I actually think the lack of development here is a benefit; there’s no fat to be cut and it leaves you wanting more, which is preferable to the alternative reality of dragged-out bullshit cock-rock it could have been. When Zombie is unapologetically stupid and not just aping aesthetics to prop up bar band rock traditions, he’s great. Juxtapose this with “Punks And Demons,” a song that on paper is pretty close to “Heathen Days,” but with a sharper, more staccato edge to it. It sounds like it should be a similar highlight, but it’s instead just perfectly adequate, a song which really needed to be filthier to work, and with its relative sheen just seems a bit too clean.

Following the synth-narration combo interlude of “Who Am I,” we get “Black Rat Coffin,” a song with an interesting electronic rhythm in its introduction that slams unceremoniously to the as-per-usual, mid-paced chugging, occasionally showing little flashes of intrigue through its connective tissue, with these ungainly transitions of sampling and blink-and-miss, gothic lead guitar. “Black Rat Coffin” is filled with theoretically cool moments but the whole is a lot less than the sum of its parts.

“Sir Lord Acid Wolfman” is much more distinct than the previous tracks, with a funk-infused framework that allows itself to be gleefully camp on its own terms, unbeholden to the archetypal Rob Zombie formula, with slinky bass, fuzz-box vocals, and bizarre pirate caricature vocals. It’s weird and sour and indulgent in its own excesses, and underlines it all with a leering, sleazy chorus that manages to seem all the heavier because of what surrounds it. An unexpected highlight.

“The Devilman” has these great high-low stabs that introduce the song and set the tempo for a looser, laid-back track. “The Devilman” pairs well with “Sir Lord Acid Wolfman,” as both sit comfortably in their mid-paced speed which gives the tracks room to breathe, making the mix seem dusty and acrid; when the fuzzed out bass plucks away and Rob whispers the lyrics of the bridge, it’s one of the only truly sleazy sounding moments on the album. “Out Of Sight” is notable for its resonant, rumbling guitar tone that pairs with the fairground, sing-song vocal patterns in a suitably awkward, deliberately unappealing way. It’s not the most electric song but it executes its intention on its terms and feels like a whole, realized track on an album that can feel listless and unfocused.

Despite its name, “Revolution Motherfuckers” stomps away at a plodding pace as one of the least engaging tracks on the record, one that struggled to call me to nod my head, let alone to revolutionize. We see a tentative return to pseudo-political lyrics, but they’re wrapped in decade-old aesthetics and long-gone non-shock imagery which deliberately absolves it of any intention or offense. Instead, “Revolution Motherfuckers” is just straight up bad, a song that doesn’t try to mean much of anything to anyone, and attempts to groove even less. When the follow-up interlude “Welcome To The Electric Age” hits, it doesn’t sound like a vintage audio source being re-purposed and re-contextualized to reflect current technical anxieties, it sounds tired, wistful and comfortably nostalgic. Following this, “The Black Scorpion” rips to life with the loose heritage of ’80s hardcore that still quietly echoes in the deepest bowels of Zombie’s sound. It’s not wholly remarkable, but it’s a solid course-correction and finale to a bizarre three-way-dance in the track listing.

The spacey, unwieldy “Unclean Animals” is another highlight; I honestly think this sort of track is what Zombie thrives at most right now: slower, bluesy songs where the heaviness is defined by context, by the dynamism of its quiet/loud, distorted/clean juxtaposition. The track comes off like the thoughts of a killer walking down a dirty street at night, the sound of disgust and apathy and ill-intent. What a genuine fucking ripper, a track that exemplifies why I’ve always stuck with Zombie. It ends meekly, like a few other tracks on the album, but the closer “Grave Discontent” comes across as just as much of an outro to “Unclean Animals” as it does to the album itself—a squelching, acidic minute of synthesizer that pays as much tribute to the organ intro of “Mr. Crowley” as it does to the spirit of old Italian horror films with their unorthodox, needlessly lush orchestration.

And it’s a fitting wrap-up, I suppose. A one-two punch that bangs out his reverence for blues rock; for acid-driven visuals; for heavy metal and for half-century old horror films. And maybe that’s enough for most of his fan-base, but God damn do the best parts of The Great Satan make me hope for one last great record from Rob, one that I truly believe he has in him still. If this album was a wholly disposable, completely serviceable yet unremarkable record, I could dismiss it pretty handily. But there’s enough triumphs and misfires on The Great Satan in equal measure that I’m convinced Rob has something really interesting left in him, and whether it’s good or bad, I’m sure it’ll be interesting.