The Worley Gig:
Music and Mayhem in New York City
by Gail Worley

The Long Hard Road Out of Florida

Most days - given the choice - I'd rather live one of those nightmares where I go to work naked than be seen half alive inside Life, that ultra gender-confused, hipster wannabe discoteca infernata on Bleecker street. But on Friday the 13th I had nothing better to do than accompany my friend, Vinny, to a cocktail soiree celebrating the publication of Marilyn Manson's new autobiography (written by Neil Strauss), The Long Hard Road Out of Hell (Harper Collins). The book, which I admit I have seen but not read, is beautifully designed and includes many pen and ink drawings of internal organs, as well as a good variety of pictures portraying the young Manson, back when he was just geeky Brian Warner: as a baby and small child, up to his teenage years in South Florida. Manson was a very cute baby. But baby, look at him now.

I met Marilyn Manson in November of 1995 during the Smells Like Children tour, when I interviewed him in the dressing room of Irving Plaza. In those pre-Antichrist Superstar days, I was unabashedly star struck with all his "I am the god of Fuck" posturing. My excitement at garnering such a high profile interview was only exceeded by terror at the thought he might endeavor to play "Funk the journalist" with me. I was relieved to find Manson polite, soft spoken and a great interview; brimming over with one highly quotable Mansonism after another (two of my favorites "The last and final Antichrist will come in the form of a Rock and Roll Star" and "Rock and Roll has always been about destruction and nihilism and the middle finger"). He was not yet the mutant freak he is today and I considered him to be very handsome, beautiful even. It didn't hurt that he was bare-chested during our interview, offered to hold my tape recorder when it kept falling over, signed autographs for me and posed for a photo with his arm around me and his head resting on top of mine. I recall this as my best all-around in person interview experience. And Marilyn Manson were my favorite band.

But all that changed when Antichrist Superstar was released and it became glaringly apparent that the Emperor had no clothes. When all Manson's fans are 13 years old, the band might as well change their name to "Marilyn Hanson."

The small dungeon of a room was quickly packed with women who looked like vampire hookers and guys resembling anemic drag queens with bad make up. It was about as comfortable as Coney Island High when they oversell the room.

Well, maybe not that comfortable. Considering the high level of craven toadyism going on, it was sadly apparent that many of the party goers were friends of friends who worked at the club, all of them trying desperately to be liked by being seen at an industry event. Whatever. Spotted among the sycophantic throng were a few legitimate journalists, publicists, fringe celebs and folks from MTV news. When I encountered the four members of Thin Lizard Dawn, I felt right at home. "How'd you guys get in here?," I asked guitarist Howie Statland. "My friend Neil wrote the book," he replied matter-of-factly. It's really is no secret.

Manson was ushered in with his entourage to the aural assault of "Cake and sodomy" while I snaked my tiny frame into an unoccupied space behind the mass of paparazzi who were all over his ass. I caught a glimpse of Manson pressing slowly through the crowd while he posed for photos with his new girlfriend, actress Rose McGowan (best remembered for her roles as the dumb blonde friend in Scream and a sociopathic killer in what may be the worst film ever made, The Doom Generation). The band's recent move to Hollywood hasn't been good for Manson's appearance, as he's had a hair makeover to the tune of a shoulder length blunt cut that looks like shit. Though he appears to stand well over six feet tall, I was practically sitting on his lap at one point and I can tell you his illusion of height is owed to the really big platform shoes he wears. Under the harsh lights, his pale countenance looked especially pasty and he could stand to put on some weight. There is no trace of the cute teenager he used to be, and even the attractive 26 year old budding Satanist I met three years ago has faded.

One might ask: What does it benefit a man if he gain the world and lose his soul? And one might answer: It benefits a man the world. I think about that, and I feel somehow saddened.

