Mid-Hudson Civic Center
Poughkeepsie, NY
11-21-98
________________________
---After so many changes of plan that I'm no longer sure who's even going to
these shows, we finally pull over the Mid-Hudson Bridge and come in sight of
the venue. Creepy place, Poughkeepsie; only 3:00 Saturday afternoon but just
about everything's already shut down for the night. The Mid-Hudson Civic
Center turns out to be hooked up Siamese-twinstyle with the Sheraton, where
the band and several Spooks are staying. This gives the standing line a
great view of the hotel's grandly lit main entrance (we remark that we're
just waiting for all those lightbulbs to flash "DRUGS"), whereby we're able
to scare the daylights out of a large wedding party that arrives
mid-afternoon. (Bet they're having second thoughts about *ever* having
kids. =) This time of year it seems the Center's primarily an ice-hockey
arena and skating rink, and families toting skates and sticks file past us
all afternoon and evening, looking more-than-nervously at the lot of us as
we continue to gather. Heh.
Some of the earliest arrivals had come prepared with a computer-printed
banner - "DANGER = MANSON LINE STARTS HERE" - plus blankets and a CD player,
so we're well entertained with MM and NIN music as the day wears on. (The
ice-skating families look less well entertained, not having anticipated
exposing kiddies to the likes of "I'm not in love but I'm gonna fuck ya...")
We stand and yak with the clan (hi Rudy, Mike/Claudia, Regina, Klyph,
Kristen, M-Carrie, P-Carrie, S-Jen, Jen13, et al, et al., --plus a BIG
special hi to our long-unseen sisters the Slashers!) about sundry things of
amusement. Coyote and EVB had attended a horror/SF convention the day
before at which original MM bassist Gidget Gein was one of the guests (don't
ask) and now share many details of their conversation with said
well-remembered Spooky Kid. The Sheraton dis-endears itself to various
Family members by being collectively a dick about access to rooms and
restaurant. (In case I haven't mentioned it yet, Zepp is looking *way*
goddamn good this year, with long loose hair and no scruffy goatee.>=) And
so on...
In we go. It's one of those places where they want you to sit on the floor
and wait for the call to barricade. Floor's cold, just plywood laid over
the ice of the arena, and I have a happy Dayton flashback that must be a
good omen. We sit, we shiver, we wait - we lunge. Victory! On the bar once
again and *right*dead*center*, with Manson's mikestand square in front of
me. Let the night begin.
12 Rounds play. Same as same as, yeah right great, whatever. The only
notable thing about their set this time is a distinct reek of butane (and
vomit) that we keep getting the whole time they're on - both smells vanish
when they do. WTF?.... anyway, they go away. The crush on the rail
continues to tighten throughout "The Wall" - the whole arena floor is
packed, which ought to be enough pit to keep Manson happy....
Darkness, smoke, white light, shadow. There they are.
Right away this one feels good. The energy level shoots to the ceiling.
Manson has some trouble getting his big Omega headpiece off and is still
yanking at the fastenings into the first verse, but doesn't lose his temper,
another good omen. (I actually cheer as he finally peels away the thing and
flings it behind him, throwing himself forward into the song without a
backward look.) The floor's already more viscerally engaged in the show
than any I've been in this tour - roaring and thrashing out the "shoot shoot
shoot"s - and Manson's eating it up, stalking and lunging, red eyes catching
the underlighting like fire-opal. A lovely, heartfelt "Great Big White
World", an old-fashioned racketing "Cake & Sodomy" and a scorching
"Posthuman"; the set's kicking like crazy, the cyclic energy flow finally
working. I'm flattened to the gridwork barricade like a pinned butterfly
but I'm utterly happy, home at last. This is what it's like! Man, have I
missed it!
Finally clear to me what's been wrong with the shows I've seen so far - they
were too stylized and mannered, elaborate set-pieces that Manson seemed
framed by but not involved with. Now we're all involved, got our teeth into
it, and the old power and fury come out full blast. People throw themselves
at the barricade not caring about damage. What happened? Is it the floor?
What's different tonight? (Well, one thing is the opening to "User
Friendly", which has been a generalized cynical snarl, "How many of you are
in love tonight?...How many just want to get fucked?" There's a more
specific sting in there this time: "How many of you *guys* are in love
tonight? How many of your *girlfriends* just want to get fucked?.."
Um..ohhh-kay...)
