Somewhat fittingly for a show on the infamous Antichrist Superstar’s comeback tour, this sold-out gig was memorable for both the right and wrong reasons.
Before the main act came Gallic alt-rockers The Blackmordia, their set not exactly landing well with the assorted audience members, including one gent who tenaciously held his finger up at them for a good chunk of it. By my reckoning, they played a decent set, with a few notable numbers I’ve yet to identify, with frontman Peter Moison doing his best impression of a BDSM Jim Morrison, riding crop and lack of shirt in tow for the bulk of the set. Sadly, they kinda wore out their welcome when they played three or four more songs after declaring it was the “last chance to dance”.
It was then, in the interval between them and Manson, when things started getting *really * annoying, with a loud drunken, arm-flailing attention whore parking herself in my vicinity and chatting bollocks to any and all who’d entertain the annoying bint . Luckily, I managed to edge my way away from her, further to the front.
As expected, the main man and his band ignited the crowd, inspiring the pushes and throngs characteristic of many a
mosh. Shame the princesses I was pushed into failed to get the memo, thinking their chromosomal configuration entitled them to special immunity from the normal consequences of being on the floor of a crowded hard rock show.
Then there was the bloke christened a “fucking American cunt” by others on the floor, who insisted on barging and elbowing his way through, eventually prompting me to knock him back with a sharp dig of my own. Still, I admit to laughing when he induced frothing Trump Derangment Syndrome from the audience member who’d rechristened him by endorsing the hilarious heel of a president.
And as much as I’m not one to bemoan the use of phones at gigs, what’s with everyone filming a *landscape * (the stage) in fucking *portrait *mode? Way to obscure the view, guys.
All these elements contributed to putting a dampener on what was otherwise a triumphant comeback show for Manson after a combo of drug and alcohol abuse, lacklustre performances, attending church with Kanye West, and most notoriously, the #MeToo scandal that had him smeared as a rapist, groomer, and all-round sex abuser by his ex Evan Rachel Wood, who effectively
rallied a coven of similarly spurned exes around her for what turned out to a factually dubious legal campaign. As Manson said prior to a storming performance of ‘Disposable Teens’, “They tried to take me away from you. They tried to destroy me. But all they did was make me stronger, because I’m not fucking disposable.”
And, indeed, twas fucking great to see Mr Brian Warner back in full-throated fighting form, his phoenix-like defiance marked by a joviality I’d not seen in him before. There was not a dodgy or lacklustre note to be heard throughout his set, during which he belted out the likes of ‘Great Big White World’, ‘The Beautiful People’, the excellent deep-cut ‘Angel with Scabbed Wings’ and the set-closing ‘Coma White’. New tracks from his most recent album, One Asssination Under God, Vol. 1, like set opener ‘Nod If You Understand’ and ‘As Sick as the Secrets Within’, got honourable airing, though much to my surprise and disappointment, he omitted ‘Raise the Red Flag’, his sterling fuck you/declaration of war against those who wished to see him bound and broken.
His band did his rejuvenated pipes much in the way of justice, most noticeably bassist Piggy D. with his hair blowing around as if he were in a L’Oreal ad and new touring axewoman Code Orange shredder and songstress Reba Myers, who added her own lungwork to the chorus of ‘MOBSCENE’.
So, yes, a superb rise from the ashes for Marilyn Manson, man and band both, however marred my experience of it was by events on the floor. If there’s a Volume 2 of OAUG in the works, here’s hoping the tour setlist for that includes more of my favourite fight songs, love songs, and stranger-killing irresponsible hate anthems from the Pale Emperor’s past alongside the new shit.
~MRDA~
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