On September 20, 2025, the notorious heavy metal band GWAR once again ignited controversy, this time at Chicago’s Riot Fest, with a performance that saw the mock beheading of an Elon Musk mannequin and the simulated murder of a Donald Trump lookalike. The spectacle, which unfolded on the festival’s Saturday afternoon lineup, has since triggered a fierce debate about the boundaries of art, satire, and the normalization of political violence in a polarized era.
According to New York Post and news.com.au, the Musk mannequin was dressed in sunglasses, a baseball cap, a black "D.O.G.E." t-shirt, matching black jeans, and a jacket. Midway through GWAR’s set, a costumed band member decapitated the mannequin with a sword, sending a jet of fake blood spurting into the air to the raucous cheers of the crowd. Not content with just one shocking act, the band also staged the gruesome evisceration of a Trump mannequin, leaving the stage awash in theatrical gore.
For GWAR, this was business as usual. Founded in 1984 in Richmond, Virginia, the band has built a reputation for grotesque costumes, outlandish stage personas, and graphically violent theatrics. Their shows routinely feature fake blood, urine, and semen being sprayed over audiences, and they have a long history of “killing” political figures and celebrities onstage. Previous performances have included mock executions of Joe Biden, Vladimir Putin, and even a pregnant Taylor Swift mannequin. As one X (formerly Twitter) user wryly noted, “Welcome to GWAR. They are from outer space. They once released an album called ‘We kill everything’ because they do in fact kill everything.”
Yet, the timing and choice of targets at Riot Fest struck a nerve. Footage of the Musk beheading, posted by an account named ‘Karen,’ quickly went viral, sparking outrage from some corners of social media. “That’s not edgy, it’s grotesque and reckless and normalizes violence against a real person. This is not okay. Riot Fest and GWAR crossed a major line,” one user wrote, echoing a chorus of concern that the act blurred the line between satire and incitement. The debate was further fueled by the context of recent real-world violence against political figures, including the assassination of Charlie Kirk just a week earlier.
The criticism wasn’t limited to anonymous online voices. As PJ Media pointed out, “What we’re witnessing is the normalization of political violence as a form of entertainment. When major festivals can host mock executions of political figures, dismiss criticism with vulgar responses, and watch audiences cheer simulated beheadings there’s a problem, because this isn’t just satire anymore.” The article referenced a recent study indicating that more than half of self-identified leftists said killing Donald Trump would be at least “somewhat justified,” and nearly half said the same about Elon Musk. For some, this was evidence that GWAR’s theatrics were feeding a dangerous cultural current, rather than simply lampooning the powerful.
GWAR’s defenders, however, were quick to respond—often with the same irreverence that defines the band’s shows. The Anonymous hacking group’s X account shot back at critics, “F Elon Musk. Call the manager you fing loser. It’s like you never heard of GWAR before you fing py.” Many fans argued that GWAR’s brand of absurdist spectacle is so over-the-top that it cannot be taken as a literal endorsement of violence. One social media user, referencing the band’s decades-long history of mock executions, wrote, “They do this to every leader and even did Obama but after what happened with Charlie Kirk last week it’s just r** timing.”
Riot Fest organizers, for their part, responded to criticism with a blend of sarcasm and profanity. When one X user accused GWAR and the festival of crossing a major line, the festival’s official account replied, “Like I know this is a rage bait engagement farming Twitter account, but ‘GWAR crossed a major line’ is one of the funniest fing things I’ve ever heard.” Another user’s concern about the timing of the act was met with a blunt, “Shut the f* [up] you dork a loser.” Such responses only deepened the divide between those who saw the act as harmless performance art and those who viewed it as dangerously provocative.
It’s worth noting that GWAR’s schtick is hardly new. The band’s entire aesthetic is rooted in shock value, parody, and a kind of cartoonish violence that owes more to Looney Tunes than to real-world aggression. As a GWAR representative told The Post, “Normalizing violence? Humans don’t need GWAR for that. There is nothing normal about the Looney Toon violence acted out on a GWAR stage. GWAR is absurdist spectacle. GWAR is to violence what the New York Post is to journalism. Ridiculous.”
Still, context matters. As PJ Media and others have argued, the escalation of political rhetoric and the reality of actual threats against public figures have changed the stakes. What once might have been dismissed as edgy satire now lands differently in an era of heightened tensions and real-world violence. The debate over GWAR’s Riot Fest performance has become a microcosm of larger cultural battles over free expression, political polarization, and the responsibilities of artists and event organizers.
Riot Fest itself is no stranger to controversy. Established in 2005, the three-day punk and rock festival has grown into one of the largest independently-owned music festivals in the United States. This year’s event boasted a star-studded lineup, with headline performances from Blink-182, Weezer, Green Day, Jack White, and ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic, among others. Yet, it was GWAR’s bloody spectacle that dominated headlines and social media feeds, overshadowing even the festival’s biggest musical acts.
As the dust settles, the question remains: is GWAR’s brand of theatrical violence a harmless tradition, a vital form of political satire, or a reckless act in a volatile time? For some, the answer is obvious—GWAR is just doing what they’ve always done, and those who take offense are missing the joke. For others, the performance is a symptom of a culture that’s grown too comfortable with violent imagery and too quick to dismiss the potential consequences.
Whatever one’s view, the uproar over GWAR at Riot Fest is a reminder that art, politics, and public spectacle are never far apart—and that the line between provocation and irresponsibility is as blurry as ever.