I guess I was at the Life party for nostalgic reasons. Like the sweet feeling you get while listening to pop songs you loved as a kid and remembering how much joy they brought you, even though now it all sounds like so much radio Velveeta. We decided it was time to make an exit when the open bar turned out to be "free vodka and champagne only," causing us to bag the idea of paying $8 for a gin and tonic or $4 for a soda. As we passed from the smokey room into a now deserted hallway that had previously been swarming with photographers, Vinny and I admired two glossy, poster-sized renderings of the book's cover, mounted on foam core. "These are really nice," he observed.

"Yeah, they are nice," I agreed. "We should take one."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, yeah. Let's take one."

"You mean just pick it up and walk out?"

"That's exactly what I mean." I admit I was wanted him to challenge me to do it. I didn't really want the thing. But it didn't have any real value and I thought it'd make a fine souvenir.

"Okay, grab it and walk out behind me. I'll cover you" he said. Chivalry is not dead.

I got the poster all the way home safely in a cab before the wind blew it out of my grip and it flew into some trash cans in front of my apartment building. There are a couple of little dings around the edges but other than that it looks pretty cool in an obnoxious sort of way. I wonder if I could get Neil Strauss to autograph it.

(Click here for Gail's review of Marilyn Manson, the unofficial biography by Kurt B. Reighley.)

Gail's Dating Tips

Now I will tell you a happy story about a man I like. He is tall and dark haired, with a goatee and a pleasingly athletic build. He lives downtown, near me and is the best friend of a friend of mine. He seems to have a gentle temperament, likes weed, and has shown me an album of his photos taken while sight-seeing in India. He works in the same field as me, and once wrote me a kind and friendly note when we interacted professionally, giving me his direct phone number at work. I found this note very sexy. Am I out of practice or what? Do I fear intimacy? Yes I do. Furthermore, my friend who introduced us has told me that this guy is a real "Guy's guy, if you know what I mean," and that he cheated on his long-term girlfriend with more than one other female and never told her. Not the greatest credentials, to a person of my highly monogamous disposition. Although I do know someone who's (Ooh! This computer has censorship devices installed and will not let me tell you what she's done with him! Fascinating) well, who's investigated his abilities. She would doubtless urge me to do whatever crossed my mind with his young body, as this is her solution to everything.

The odd thing is that my instinct about him says, "This is a good man." What this probably means is that cheating is not actually illegal - although that doesn't mean it wouldn't upset me horribly. It doesn't mean I'd be able to live with it, either. I find that I would like to become extremely close friends with him but not have sex. I liked the way, while I was learning to play dominoes at our mutual friend's party the other evening, he softly said, "I'll help you." Ooh! He does that little thing to me. You know, "that little thing." He's good fantasy material, and for now maybe a domino partner is all the commitment I can risk.

E-Mail Gail Worley

The Worley Gig regularly turns in both Pandemonium Online and The NY Hangover.

Other Features From Gail Worley:

Visual Audio Sensory Theatre - In this feature, Gail Worley discusses religion and revenge fantasies with Jon Crosby, the aspiring Gothman with a VAST array of sounds...

Dream Punk or Noise Pop? - Gail Worley goes to South Park and Melrose Place with Carrie Clark, art therapist and feedback diva from 16 Deluxe

God Lives Underwater - "With a name like God Lives Underwater, it has to be good," says Gail Worley

Previous turns of The Worley Gig:

The Worley Gig #1-- Summer, The Rules

The Worley Gig #2-- All Tomorrow's Parties

The Worley Gig #3-- Weaselfest '97

The Worley Gig #4-- How I Spent Summer

The Worley Gig #5-- Random Excerpts From My Ass-Kicking Life

The Worley Gig #6-- Christmas Kicks Total Ass

The Worley Gig #7-- She's About A Mover

The Worley Gig #8-- The Goddess and Pig Watts

The Worley Gig #9-- Outrageously Boss Records and What Not to Do On a Date

The Worley Gig #10-- Marilyn Manson: The Satanist in Winter

The Worley Gig #11-- A Mosquito, My Libido

The Worley Gig #12-- Sex By SexWest 1998

The Worley Gig #13-- I'm Only Numan

The Worley Gig #14-- You Can't Bury a Worm

 

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