Issue 8 Contents


Marilyn Manson with Nashville Pussy, Worcester Centrum, April 9, 1999

Report 1

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.

Report 2

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.