Antichrists and Oranges

From April 15, 1997
ANTICHRISTS AND ORANGES:
MARILYN MANSON PLAYS ORLANDO
"Why would I want to go someplace that's full of fucking assholes?"

And so, with a contemptuous gesture towards the arena entrance, did Marilyn Manson sum up his thoughts on "heaven" and the group of Christian protesters gathered outside. The outcry against Manson's performance at the University of Central Florida Arena was quiet in comparison to the wild rumpus which has followed Marilyn Manson (the band) throughout it's Antichrist Superstar tour (Note--It was actually called the "Dead to the World Tour"). As I am writing this, Manson fans and religious zealots are gearing up for the April 17 showdown in Jacksonville, Florida, where more than 800 people have written complaints about the scheduled tour stop to the mayor, and the mayor has expressed a desire to see the show canceled.
However, there was very little of this antagonism apparent in the Orlando crowd I found myself screaming, shouting, and dancing with on April 15. For being a bunch of hellbound slaves of the antichrist (so speaks the opposition), the crowd was friendly, cordial, and even downright nice to each other. Maybe every tenth person was dressed in something other than black. And even then, those folks were part of the circus for not conforming to our social non-conformity.

My husband and I are *huge* Manson fans. In fact, we drove from Tallahassee to Orlando for the show to celebrate our fourth wedding anniversary.

A blistering opening performed by Helmet prepared the crowd for the aural onslaught to come. That energy came to a frustrated peak when a trio of women bearing cellos (electric cellos?) took the stage. Who were they? I have no idea. Neither did anyone around me. After the Helmet set, the audience was primed for Marilyn Manson to take the stage. The mysterious cellists received a lukewarm (at best) reception. Then again, it was all part of the twisted circus. By the way, if you happened to be at the show, and you know who the cellists were, please e-mail me.

(NOTE: The chicks with the cellos were the band Rasputina.)

Being a Manson fan, I won't even try to present an unbiased concert review. The band could have had dead bugs stuck in their instruments, and I probably still would have enjoyed it. There are a few relatively objective comments I can make. For instance, the sound quality in the arena was excellent, and the musicians were up to the same form as on their recordings. The performance sounded--as it should, I suppose--like the albums from which the songs were taken. Incidentally, Marilyn Manson covered a wide range of material from Antichrist Superstar, included their "Sweet Dreams" cover from Smells Like Children, and performed a few classic tunes from their debut, Portrait of an American Family.

What would Marilyn Manson the man be without Marilyn Manson the band? It's hard to focus on Manson's incredible stage presence and showmanship while seeming to ignore Twiggy Ramirez, Zim Zum, Madonna Wayne Gacy, and Ginger Fish. But the show belongs to Manson. He keeps the focus on himself, on the saga of Wormboy's transformation into the Antichrist Superstar.

I didn't get backstage. I didn't try, and I didn't feel like I had to. Marilyn Manson has the ability to make one feel that they've been in direct contact with him. Don't laugh. There was a connection between Manson and the audience that was almost tangible. Even in our upper-level section, people somehow felt they had been touched by the Reverend--both by his art, and by himself.

Oh yeah...about the pamphlet...

Well, I returned to my car after the concert to find that certain religious factions had deemed it necessary to debauch my nice vehicle with their babblings. So I removed the pamphlet, held it up to the crowd of thirty or so who were around me in the parking lot. I then proceeded to pull down my pants and wipe my little heathen ass with the pamphlet, to great applause.

Friends have asked me why I defiled my body that way. I guess it was the spirit of the night.

And I have a footnote--I met Manson's dad, Hugh Warner, somewhere outside the men's restrooms. Nice chap.