Pentagram - First Daze Here

167 days until W:O:A 2023. We're doing this.

Let’s talk about Pentagram—one of those bands where the legend has arguably outgrown the music. Set to celebrate their 50-somethingth anniversary at W:O:A this year (depending on which history book you believe), Pentagram were formed in either 1969 or 1971 by Bobby Liebling and Geof O’Keefe. The original lineup rounded out with Vincent McAllister and Steve Martin—and then promptly began a decades-long game of musical chairs with more than thirty musicians cycling through the band.

The only constant? Bobby Liebling, who seems to exist in a state of permanent self-destruction and is, by all accounts, a nightmare to work with.

There are moments where you almost root for him. He gets clean. Finds love. Has a child. Plays music again. The doc clearly wants you to believe in the redemption arc. But fast forward to now and—yeah. No happy ending here. The relationship imploded, Liebling ended up in jail for abusing his mother, and his track record with women is—let’s say—abysmal.

It’s hard to separate the man from the music when the man keeps crawling out of the woodwork like a cursed NPC.

Pentagram are often lumped in as early doom pioneers, right alongside the likes of Sabbath. And sure—they’ve released eight studio albums, most recently Curious Volume in 2015. Liebling even joined a supergroup called The Limit, who put out their debut in 2021. So yes, the man is technically still active.

But here’s the thing: I’ve been listening to their early material all week, and honestly? I don’t hear the doom. Not in the way we talk about doom today.

If anything, Pentagram has about as much to do with metal as The Stooges—which is to say, they were heavy for the time, but the sound leans more psychedelic rock than proto-doom. Liebling himself has said they were always a psychedelic band, and honestly, I believe him.

Musically, I’d file them under “Early Metal” — right next to Blue Cheer, Blue Öyster Cult, and the general fuzz-drenched weirdness of the late ‘60s/early ‘70s. It’s gritty. It’s bluesy. It’s loud. But if you go in expecting Candlemass-tier dread, you’re gonna be left very confused and possibly underwhelmed.

First Daze Here is a 2001 compilation of Pentagram’s ‘70s recordings—a collection of raw, groovy, underground rock tracks featuring three of the four original members: Liebling, Geof O’Keefe, and Vincent McAllister, joined by Greg Mayne on bass. (Both McAllister and Mayne have sadly passed away.)

This isn’t polished. It’s not refined. But it is catchy—dirty 70s rock with an authentic, unvarnished production that feels like it was recorded in a garage next to a bong. The riffs are sticky in that “accidental earworm” kind of way—especially if you’re into that raw, blues-driven fuzz.

Some standout moments:

Forever My Queen – Probably their best-known song. The riff has wormed into my brain and is now part of my personality. I fully expect to hear this live at W:O:A—and I will yell along.

Be Forewarned – Bluesy as hell, with a creeping sense of doom (finally). Liebling actually nails the mood here—he sounds fully possessed, in a good way.

Last Days Here – Gritty, emotional, and weirdly touching. There’s something honest in how he sings this, even if the context makes it uncomfortable. The solo sneaks in and makes you feel things. I didn’t ask for this, but here we are.

I feel incredibly conflicted about Pentagram.

There’s a lot to admire: the rawness, the weirdness, the fact that this stuff still sounds alive despite the decades (and dysfunction) behind it. But there’s also a lot that feels overhyped, especially if you're coming in expecting genre-defining doom metal.

Still—I think I want to see them live. If Bobby Liebling actually makes it to the stage this August, part of me feels like I have to witness it. Call it morbid curiosity. Call it reluctant respect. Call it the true genre tourism experience.

He may be a walking red flag, but somehow—he’s still walking.