12/5/95, Rockafella's, Columbia NC.

Even smaller than Jeremiah's. Sheeez. Mansons don't even arrive till 8:25, a new record. (Kids in line, however, tell us the Black Bus was there earlier and left. Reconsidering?...) Twiggy pokes his head out of the club and gives a friendly wave. --More hammering is heard inside - another of those impromptu barricades. When we get in we find it's a line of big, square speakers topped with an improvised rail at about eye-chin level. O-kay...the stage being way too small for Mr. Manson's cube perch, and the speakers providing a nice, solid platform an easy step from the stage-edge, we gleefully anticipate at least one Reverential visit during the set. Won't we just *hate* that...

(I don't mean to flatter us, but he does come over to our side a lot. I think it's just that he's seen us so many times that he knows we won't grab or lunge or do anything dumb...we're kinda familiar...)

--this might be a good time to mention the AntiChristian Children's Choir. Well, it's actually a *very* Christian children's choir. Somewhere the Mansons found an album of these little kids singing bouncy kids' religious tunes [it's "Action Bible Songs" by the Cedarmont Kids Singers), and have been playing it as a between-sets feature. It's hilarious. By now we know most of the words (we've heard it completely through seven or eight times) and can lead the way through it, to the amusement of MM's stage crew.
-- and *something* better amuse them, poor guys, as they struggle to get all the gear onto this postage stamp of a stage. You wouldn't believe how cramped it is. They're piling amps on top of each other and plastering every edge and wall in their beloved neon-colored tape (they use *miles* of the stuff) to keep the band from running into things. There's hardly even anywhere to put the guys' water bottles and towels. We heard Maxie grumbling earlier about the "fuckin' matchbox" but didn't realize just how right he was. Stage access means handing things over a rail which divides two outside-door aisles from the stage, and even guitar tech Mike's infinitely compressible worktable is squeezed for space. This'll be fun...

--Ah, here they are. Daisy's wearing a horrible Mod shirt and Mr. Manson is *most* fetching in a little white flower-print hospital smock. (Where DO they find this stuff?=) --On we plow. Strong set, though they look a bit tired and none too comfortable in the close quarters. The Rev spends a minute or so draped on Twig's shoulder. (Awww.) His throat sounds a little rough, and he tosses some mike stands and mannequins but doesn't seem inclined to quit. We turn out to be right about where he's likely to go in lieu of cube, and in spades; he spends a good deal of the set crouched on our end of the speaker barricade, hanging on the rail while kids swarm to touch him. (So amazing it still feels like a hallucination - I mean, gloria dea, he's five inches away from me! Every time he snaps his head I get a smack of wet hair in my face and I'll never forget a second of it... please nobody hate me for it, I'm just too fkn' lucky, that's all I am...lucky and single-minded crazed...)

--actually the really lucky one is coyote. There's a point where he looks down at the rail for a place to get a grip, and there's no space, so he picks up her hand and takes hold where it was, and carefully puts her hand back. On top of his. And leaves it there, for the whole song. I wish you could all have seen her face after the show...=)

They're a little stressed, and the set's a little short. The Stooges' "Dirt" again but no "RNR Nigger" or "Wrapped in Plastic." "Misery Machine" ends in a flurry of destruction as the Rev topples Daisy's amp stack and storms off ("Hey!" from Daisy as he's nearly flattened by falling gear) and Ginger trashes his drum kit, something we haven't seen in awhile. Twig wanders around a second before finding his way offstage in the strobelit confusion. Not a two-encore night.


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