Who came up with this pairing? Way to go for Marilyn Manson picking up genius artists to bring on tour with him. I didn’t know how well someone like Ours would work with a Manson crowd, and to be sure, no one anywhere around me while I was making my way to the doors had the foggiest clue who was opening at all, let alone that it was Ours, and let alone that they in turn knew who the hell Ours was. Not in a mood to be pushy, I joined the queue to get in to the Queen Elizabeth Theatre for the show, which ran down to the plaza, switchbacked through the plaza, to the corner, around the corner, down to the next block, around another corner, and past the doors of an establishment entirely around the block from the venue. It was cold. People in line sent runners to pick up beer and wine gums. Everyone was really good-natured, happy, and surprisingly not highly-populated with really goth-looking fans. It would seem that much of the crowd consisted of people like me to some degree – people who got into Manson in high school and maybe were Goths then (I wasn’t, but I was definitely weird), but at some point realized they wanted a house and something that isn't Kraft DInner, and to do that, had to get an executive job and figured maybe they had to get rid of the vampire make-up and buy a suit. Maybe that’s a little sad, but such is life, right?



Fast forward forty minutes and I’m finally inside the building. I go way way up to the top section, where my seat for the night is located. I get there in time to take in merely two songs from Ours, but my heart bled a little at the sound of it all. A large array of musicians were present on stage, and the most impact was driven by the dual toms that were camped out on opposite sides of the stage. The fervor with which the actual drummer and the random percussionist guy beat the hell out of those things was fantastic. Singer Jimmy Gnecco (who basically is Ours anyways)was surprisingly all for touring in Canada, stating that he really enjoyed being here because we treat him better than his own country does (that would be the US). After his last Vancouver show, which I think may have been as far back as 2000, he seemed dismayed at the small turnout (I believe Tool and Spiritualized were also playing their own shows that night, so it’s no surprise really), and I wasn’t sure we’d ever see him up this way again. Time heals all wounds, right?



Performing with an intensity rarely seen and a voice that nearly shatters the building, Gnecco finished his set howling out the first song off his self-titled debut album, “Fallen Angels.” I think my heart just fell out of my chest during his signature wail. Nothing like feeling that vocal in a live environment. Ahhh.



Now comes the rush. The moments between the two sets were somewhat tense. The audience was crushing frontward in the odd ‘general admission’ pit front and chanting Manson’s name over and over. As photographers, we had to meet up and sign things and then get shuffled off into the media pit, which was thankfully quite large. Eleven photogs scattered themselves around the stage front and the walkway that jutted out from the middle of the stage. After waiting around for twenty minutes or so, this big burly dude comes in and yells at us all to gather around him. As the security director, he was there to debrief us. It soon became apparent this was Manson’s personal security guy. We got the normal stuff about not leaning on the stage, not swapping sides once we pick a spot, staying out of the security guards’ way because they might be dealing with a spike-laden crowd surfer or something… and then he ended with, “And don’t stand too close to the walkway (which is exactly where I was standing) because he has a microphone with a knife on it that he swings around and he’s not too aware of his surroundings.” This takes photographer risk to a whole new level. Stolen gear and a kick on the head from a crowdsurfer is one thing… beheading-by-singer’s-knife-o-phone?? That’s a little more significant.



Anyways, after some more delay, on with the show. The space behind the giant MM curtains covering the stage teased the audience, as an array of cathedral-style prayer candles lit up and figures began walking around the stage. Eventually, the curtain dropped, and out came Manson, with a slash of make-up drawn across his eyes (not unlike Michael Stipe’s recent tour make-up blue slash, but more sinister). I’ve always been quite fond of Marilyn Manson as a person for his intelligence and ideals and boundary-pushing within the realms of what is acceptably popular music. He’s an infinitely interesting man, and to boot, really knows how to work his adoring crowd. People seriously worship him. It’s odd – it’s like the way people would act at a Britney Spears show (well, maybe not so much these days… you know what I mean), only in black instead of… I guess baby pink or whatever. Absolute pop. I know the goth kids would draw and quarter me for saying that, but these people were like fainting and reaching mightily to the point of nearly dislocating shoulders just to touch Manson’s outstretched hand. And he eats it up. The majority of the show was spent crouched at the end of that walkway, just as close he could possibly get to the crowd.



