It's been a long time since
Marilyn Manson
truly seemed like a transgressive force, but when you spend a lifetime crafting a persona as a
rock & roll
boogeyman, it's not only hard to shake that image, it's unlikely that you'd want to shake it.
Manson
has never shown any indication that he's wanted to change, which somehow came as a surprise to his betrothed, burlesque diva
Dita Von Teese
, who according to published reports in the wake of their divorce seemed shocked, shocked that
wanted to stay up late and take drugs, the kind of eternally adolescent behavior that only
stars can get away with as they approach 40. Better for
Marilyn
to sever that marriage and turn toward a true teenager:
Evan Rachel Wood
, the blandly pretty star of
Thirteen
who provided
MM
with a brand-new muse for
Eat Me, Drink Me
, his sixth studio album. Frankly,
probably needed something to shake up his music, which started to become comfortably predictable in the wake of his popular/creative peak of
Mechanical Animals
, but the stab at soul-baring on
Eat Me
might not have been the way to do it. But
is such a true believer in
mythos that he's wound up embracing the cliche of the post-divorce confessional album, peppering this album with songs about broken relationships and new love. Personal songs are unusual for
, but that doesn't mean he's abandoned his tendency to write about grand concepts. The difference is that this time around,
himself is the grand concept -- there's no excursions into neo-
glam
or decadent German glamour -- which may give him a lyrical hook, but not a musical one. On a sonic level this is a bit of
-by-numbers -- all his signatures are in place, from the liberal appropriations of
Diamond Dogs
to the cheerful immersion in dirges and his tuneless vampire drone -- but it feels as if his usual murky menace has lifted, with the music sounding clearer, less affected, and obtuse, while still retaining much of its gothic romanticism and churning heaviness. If anything,
is a bit too transparent, as its clean
arena rock
production -- all pumped up on steroids, devoid of much grit -- makes the album sound safe, a bit too close to
cabaret
for comfort, especially when he's penning songs whose very titles feel like unwitting self-parodies (
"If I Was Your Vampire,"
"You and Me and the Devil Makes 3,"
"They Said That Hell's Not Hot"
), or when he lazily spews out profanity as the chorus to
"Mutilation Is the Sincerest Form of Flattery."
These are the moments where
seems like the eternal teenager, unwilling and unable to grow up, and they provide a bitter ironic counterpoint to the rest of the record, where he is striving for an emotional honesty he's never attempted before. Put these two halves together, and
becomes an intriguing muddle, an interesting portrait of
at the cusp of middle-age melancholy even if as sheer music it's the least visceral or compelling he's ever been. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine