Hated: G.G. Allin and the Murder Junkies

"Always gonna fight, until the day I die, no laws or limits can stop me from the way I live my life. Don't get in my way, unless you wanna die, I'm living fast and hard and I accelerate on high..."

G.G. Allin, "Outskirts of Life"

G.G. Allin was a punk rock "performance" artist infamous for his gutter-level, crude hardcore music, laden with vulgar, offensive lyrics. Born Jesus Christ Allin—a name his homicidal, schizophrenic father claimed to have received in a divine vision—G.G.'s stage antics were an unholy blend of sleaze, violence, and grotesque spectacle. His shows often culminated in acts so scatologically extreme that describing them might ruin your appetite. Suffice it to say, his obsession with shock and transgression knew no bounds, and he wielded it like a weapon against both his audience and himself.

Most of Allin's performances, backed by his Hitler-mustachioed brother Merle (who continued the band after G.G.'s death), were short-lived. Typically, the chaos lasted about fifteen minutes before outraged club owners called the cops, unable to stomach the mayhem. Offstage, G.G. lived as chaotically as his persona suggested: traveling the U.S. by Greyhound bus, frequently homeless and destitute, and collaborating with a dizzying array of underground musicians to record some of the worst produced punk recordings ever vomited into the underground scene. These recordings were an audio middle finger to even the most hardened punk purists.

G.G. died in 1993 after a chaotic performance at a NYC dive called the Gas Station. When the show was shut down, rioting fans spilled into the streets, breaking windows and hurling bottles. G.G., accompanied by his girlfriend Liz Mankowski (captured on video), fled to fellow gutter punk Johnny Puke's apartment, where he overdosed on heroin and coke. The next morning, he was found cold and blue—a fittingly grim end to a life of relentless self-destruction. It was the last act in a life that seemed to exist solely to burn itself out.

This sordid backstory provides the backdrop for Todd Phillips' Hated: G.G. Allin and the Murder Junkies, a 51-minute documentary made while Phillips was still in film school. The film dives headfirst into the cesspool of G.G.'s existence, blending his music with his madness and featuring appearances by band members like Merle, naked drummer Dino, and disgruntled ex-guitarist Chicken John Rinaldi (later a San Francisco mayoral candidate). Interviews with G.G.'s small-town teachers and friends—bewildered Average Joes—offer a stark contrast to his deranged persona. They can't fathom why he "liked to bleed the way he does," as one puts it. This juxtaposition between the banal and the extreme gives the film a uniquely unsettling edge.

The film also features cameos from punk icon Dee Dee Ramone and a standout performance by a bespectacled, jug-eared fan named "Unk," who finds G.G.'s antics "completely fucking hilarious." Yet, while Unk sees comedy, the justice system saw criminality. Arrested over 50 times, Allin even served prison time in Michigan for sexually assaulting a groupie—a woman who later testified, "I thought my fate could well be death." G.G., ever the provocateur, incorporated her words into his spoken-word performances. His defiance extended even to his own scandals, as he used them to fuel his grotesque mythos.

Hated chronicles Allin’s descent into madness and mayhem, culminating in his return to prison for parole violations. Viewers are left pondering what twisted his trajectory from a promising young rocker into a grotesque, self-mutilating ogre covered in crude tattoos and scar tissue. Was it his violent father? His brother introducing him to LSD? Repressed sexual identity? Or was G.G. simply a living embodiment of chaos? The documentary offers no answers, leaving the audience as bewildered as the people who knew him.

The film’s final moments show G.G.'s burial, offering a grim sense of closure—or perhaps none at all. As much as society may have wanted G.G. buried and forgotten, Hated ensures he won’t be. The experience is ugly, unsettling, and unrelenting, leaving viewers cold, as though they'd been assaulted. It’s an appropriate conclusion for a man whose life was a ceaseless barrage of transgression, one that defied comprehension.

In the end, G.G. Allin lived, looked, and died by his own declaration: "My mind is a machine gun, my body’s the bullets, and the audience is the target." Todd Phillips captures that destructive ethos in all its raw, grotesque infamy, crafting a film that’s as unforgettable as it is repulsive.

Addendum

I once saw G.G.'s band, The Murder Junkies, and met his brother Merle. While Merle was signing a tee shirt for me, I was nearly urinated on by one of their drunk fans. If it hadn't been for my friend, I would have spent the rest of the all-day punk rock festival we were at, smelling very bad. The bouncers threw out the drunk fan. Somewhere in Hell, G.G. cracked a grin.

Also this cover of G.G.'s song "Outskirts of Life." I've always loved this young woman's cover. She elevated the song to the level of an old outlaw folk ballad, proving that even G.G. Allin, for once in his miserable life, could create something beautiful. At the very least, in this song, he told his story. RIP, Madman from Manchester.

Outskirts Of Life

NOTE: I obviously can't link Todd Phillips' film here, as they have rules about linking graphic content here at Vocal from their website. Instead, I'll post the clip of G.G. Allin's appearance on the old Geraldo Rivera show, and also his final interview on Jane Whitney. A couple of blasts from the past. Parental advisory/NSFW.

GG Allin On Geraldo

GG Allin FINAL INTERVIEW 1993 Michael Alig Jane Whitney FULL Show

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