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Marilyn Manson
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Marilyn Manson
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Worcester, MASS - This was supposed to be the Manson/ Hole/ Monster Magnet "Rock Is Dead" Tour that self destructed well before Worcester got a chance to see it, but it proved to be a bit of fun anyway.
Our friend managed to get after show passes from Tony (Manson's
Manager) and they came with some awesome seats to boot. I had purchased a
few tickets when it was the Manson/ Hole thing, so we ended up having one
extra that we didn't even bother to try to sell. There didn't seem to be
a huge market in tickets going on, and it turns out that it wasn't even
close to selling out. All the 300 level seats were empty, the 200's had
some spots and the floor was like 4/5 full.
Tough shit for everybody 'cause both Nashville Pussy and Manson
did pretty good sets. Nashville Pussy had to tone down their antics,
while Manson continues to amp his up. Even though Manson just played
Lowell a few months ago on the warm up to this tour, there were plenty of
changes, new costumes, and fire.
Nashville Pussy is probably the only band touring that can
actually handle the Manson rock and roll machine and not end up in rehab
or jail. They had to cut out the fire spitting and nudity and pouring
beer over the guitar chick's tits. She didn't give any bottles head
either. Anyway, to prove they don't kid around, the singer Blane came out
and during his opening scream he ripped his trucker baseball cap off to
reveal his big old bald top to the world. He has the missing middle and
real long sides, so all he had to do was keep the hat on and rock, but the
devil was a callin' and the hat was gone. Ryder ditched her shirt later
on and played most of the set in her bra, but to be honest it was more
their onslaught of never ending rock that stood out, not the stage show.
Even the six foot something hot bass playing Corey Parks beautiful babe
didn't overpower the show. They did lots of the stuff from their CD, but
they didn't do "Fried Chicken and Coffee" which got them a Grammy
nomination. Cool. They rule.
Manson has added a flaming TV cross to his behind the sheet
opening, and it's cool. They also have some stand up tube lights that
make the stage look more like some future glam fest, and spiked platforms
for Pogo's keyboard scene, and Ginger's drum and machine. Pogo's got a
cool keyboard on a swing that allows him to sway and play at the same
time- a good addition.
The show is still broken into parts, with Manson changing into ACS
or Omege persona as he needs. They're trying to smooth the seques, and
had a cheesy cop kinda guy in riot gear come out and fake shoot Manson for
one, but it lacked the danger of Metallica's flaming roadie, or something
from The Wall- but he's trying. Overall I give this show a 7, it was
really good, but there are still some weak spots. Plus Nashville Pussy
had to tone it down and that sucks.
Our cool seats, and crappy seats allowed up some freedom to move
about, and we took fun in the usual Spooky Kid watching. There were some
awesome chicks up front, and lots of real young ones up top. I did see
some 13 year old girl keep lifting up her shirt, but she hadn't begun to
develop, so it didn't seem to be a crime. We also noticed that Manson
still strives to deliver some great 'get kicked out of school' shirts-
like his new "DRUGS- your kids are on them" tee that looks like a DARE
shirt. Nice marketing.
Overall it was pretty good. Manson continues to change his show
around enough each time to keep it interesting., and the circus continues.
The big letdown was what Worcester calls an after show party.
Maybe it was the town, or maybe it was the mood, but for like an
hour we sat in a room with a bunch of chicks in leather goods, and some
drug dealer looking guys waiting for "the band." There were a few normal
people, but mostly it was chicks- some hot, most not. There was only one
truly standout babe in the room and she got to the next level, but the
rest of us just sat and waited. Ginger showed and talked to some folks,
and then John 5 came in and did some swinging. He was the one who took
the real babe to the next level I think, but I don't know for sure. It
really pissed the chicks off who were claiming that John had been calling
them all week with promises and that was cool tension, but other that that
it was juice or coffee, no smoking. We weren't pissed that Manson himself
didn't ever show, we were actually amused to be in such a rock and roll
cliche.
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The spooky kids, they line up early, gamely bearing the
weight of ridiculously large quantities of pancake makeup and a few
crosses.
Her Hole-i-ness couldn't run with the big dogs and abandoned the tour.
Replaced, appropriately enough, by a band from Nashville amused by Pussy
who played some fabulously nasty southern rock largely ignored by the
under-12 crowd, in other words, sadly, the bulk of the audience.
Those who were paying attention were treated to one relentless song after
another, presented by one giant amazon bass player, a short, balding lead
singer and the leopard-skin bikini-clad guitar player who although not
gay, is happy to make out with her bass counterpart for the good of the
show.
The only downside is that the amazon didn't blow fire, something Mike had
the pleasure of seeing before insurance
riders prevented this magnificent display.
I don't think the spooky kids care for anything that might interrupt the
manson experience, including an opening band. Perhaps it taints the
purity of the experience. I make this determination because despite a
sincerely powerful performance from Nashville Pussy, they received little
or no applause. Even this northern white-bread suburban girl, deep in the
bowels of the worcester centrum, thought they deserved more than they got.
The snoozing audience (perhaps napping in anticipation of an unusually
late night) finally woke up when the pussies departed. They gave more
attention to the Manson roadies than the eardrum-splitting performance of
Nashville Pussy that, until now, I had thought impossible to ignore.
These roadies must be quite fetching. I was too far away to make a
reasonable assessment.
Despite my distance from the action, I realized pretty quickly after
Marilyn Manson took the stage that I was correct in my decision to attend
a concert I would normally eschew. To give you an idea of my music taste,
I've been listening to Liz Phair's whitechocolatespaceegg for the past six
months and will continue to do so for the next six. Manson's music is a
little rough for someone with my delicate quasi-folksy sensibilities, or
at least that's what I thought. When those fellows started playing their
little hearts out, responses ranging from tears and religious frenzy to
uncontrollable exuberance and laughter abounded. One little laddie
resurrected the old grateful dead hippy dance, though he probably didn't
know it. Make no mistake, no matter how, everyone in the centrum was
reacting, and with the exception of a few Dads, I'd say positively.
The fans seem to like the kitchy costume changes, pyrotechnic
kalediscopes, and of course the stilts. We all ate up Manson-on-stilts as
if this manifestation of genius rivaled Michaelangelo's ability to create
visual imagery and symbolism. A better conductor than Hitler, Manson is
one magician whose tricks are not diminished but rather enhanced by
over-use. How does he do it? I wish I knew.
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