Holy Wood (In The Shadow Of The Valley Of Death
Weird name? Check. Alienated'n'angry persona? Check. Usage of 'fuck', 'kill' and 'die' in lyrics? Check. Makeup worn even though artist is a goddamn GUY!? Check.
Niall Stanage, 09 Nov 2000
Weird name? Check. Alienated'n'angry persona? Check. Usage of 'fuck', 'kill' and 'die' in lyrics? Check. Makeup worn even though artist is a goddamn GUY!? Check.
Marilyn Manson fits all the criteria for a hated-by-tabloids, beloved-by-teenagers 'controversial rock star'. And then some. This isn't necessarily a problem, of course. It's just that in MM's case image has long since gained primacy over substance
Holy Wood, as the title suggests, is far from an audience-confounding reinvention of Marilyn as clap-happy feelgood crooner. From the moment opening track 'GodEatGod' reaches its chorus ("Before the bullets/Before the flies/Before the authorities take out my eyes") until, 19 songs later, the sound of gunfire on 'Count to Six And Die' brings proceedings to a close, this is business as usual chez Manson.
But the music itself, rooted in NIN-style industrial rock, allows Marilyn to rise above both the hysteria which surrounds him and the caricatured role he seems sometimes only too willing to play.
For all the rebel posturing, these songs are built on traditional foundations – gutsy riffs, thundering drumming and memorable tunes – and are all the better for it. 'The Fight Song', 'The Lamb Of God' and 'King Kill 33' display a melodic fluidity which belies the heavy-handedness of their titles.
The arrangements and production, too, are inventive and dynamic. There's a splash of incongruous-but-effective cheesy synth here, a touch of underwater choir there. The musicians aren't just one-trick thrash-it-up ponies either since the mid-paced 'In The Shadow Of the Valley Of Death' rolls along, stately as a hearse.
While Manson's lyrics don't exactly shine, there are occasional moments of guile and style amid the teen-rage doggerel: the nod towards The Beatles' 'Revolution' on 'Disposable Teens' and the doomed romanticism of 'Coma Black' are among them.
The all-pervasive and cartoonish morbidity, however, ultimately becomes just as tiresome (and as parched of meaning) as Britney's antiseptic all-American upfulness.
Marilyn Manson is still some distance shy of greatness. But Holy Wood is a far better record than many would have dared to expect. And, hey, it rawks.
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