In this issue: Creature Feature, Faster Pussycat, The Head Cat, Marilyn Manson, Ministry, New York Dolls, Ratt, Stolen Babies, Wednesday 13,

Reviews by: David Necro, Sunset Vampyre, Lexa Vonn

Creature Feature
The Knitting Factory
Hollywood, CA

Photos by: Sunset Vampyre

The first thing you notice are the sideburns. They arrive on stage ahead of the band, desperately searching for a cut-throat razor. The owner of the sideburns, borrowed from Abraham Lincoln, took up his position in front of the microphone, wearing an outfit borrowed from the aforementioned President when he gave his speech at Gettysburg. There were a couple of differences, though, between Abe and Curtis Rx. For one thing, Curtis was a lot younger. And prettier, in a fresh-corpse kind of way. And he had a very cool guitar. And yeah, he may look like a picture taken on a glass negative in the 1800's, and someone may have stolen his stove-pipe hat, but hey, who else is dressing like Abe Lincoln today?

His bandmates were an undertaker on drums ( I don't care what you think you were SUPPOSED to be, you only needed a tape measure to complete the picture ), who thudded out the terrorized hearts dying beats with such purpose and power you knew it was only a matter of time before you lost your own tenuous grip on this mortal coil.
And then there was Marcel Marceau.

Who? You know, the famous mime who wore a Blue-and-White striped top and had a White face.......Oh wait, this was Eric X, the keyboard player who was the spinal column ( read backbone ) of the band, and whose eerie effects were the audible fog that surround the glint of the knife as the slasher plummets it towards you. The music was a story unfolding of childhood monsters-under-the-bed, the twisted minds of writers of the macabre read with the light on, and horror movies watched with dilated pupils accompanied by the soundtrack of your own heart beating in your chest. Fun, Ghoulish, and Water-Splattered,   ( next time add Red food coloring - much more effective! ) This band is definitely one to watch.
And on a bizarre note, a clown was seen in the audience, watching the show. Ever been followed home by a clown? Think Stephen King's IT. Now THATS Scary! -SV 

Faster Pussycat
Crash Mansion
Los Angeles, CA

Photos by: Lexa Vonn

I’ve never liked Valentine’s Day much. It has always
seemed like a Hallmark holiday and one that makes
those currently out of relationships feel left out of
the loop. Luckily for me, I’m a groupie. The only
date I need is a good rock n’ roll show. And who
better-fitting to play a show on this particular
holiday then super-groupie aficionado, Mr. Taime
Downe. My chick crew, The Plastics had a rough start
to the evening as Diana got a flat tired on the way to
the gig and showed up nearly in tears just moments
before Faster Pussycat hit the stage. The other girls
and I had saved her a spot right up front, so the show
was ready to go on without a hitch. It was my first
time at Crash Mansion, the cool new spot in downtown
L.A. The venue has a lot of potential. It’s dark and
quite large and has the vibe of an underground New
York club. Its only fault is a shaky sound system.
No matter where you stand in the club, you can’t seem
to get a full sound and the vocals are often muffled.
This put a damper on the performance for some fans who
were heard complaining, but for us it was all about
the energy. There is something comforting about the
consistency of a Faster Pussycat show. While some
bands of eras past try to make a comeback by playing
mostly new songs, this band never deprives its
audience of all the best old hits including “Bathroom
Wall”, “Cathouse”, “Don’t Change That Song”, and even
the Carly Simon cover, “You’re so Vain”.

Of course the line up is more Newlydeads than Faster
Pussycat featuring Danny Nordahl on bass, Xristian
Simon on guitar, Chad Stewart on drums and Beautiful
Creature’s Michael Thomas stepping in on lead guitar,
but the rather large crowd doesn’t seem to mind. The
performance is full of classic Pussycat antics as
always. You are sure to get lots of Taime Downe humor
in between songs as he stands center stage in his rock
n’ roll nazi regalia sipping drinks and chain smoking
nonchalantly. When the band breaks into their famed
power ballad “House of Pain”, Taime announces that he
feels lazy and sits down on the stage for the entire
song. The rest of the boys join him and the whole
place turns into a heartfelt living room sing-along
between band and audience.

