Do you know the phrase “today the real transgression is not having tattoos”? Well, I've always found it ridiculous, but it helps me to explain what I was looking for in Marilyn Manson before the very serious accusations made against him: an artist capable of finally removing a mask that up to a certain point had worked great and to finally show himself for what he had become. Or maybe it always had been.
I wanted to see the evolution, in short, and not the sometimes grotesque reiteration of a now overused formula. Precisely for this reason I have never cried foul every time his albums distanced themselves from the sound that had made him famous. Of course, not everything was a great success for him, but even in the records mistreated by old fans I still saw an attempt (very difficult, I'm aware) to leave the comfort zone and show himself as different. Perhaps simply to take off the ogre's suit in which he had consciously wallowed from the beginning until at least Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death).
Then, at the beginning of the 1910s, here was a string of records finally in focus. The Pale Emperor, Heaven Upside Down And We Are Chaos they finally delivered an artist perhaps not at peace with the world, but at least with his self. An almost bluesy Manson at times, who didn't forget that he was the old Reverend, but who also aesthetically hid less behind a character. A little makeup, a little smeared and off you go. Of course, the burning Bible couldn't be missed live, but perhaps that was the closest Manson to the man we'd ever seen. Sober is perhaps exaggerated, but certainly less monstrous. Less grotesque.
This seemed clearer to me than ever upon release of We Are Chaos: the lyrics had remained intelligent and, musically speaking, he hadn't gone back to wallowing in the old industrial. He had risked remaining a speck forever and it hadn't happened. Still disturbing, paradoxically even more so without makeup, but infinitely more tragic. Until Evan Rachel Wood's accusations (which came a few months after the release of We Are Chaos) and the sewer that was uncovered. From then on, nothing. Manson, who had spent his life making art out of monstrosity, remaining perpetually poised between reality and fiction, had become a real monster. From true crime.
After the ex-partner's accusations, dozens of others arrived, in a crescendo of aberrant stories about Mr. Warner's habits: torture rooms, violence of all kinds, human trafficking. All further made ugly by disturbing elements that referred to marked Nazi sympathies (which had already surfaced regularly in previous years). Too much even for someone who in his biography had described himself as a sort of maniac of depravity, follower of the teachings of Anton LaVey, accused of having been the moral instigator of the Columbine massacre. One whose performances, in his heyday, were often accompanied by protests from Catholic activists. In short, the elements to decree the end were all there, especially because the case had broken out when Manson's public and artistic relevance was in any case reduced to a minimum and even the sales of his albums were no longer relevant.
In the following years, for the few with whom I could talk about it without fear of being considered someone who supported a criminal, the verdict was almost unanimous: you will see that in the end they will find him dead in a motel in LA. After a period of absolute silence (with a only super tacky appearance together with Kanye West), while trials are awaited and one of the accusers, Ashley Morgan Smithline, has recanted, saying that she “gave in to pressure to make unfounded accusations of rape and assault” (according to the singer's lawyer, he would not have received no compensation for doing so), Manson found a record company willing to take the risk of signing him, Nuclear Blast, and with perfect timing, given that the world today is focused on the Diddy affair, he returned with One Assassination Under God – Chapter 1. Cleaned up, dry as in '98, resurrected. And pissed off.
Those expecting precise references to recent events will perhaps be disappointed. On the other hand, knowing even briefly his path, it was highly unlikely that Manson would publicize this story. Yet, in presenting One Assassination Under GodMarilyn said that it is the first chapter of a saga in which she tells her own biography. Considering the cryptic nature of the lyrics, it is often difficult to really understand who he is addressing, however it is quite clear that the protagonist of all the songs is him. And who essentially feels more like a victim than an executioner. The victim of the murder in the title, which the author is particularly keen to specify is not a sacrifice, clearly appears to be Warner, stabbed like Julius Caesar by a previously trusted traitor.
What the first three singles had clearly highlighted is that there is no clear continuity with the recent past: the tones have become claustrophobic again, the sound has become heavier and everything is pervaded by a sense of extreme gloom. The passages in which Manson seemed to show not exactly happiness, but at least balance are almost absent. So much so that it is not easy to understand whether certain pieces (Death Is Not a Custom, As Sick as the Secrets Within, Sacrilegious) tell us about his current mental state or whether writing them served to exorcise everything he found himself experiencing. What is certain is that it is a decisive return to the past. Perhaps because in such a delicate moment Manson preferred to take refuge in his own certainties, abandoning the more mature phase shown between 2014 and 2020.
The result, however, is not a mimicry, nor an involution, indeed on balance it is an album that will probably mark yet another new beginning for him. Something conceptually similar to the Smashing Pumpkins' recent comeback: certainly nostalgic, perhaps self-referential, but very credible. Manson doesn't limit himself to recovering clichés, but updates the sound that saw him as the undisputed protagonist of the second half of the '90s, mixing metal (rather than industrial), glam and sometimes new wave. Sometimes, as in the title track, it seems like listening to a kind of three-headed monster: those of Dave Gahan, Ozzy Osbourne and Simon Le Bon.
If the most precious pearl of We Are Chaos it was the final one Broken Needlethe new one Sacrifice of the Mass it's very close. A mournful ballad lasting over six minutes which, with the necessary proportions, could easily have found space on Mechanical Animals and where the autobiographical notes are evident: “I never learned to love / Those drugs were not made to heal / I only gave for the sake of taking / Now God will destroy me”. With all due respect to those who, like me, had had the presumption to believe they had understood who the man behind the mask was.
Daniel D`Amico for SANREMO.FM
