Marilyn Manson – with Monster Voodoo Machine at Pearl Street – Review

Marilyn Manson

with Monster Voodoo Machine at Pearl Street
by Cunt Rock Girl
photo (from the Middle East Cafe show) by Dya Khalsa

The members of Marilyn Manson crept onto the demented background of a stage in a cloud of red mist. The Goth girls in front were creaming their black panties in anticipation of the hideous/beautiful Mr. Manson himself. He came (as did the rest of us) out like a newborn calf, weak and sticky and bewildered. [Fuck poetry. How was the music?]

The band was as tight as Mary’s vagina, but it didn’t end there. Seeing an arena band is like watching a movie; you just don’t feel involved. In a small club without security, this little gig proved that guards make the night less fun. (Besides, Mr. Manson was his own security, beating the shit out of anyone brave enough to stage dive.) There’s more of a closeness and sense of danger with the group. Whereas labelmates Nine Inch Nails are cinema, MM is pure theater with Mr. Manson as the Hamlet from hell. (I realize this article is becoming Mr. Manson-centric but it’s difficult not to focus on someone who is such a charismatic asshole. Twiggy, you probably didn’t notice but I almost fell on you and my best friend wants to give you a tumble.)

To wrap this up, I’d like to thank Pearl Street for not carding anyone despite it being an 18+ show. Mr. Manson would like to thank you too, since he leered at my 14-year-old sister all night.

Note: Four words for you: Chicks in the pit! Come on, ladies, don’t let that dark-haired boy in the Pitch Shifter t-shirt scare you; he wants you there too.