Off the Charts: Marilyn Manson

The politics of subversion

By Newt Briggs

One day, Marilyn Manson will be the center square on "Hollywood Squares," and he will answer questions like, "True or false: A human head remains conscious for about 15 to 20 seconds after it has been decapitated?" Or else he'll be on trial for allegedly murdering his groupie-turned-wife, and Court TV will dredge up Robert Blake to speculate about the location of the missing murder weapon. Either way, Manson's stringy hair will be dyed shoe-polish black and his belly will sag out of his faded Victorian topcoat in a way that makes the residents of the Corn/Bible/Rust Belt giggle with pity--kind of like they do when they see Ozzy Osbourne.

At this moment, however, Marilyn Manson is the scourge of middle America. Apparently, this has something to do with the 1999 shootings at Columbine High School, although it has been well documented that Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris were not fans of Manson or his music. It also has something to do with Manson's Anne Rice-inspired persona--which is basically that of a well-read vampire dandy who favors absinthe, exotic drugs and explicit references to having sex with invalids, transvestites and schoolgirls.

What it doesn't seem to have anything to do with is Manson's music--at best, an innocuous blend of nu-metal, industrial and '80s new wave. Despite titles like "Disposable Teens" and "The Dope Show," Manson's songs are basically Chicken Soup for the Goth Soul, blubbering about teen angst and the sham of celebrity. And despite the post-Columbine hubbub over "Get Your Gunn," the song is actually a barb at the pro-life whackjobs who murdered Dr. David Gunn outside a Florida abortion clinic: "Pseudo-morals work real well on the talk shows for the week/ But your selective judgments and good-guy badges/ Don't mean fuck to me."

This is a fairly thoughtful sentiment for the supposed Antichrist, who should probably be concentrating his nefarious will on soul corruption instead of social critique. Besides, while we focus on Manson's preening, truly disturbing songs are slipping past our cultural watchtowers every day. Look no further than classic rock radio to find the most wretched collection of vice and depravity this side of a Cannibal Corpse record. Skeptical? Observe.

"Midnight Rambler," the Rolling Stones: This song, despite the rather misleading title, is not about a kindly gentleman who goes rambling through the park at a set time every evening. Rather, it's about a serial rapist/killer who prowls through back yards and has his way with unsuspecting lasses. David Lynch-meets-Stanley Kubrick, the narrative unfolds in both the first and third person, climaxing with the declaration, "I'll stick my knife right down your throat, baby/ And it hurts." Even if the aforementioned knife is just a reference to Mick Jagger's pointy phallus, it still hurts, baby. You know it hurts.

"Heroin," the Velvet Underground: The '60s were replete with drug songs--"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds," "Mother's Little Helper," "Eight Miles High" and "Purple Haze"--but the vast majority of them were couched in that literary parental-control device known as metaphor. As a result, we could all rock out to Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" secure in the knowledge that the little'uns wouldn't know that the "pills" were actually dangerous hallucinogens that helped Mommy and Daddy explore their love for each other and the outdoors. But in 1967, the Velvet Underground released "Heroin," the first pop song to explicitly celebrate drug abuse. From there, it was only a short step to Eric Clapton's "Cocaine," Jackson Browne's "Cocaine" and Nazareth's--that's right--"Cocaine."

"Everyone's Gone to the Movies," Steely Dan: At first, Mr. LaPage seems like a nice guy who invites lonely children over to his house to watch movies. Then it becomes clear that the reason he's "always laughing, having fun" is because he's a pervert and he shows low-budget adult films to kids. After that, it's "Right down the hallway with open arms/ To teach you a new game to play." And I assure you, that new game is not Tetris (although it may have something to do with fitting bits and pieces together).

"Fortunate Son," Creedence Clearwater Revival: This song begins with images that are pleasant enough--American flags, bands, cannonfire--but quickly degrades into some kind of treasonous diatribe about the military and millionaires and the U.S. Senate. So unless you want your kid to grow up as some kind of degenerate commie pinko, you better lock up the Creedence with the booze and the porn. (Note: In a recent Rolling Stone interview, Marilyn Manson said his earliest musical memory was a road trip to Texas during which he and his parents listened to a Creedence cover band.)