-- Standard MA set and it charges on without a break, everything ticking
along clean as a digital readout. It's such a kick to have everyone so into
it at last! It's tight on the rail but there's never a point where I can't
breathe and the security's got the overhead exodus well in hand (these guys
even pat you on the head when all's clear =) so we're just fine. John and
Twig charge around like excited pups and Manson's ultra wired, but *good*
wired, even leaning out far enough to let kids touch his fingers - when'd
you last see that?! The show's exhibitionist quotient is as high as ever -
no point in even counting how many times Manson fondles his crotch and ass -
but there's one tonight he hasn't done before or since, sliding his fingers
into his shiny codpiece, then drawing them just as slowly back up to his
mouth and giving them a long savoring lick. Whew. (And Twiggy and John 5
have a *long* clinch half-crouched on the stage, with Twig doing the
neck-nuzzle/smooch bit and J5 giving a terrific display of bliss. =) -- A
huge, dramatic "Mechanical Animals" on the stilts (everyone loves that),
"Sweet Dreams" and then "Speed of Pain". What is it I don't get about this
song? Everyone assured me it would bring me to tears, but I can lean on the
rail, watch it close-up (in between quitters being hauled over my head) and
only think, yeah, pretty. Marilyn looks smashing in his long leather coat
and hat and uses the lighting superbly (as does Pogo, breaking a wide ray
into brilliant shafts with his spiky Mohawk), but I'm still not getting
anything out of it but nice staging. Damn, it must be there...
So here's the complete set list. ACT ONE: Reflecting God, Great Big White
World, Cake and Sodomy, Posthuman, Mechanical Animals, Sweet Dreams, Speed
of Pain. ACT TWO ("from the drug capital of the world, Hollywood,
California...") Rock Is Dead, Dope Show, Lunchbox, User Friendly (insert
Marilyn's pro-drug chat with God here), Don't Like The Drugs, Rock'n'Roll
Nigger. ACT THREE: Antichrist Superstar, Beautiful People, Irresponsible
Hate Anthem. No encores this tour - when they don't want to do an encore
they leave out IHA instead.
--They *definitely* do IHA tonight (by midway thru a show you can generally
tell which crowds aren't gonna get the full set, but there was no doubt of
this one) and it's a stormer too. Complete with microphone stand bashing ,
mainly to Marilyn's new favorite target, the rack of water bottles set down
on Ginger's drum riser. Plastic crushes and water geysers in all directions.
We're done. GodDAMN!
Aftershow is the best yet with four out of five Mansons in attendance.
Twiggy's arrival is one for the books - he bursts thru the dressing room
door, covers the distance in two bounds and throws his arm around coyote's
neck from behind! Swear, one second he wasn't there and the next he had my
stunned roomie in a headlock. But he let go before she lost TOO much air =)
and said a quick hi before sprinting off again... y'just never know what to
expect. *g* Ginger was settled at a table talking to anyone, John flirted
with whoever'd hold still for it, and Pogo immediately disappeared onto the
floor - yeah, the floor - sitting crosslegged and talking nonstop. Classic.
I got up the nerve to talk to him this time, though (uh-huh, three years and
I'm still afraid to talk to Pogo) because I had to tell him how great I
think his stuff on this album is. Actually got the words out, actually got a
"*blink* Well. Thank you." So my grand total of sentences exchanged with
the Cryptic One ascends to four. =)
Aaron's keeping an eye on his charges while exchanging remarks with a
rattled-looking hotel security guy. By this time we've had some bulletins
(from Zepp and others) about the amount of damage done to the dressing room,
so we're stealing peeks through the door every time someone opens it. It
really *does* like a cyclone went thru a convenience store. Juice cartons,
pizza boxes, paper food containers of all kinds heaped a foot deep on the
floor, plus some disarrayed furniture - though their own shock-symbol door
frame was of course unharmed. Zepp explains that Manson decided to burn a
t-shirt in the sink (source of the butane smell during 12 Rounds' set, we
wonder?...) and was stopped by security, who huffed that if he didn't quit
they'd cancel the show. And that set them all off. Bizarre tales of
bonfires and semi-nudity follow...oh, for videotape...
--After this we get an odd invitation to the effect that there's a *private*
party in the hotel, girls only allowed (?) and our gang is invited to go.
So we rush to the car, clean up as best we can, and smuggle ourselves
upstairs to the room number we were given, completely in the dark as to just
what's going on here. It's a conference-type room, not a bedroom, with
chairs and a meeting table. There are already 25 or so girls/women there
when we get there, most of 'em just as average-looking as us, plus some
cases of beer and soda. No one seems to have the least idea what to do, so
we claim the table, have a can of Coke each and build pyramids with the
glasses. Time passes. John 5 walks thru but doesn't stay. Finally Jonathan
comes in to say that the band's all way past drunk and won't be coming over,
so we all may as well book out. What-ever...everyone lines up for the
bathroom before departing, which is how I missed the sight of Pogo breezing
in, dressed in a kimono (!) and cheerily (!) brandishing a bottle, before
leaving with a girl.
Mysteries of the Glam Rock'n'Roll Lifestyle...
Aaah, whatever. We're gone. See ya in Lowell.
==angelynx== (Paula O'Keefe)
angelynx_prime@geocities.com
....... whatever doesn't kill us makes us stranger................