Went to the Marilyn Manson concert last night. The religious people were out front, in the cold and rain, picketing with their signs and life-sized crosses and promises of eternal damnation. I’ve decided that next time I go to a Manson show I’m bringing my own sign to hold up while I stand in line. You’ll have to wait till that day happens to find out what it says, but I already have it figured out.
One guy (not affiliated with the zealots) was walking around outside in nothing but ripped nylons. Brrrrrrr! I love the people who go to shows. They make me laugh happy.
The opening band—OURS—were as meh as their name. They looked pretty, but they lacked something. Can’t put my finger on what, but it’s an important something, whatever it is. I had a hard time remembering to pay attention to them.
After they left the stage, we all stood around for an hour, waiting for Manson. I wasn’t feeling too cranky about the wait, though—I had hot gay guys hanging all over each other right next to me. Sometimes squished up against me. It was not a bad way to pass an hour. Once the show started, I don’t know what happened to them, or to anyone else I’d been standing around with—Mark included. One minute he was there, then two short, wide girls pushed through on their way out of the pit, and he was gone!
I was so glad I packed The Boots. I need those extra 4 1/2 inches of height; otherwise all I see are shoulder blades. (I’m contemplating 5 3/4″ platforms for my birthday this year, since I have so far managed to not break an ankle in the 4 1/2s.) I ended up just a few people back from center stage. Got to see Manson and Twiggy right up close. It was a fantastic show, and a fantastic crowd. I’ve always worried that if I ended up in the middle of a pit I’d panic and freak out, but I was totally the opposite of freaking out. It was very zen. Another worry I’d had was what if halfway through the show I need to go pee? HAHAHAHAHAHA. I sweated out all the liquid my body had to give—not a drop left over for the bladder, sorry. I do need to tie my hair up next time so I don’t get my head yanked so much. The only other difficulty I had was that I couldn’t get to my pocket to get my Chap Stick (which means I went 90 minutes without, and if you’ve been around me IRL, you know I don’t go ninety minutes without Chap Stick unless I’m asleep).
They played for about 90 minutes, including the silence before the encore (which didn’t go on for too long, really). There were some technical problems—monitors going out and shit, but nothing that took away from the show. Manson’s voice was good, Twiggy was in like he’d never been gone, and I’m a horrible person, but I hardly noticed Ginger, Charlie and Rob. It’s not that they weren’t good—I could hear that they were good—it was a great show—I just didn’t get around to checking them out. I get all caught up with what’s right in front of me. I only saw as much of Twiggy as I did because I reminded myself every now and then that hey, I’ve been hoping to see Jeordie play again since that NIN concert ended in June ‘06, so I should maybe look over that way. (This is why bands need to play like three nights in a row in the same place. I’ll come for every show. I’d come to every show twice if I could. I’d be there eight times in one night if it weren’t a physical impossibility. “So, Heather, what prompted you to clone yourself?” “So that more of me could enjoy live shows—duh!”)
Since I lost Mark after the first two songs, I figured he’d said “fuck it” and fought his way out to the bar to drink beer for the rest of the show. He’s not really into Manson—plus I’m still hearing him complain about how beat up he got at the Queens of the Stone Age show in September. However, it turns out he wound up right in front of Twiggy, with just a young girl between him and the barrier. He had a brief problem with a guy digging fists into his kidneys. After he turned around and solved that problem, all of the sudden the girls around him were like, “Oh! You’re not with him? We thought you were with him. Hey, hit this guy over here!” (Note: he didn’t actually hit anybody.) And one girl spent much of the show smelling and petting his hair. So, I guess he had a pretty good time overall. I found him at the bar once the crowd on the floor finally broke up—he was trying to get a beer, but the bar was closed, so we took our soaking wet selves out into the night to find water and juice. Lots of water. OMG I was so thirsty, between the sweating and the contact-high-cotton-mouth. I’m thirsty now thinking about it. But:
I HAD THE BEST TIME!!!! (Or maybe the second or third best time, but still, it’s a time that’s way up there on the Times I’ve Had list.)
I’m ready to do it all over again. Right now. Why is there no concert to go to Right Now?!?
Right damned fucking now.
Set list:
“Cruci-Fiction in Space”
“Disposable Teens”
“Irresponsible Hate Anthem”
“Great Big White World”
“mOBSCENE”
“If I Was Your Vampire”
“Heart-Shaped Glasses (When the Heart Guides the Hand)”
“Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)”/”Rock ‘n’ Roll Nigger”
“Tourniquet”
“The Love Song” (This might be in the wrong spot.)
“Little Horn”
“The Dope Show”
“Rock Is Dead”
“Coma White”/”Coma Black”
“The Reflecting God”
“The Beautiful People”
“Antichrist Superstar”
Video (not mine) of the religious protesters:
