Review ·

They say hell's not hot, but it can't be much colder than the Pro-Tooled purgatory encapsulated within Marilyn Manson's Eat Me, Drink Me. Eleven tracks of what Manson has repeatedly claimed to be his "most personal work," the album is a stunningly lackluster, impersonal anti-work, even more so than the Weimar-inspired sex and art anthems that metastasized to form the malignant The Golden Age of the Grotesque (2003). To carry that awkward metaphor one step further, Eat Me, Drink Me could be the most benign music recorded since the Carpenters released a Christmas album in '78.



The problem is one of authenticity. Throughout his career, Manson has been appropriating the work and sounds of others, reconfiguring them through his glam-choked goth filter of taboo-baiting and self-mythification: Alice Cooper served as the stencil for the early albums, Broken-era Trent Reznor for the Antichrist Superstar breakthrough, and, most important, David Bowie cast the shadow for the Mechanical Animals coke-cold masterwork, with a bit of John Lennon and Prince peppered throughout Holywood and The Golden Age, respectively. Always a more captivating interviewee and sound-bite generator than a musician, Manson's never developed a bedrock for his own noise, focusing more on the Cliff's Notes Artaud 'n' roll that used to scare your mom rather than developing his own musical foundations. This posed quite the problem, then, when Manson decided to use "Marilyn Manson" as the template for Eat Me, Drink Me, both sonically and thematically -- forcing Manson to spend the album Dahmering the turgid, photocopied music of his own earlier discs off of the bone, with his warbly, nasal moan meandering through the maelsturm and drangs that haunt the disc, like the tepid "Tourniquet" rewrite "They Said That Hell's Not Hot," or the pre-chewed ghost of Holywood's slickly industrial second half that stains nearly everything else.


At first, one might even take this as an arch, Warholian parody -- Manson is, after all, an artiste -- but even as parody, the songs fall flat. Beneath the plodding, slur-drunk grind of the music are lyrics like, "If I was your vampire/ Certain as the moon/ We'll have each other/ Until the sun," or, even better, this snippet from the Manson-rocker-by-numbers "Putting Holes in Happiness": "Blow out the candles/ On all my Frankensteins/ At least my death wish will come true." Perfect as those lyrics may be for the back of a Hot Topic T-shirt, paint the portrait of a man lost in his own plastic, inconsequential wilderness. Unlike Bowie, Manson is either unable or unwilling to destroy his fallen-alien persona -- had this album been performed by Brian Warner instead of "Marilyn Manson," he might have created something half as important as his own self image. Instead, Eat Me, Drink Me is a desperately cynical (or maybe Manson really is having a laugh and it's the other way around, but I doubt it) stumble toward meaning by a performer who has always defined his silhouette by the music and society that was outside of it. And now that the music's over and the crowd has dispersed, it's easy to see that there is simply nothing there.







  • If I Was Your Vampire
  • Putting Holes In Happiness
  • The Red Carpet Grave
  • They Said That Hells Not Hot
  • Just A Car Crash Away
  • Heart-Shaped Glasses (When The Heart Guides The Hand)
  • Evidence
  • Are You The Rabbit ?
  • Mutilation Is The Most Sincere Form Of Flattery
  • You And Me And The Devil Makes 3
  • Eat Me, Drink Me
  • Heart-Shaped Glasses (When The Heart Guides The Hand) (Inhuman Rmx By Jade Puget
Z-Ro - King of the Ghetto: Power [7.0]/Z-Ro Vision DVD [5.0] Jena Malone and Her Bloodstains Tested Dry

I dislike this review, quite strongly. Not only is this disgusting rubbish and BIAS, it's totally wrong. Manson stands out from the crowd, he's something different to the constant cheap plasticy bile that is constantly decimated and forced down our throats on a daily basis. Be smaller, taller, thinner, bigger, paler, tanned, bronzed, prettier, more confident. It's all a load of fxcking rubbish, and it's weak. We think how we like, not how we're told. His music is beautiful, a ray of light amongst the humanistic desolate wasteland that's commonly known as "Today's Music Scene." Who said that Marilyn Manson had to live up to your shxtty standards? In the end, it's whether or not he's proud of the music, if he can look at Eat Me, Drink Me and say "I'm happy this is mine" that matters, and it doesn't fxcking matter what other people think. He put a lot of fxcking hard work and effort into the production into this, and I'd like to see you pick up a microphone and do better than he's done. I'd like to see you save lives, and to write this music better than he can.
Nobody gave you the right to judge.
Signing Off,


Find us on Facebook

Latest Comments