Scary place. Once maybe a happy little seaside resort, but fallen on very hard times. The club's even worse; I expected more from a venue with a semi-well-known name - wonder if it was this bad when Springsteen made his name here. Low stage, barricade absurdly close-to (kids had been telling us they didn't even have one, so it must be a recent or occasional addition), ceiling so low you can almost touch it. A black shoebox. Security gripes that they have no place to work and I don't blame them. One preshow sighting: Twiggy trying to have a beer in the bar beside the club while umpteen girls shrieked at him from the doorway. Twig just hunched his shoulders and tried to ignore 'em... --Roughest crowd yet. So many surfers/swimmers that security can't get them out of the narrow forestage fast enough and they literally pile up like cordwood; too many of them hit the low ceiling and hang on the lights, hauling them out of whack, or hit the onstage light/monitor board on the way out. Techies are climbing over our heads trying to keep the lights angled, and the damn surfers keep coming. A front lightboard catches fire and has to be hauled away, spouting evil-smelling smoke. Cripes, it's bad. -- But the stage is *really* close, hardly a foot away =), and Mr. Manson seems as always pleased to see someone familiar in front. -- Makes his entrance in a ratty patchwork rabbit-fur coat he probably got at the Goodwill down the street; has gaping holes in it and sheds like an old cat, but it's actually long enough for him, wonder of wonders. He's got "whore" written across his chest and doesn't seem in a good mood. Set is strong and tight but tense - the Reverend seems to draw a fine line between what's an enjoyable/workable level of chaos and what's actually endangering the working of the set, and this crosses the line. He prowls the stage edge, taking out every surfer he can hit with well-aimed water bottles. (Man, he's good at that - he targets 'em like a laser sight and never seems to miss. I've seen him knock people cold from twenty or so feet away. Way to go, Daddy!)--People are jammed around the stage so closely that one actually grabs the peghead of Daisy's guitar; he snaps it away with a hard yank and gives the offender a glare that would freeze water solid. Whew! Seldom seen Daisy show any temper but I can tell I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of him, he looked like he hoped he'd broken the guy's wrist. --- Smells Like Children is played instead of Hate Anthem this time, its only recent appearance.