While us upper-levelers were kept in the dark most of the time, there was a huge amount of time where the main floor of the audience was bathed in house lights. I’m unclear whether this was so Manson could see the crowd, or if it was to discourage rowdy audience behaviour, but the only skirmishes I ever saw were over the water bottles Manson periodically pitched into the crowd. No fights, no crowd surfing at all… these people may be a bit nuts at times, but they’re definitely fans, and it’s hard to imagine Manson being the reason behind anyone’s flip-out that causes any sort of destruction or massacre. These people all seemed quite genuine. I mean the guy in the seat (well, not that he was actually in the seat) on the other side of the girl who was beside me was steadying himself with one hand on the railing behind him, rattling it mercilessly as he thrashed around madly. On the upside, his shampoo sure smelled nice, since I got good whiffs of it as he flung his long hair around in giant circles. But that's hardly destructive (except maybe to the railing).



Lots of songs off of latest album Eat Me, Drink Me were showcased, but this show was immense and long and any time he cranked out an older song, particularly anything pre-1998-mainstreamifying, the audience went completely horseshit. Those were the seriously messed up songs – loud, obnoxious, chaotic, alternative. This is the core of what Marilyn Manson is all about. I can’t say it’s my personal favourite, but I get why the die-hards are so excited to hear some of these songs live. Manson himself is definitely the performer. The theatrics never ended for the two hours or so that the concert lasted. He did come off his walkway from time to time to cavort about, slipping in and out and between recently-reinstated bassist Twiggy Ramirez’s legs, or to run off to do a costume change. All the while, the room alternated between house lights, and mystical and intricate light shows by this big sparkly backdrop of light modules that covered the entire back of the theatre stage. The popular tune “Mobscene” really brought out the backdrop light shot in full effect. Manson plays up the drugs and sex like crazy, definitely to the point of it sounding absurdly contrived sometimes, but hey, it is a show. Between costume changes from tanks to shirtless to circus ringleader and on, his ever-present leather pants were nearly taken off of him (of his own accord) a number of times as he rolled around the stage, in some strange strip-tease show. Oh how scandalous. People in the crowd around me are dancing so hard to this, I’m surprised they don’t tumble off the balcony.



One of the highlight moments was the performance of new single, “Heart-Shaped Glasses.” A wee ways into the tune, which has a hipstery sound that seems like it would make most of his early fans cringe if it were sung by anyone else, a girl very staidly and deliberately walked out onto the stage, wearing a saucy red maid’s uniform and pushing a cart with a bottle and glasses on it. She looked nearly mechanical. Manson settled in on the other side of the cart and took a swig of the liquid as he continued to sing. Then he defiantly strolled about to her backside, kneeled down, lifted her skirt and proceeded to basically sing into her scantily clad butt. Moments later, back up he got, walked around to her side, and ripped her head off. Yes, ripped the poor girl’s head clear off, sang to it, and then threw it across the stage. All the while as the girl continues to stand there headless, she keeps slowly raising one foot up from the knee and putting it back down again. She was motionless. Is this some incredible remote control robot? Did they hire Disney Imagineers for this show? The headless girl soon easily departed the stage. Not to spoil the magic for you, but I hear it’s a girl bent over double with her torso actually under the cart, and the visible top half is a mannequin. It was a pretty amazing effect though.



Manson pulls out the rockstarish “Vaaaaaaaaaaaancouvahhhh!” a bit too much for my liking, but then totally justifies it later by making fun of himself for doing so. That’s great. Other rock-brattery was provided by Ramirez, who would, as soon as a stage tech would come out and upright the mic stand that Manson had toppled over, kick it right back down again. During another big single, “The Dope Show,” which was played at an exceedingly ploddy pace, the graphics coursing over the light module screen at the back reminded me of that old Mario RX video game. Drugs drugs drugs. Manson placidly seems to encourage heavy drug use. Oh what a jerk, ruining our youth. Confetti canons were shot off a few times late in the show. That confetti’s got some staying power. And Manson will thoughtfully rub one of his towels over his ass or crotch before throwing it into the crowd for them to fight over. There were oodles of interesting tidbits going on all show that I could write about forever. Basically, you should just go see a Marilyn Manson show, even if you hate him. It’s such a spectacle.

“Antichrist Superstar” was one of the encore songs, and out he came on a giant podium with the mock-Nazi/electric shock symbol flags all over the place, flopping himself around on the podium like a wonky jack-in-the-box and holding aloft a bible that burst into flames seemingly by itself (and momentarily after he flung it to the ground, the stage crew had a bit of a hard time actually removing the fire from the stage). And in a moment that I might actually classify as cute, when Manson decided to get off his walkway and go for a stroll around into the crowd (kind of), he had the assistance of the head of security who had earlier briefed us on the photography. The sight of this big, tall, muscly black guy carrying around this tiny, pasty-white skinny creature in black leather pants like a baby was, I must say, quite amusing.

All right – to sum up : Ours is beautiful. Manson is entertaining. Both I would recommend seeing, whether or not they’re your cup of tea.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Andy Scheffler
Published : March, 2008.