It's ironic that I decided to tackle this project, even as I concede that I'm blinking several albums out of existence (quiet down, rubes...you know who you are). On the subject of Marilyn Manson, I am well past the point of discovery, that wild, bracing flux of new emotions you feel when you and your paramour (or honeybunch, if it suits your means) are waist-deep in the dating stage of your relationship. That's not the only reason why this assiduous endeavor may seem out of step with my current tastes. Heh, did you see that? The first three letters of "assiduous" spell a foul invective. Ass! Can you believe that? ASS!
And so this intellectual dissertation continues...these days, I primarily lock myse-ASS! Man, I guess you had to be there. Right, so the majority of the music that I jam into my ears is metallic. To be a tad specific, I've been devouring atmospheric black metal by the shovel load. We have a mammoth road trip looming next week (truly, it's a commiserable peregrination; it's also a couple of fancy words), and judging by the playlists I've compiled for the occasion, I won't be shaking metal from my bones anytime soon. Apart from the heaviest moments of Portrait of an American Family and Antichrist Superstar, Manson is an industrial rock act. What gives?
Outside of being an intriguing discography review, I don't have a gratifying answer. Ever since eyeballing the video for "Sweet Dreams" at the tender, marbled age of 11, I've been fascinated by the man, the myth, the calculated character that is Marilyn Manson. I didn't immerse myself in Portrait until I considered myself to be a well-versed fan. If Antichrist Superstar is the devil himself, then Portrait is a lowly familiar, a menial demon content to pester you, perhaps by pissing on your ornamental rug. That's not a bad thing, necessarily. In 1994, this quintet of spooky kids wasn't too far removed from high school, and you can tell.
"Cake and Sodomy" is a forceful track. I can't think of a more germane way to kick off the record. Right out of the gate, you'll notice (or at least I did) an electric guitar that yields to the rhythm section and buckles beneath the other instruments during moments of ungainly tension. "Hardly worth mentioning, Dom." I beg to differ, hypothetical paper tiger. Manson himself has such a commanding presence, people forget that there is a guitarist on the payroll. On Portrait, that guitarist is Daisy Berkowitz. Next to John 5, he's my favorite Manson axeman. Would it be going too far to call him the Randy Rhoads to Manson's Ozzy Osbourne? Yes. Yes, it would.
Speaking of favorites (and guitars, natch), "Cyclops" is my favorite cut here. Additionally, it boasts a fantastic solo break. The song does encompass some of Manson's weaker lyrics ("Cyclops woman can't see nothing at all/She got a pin prick spiral hole"), but it fucking rocks. That sound you heard was me demolishing your argument, if you had one. Do I really need to cover the classics? No, seriously; my vision is beginning to blur. I will proclaim that "Lunchbox" is just as repetitive as it is catchy. Sonically, "Get Your Gunn" hints at the album around the corner. I love the wry focus on soft/loud dynamics. You can castigate his moral fiber (and trust me, I'm getting there), but the guy knows how to write a chorus.
The first half of Portrait of an American Family walks with purpose. The second half...eh, it trips and falls over. I'm not sure what happens exactly, but this set of sparklers loses its momentum as it approaches the finish line. I can relate. Ask yourself how many times you have listened to "Misery Machine" in its entirety. If the number is above zero, you are lying. Okay, I'll give you one. ASS! That's called a theme, kids.
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