The Plastics dance at the side of the stage in girlish
glee snapping photos and downing beer like we would
have in the 80’s if any of us were old enough to get
into a bar back then. Afterwards, we are pulled
backstage by some of the other bands’ entourage who
recognized us, where we are greeted by an extremely
drunken Taime Downe who invites Diana to sit on his
lap, despite the fact that there is already a girl
sitting there. Ah, rock n’ roll… gotta love it!! -LV 

The Head Cat
The Joint
Las Vegas, NV

Photos by: Don Brown, Sr. and Larry

How fortuitous! A free concert inside the Hard Rock featuring none other than the legendary Lemmy Kilmister himself! Also, you have Slim Jim Phantom (of Stray Cats fame,) on the skins, and Danny B. Harvey on the six-string.

The band were firing on all cylinders, breathing new life into rock n' roll and blues classics like "Blue Suede Shoes," "Shakin' All Over," "Crossroads," and "Five Long Years."

These are songs you have to know, as they are the roots of everything that came after it, including Lemmy's band Motorhead.

They just nailed every riff and beat perfectly. This was supercharged and ready for the drag strip.

So, this was a nite of strong emotion, and a no-frills, no bullshit performance. You really can't ask for more. It was powerful and made a lasting impression.

Even if you're not a Motorhead or Stray Cats fan, I highly recommend you check these cats out. They're the real deal! -DN

Marilyn Manson
The Wiltern (2 nights)
Los Angeles, CA
House of Blues
San Diego, CA

3 Days With the Anti-Christ: What it Feels Like for a
Manson Groupie

I have been going to see Marilyn Manson concerts for
13 years. The first time I saw them play I was still
in high school, practically a virgin. I was standing
in front of bass player Twiggy Ramirez, admiring his
drag attire. Suddenly, Manson’s gaze shot through me
like lightning bolts. He approached Twiggy, pulled
down his ruffle underpants and began masturbating him
just inches from my face. Both scared and aroused, I
was hooked in that very moment. Later in the evening,
I met Mr. Manson and the long tale of our strange
surreal friendship began. Though I have been in
journalism for several years now, I have always passed
on the opportunity to review Manson. I didn’t know if
I could do the performance justice by using words.
For me, it has always been about emotions, and not
ones common to critics. It is very hard to describe
the Manson experience if you have never been there,
but the time has come for me to try.

A Marilyn Manson concert is like an experiment in
group hypnosis, a collective dream shared by both band
and audience, a psychedelic journey. The whole room
gets high together as the lights go out, and we all
come down together when the music stops leaving us
sick and shivering like the worst heroin junkie. As
soon as it’s over, you are willing to do anything to
experience it again. Many fans travel on to the next
city, weather it was in their original plans or not.
And somehow, even when you tell yourself that this is
your last show, remind yourself that you have a life
to get back to…you end up at the next show anyway.
What is it about Marilyn Manson that has this affect
on people? A good place for a reporter to start
searching for these answers would be within the line
of people that gathered outside the Wiltern theatre in
Los Angeles for two of the last dates on the final leg
of the ‘Rape of the World” tour as early as 3am, just
so they can ensure their spot in the front row. Some
fans had tickets, and some chose my personal favorite
method to get into the show, leaving it up to fate.
Among the die-hards were pairs of girls that traveled
all the way from Japan and Germany as well as all the
old familiar faces I’d come to know from traveling the
states alongside the band. Huddling under umbrellas
in the pouring rain that cursed the weekend, they
assembled with blankets, chairs and boom boxes blaring
Manson tunes. By the second night, we were greeted by
anti-gay protestors who held up non-sensible signs
accusing us of eating babies and other good stuff.
They weren’t nearly of the caliber of protestors that
came out during the Antichrist Superstar period, but
the fact that Manson still scares white, right-wing
middle class America after all these years is just
another testament to his power and rightful place in
rock history. I giggled to myself and sent a text
message to his tour manager so they could capture some
of the action on video for future DVD content, once
again offering my eyes and ears services free of
charge. The venue security looked a little nervous as
fans started chanting back at the protestors and alas,
the doors opened!

As usual, I was the first one into the venue and I
immediately ran to my regular spot at the end of the
catwalk where I knew Manson would see me. In my
opinion, you haven’t experienced a Manson show until
you’ve seen it from up front where you can feel each
song pulse through your body. The circus sideshow
begins with “Cruci-fiction In Space” as Manson appears
in an interlude of smoke and lights. He plays the
ringmaster from the moment he gazes upon the audience,
making lots of eye contact, taunting and teasing you
with pseudo-sexual fascism and Manson-style proverbs
that are both thought provoking and amusing. At one
point he addresses the content of L.A. society
stating, “L.A. is filled with two types of people, the
people that helped me become famous and become a rock
star and the people that can only become famous
because they know me or they fucked me because I’m a
rock star.” I pondered the statement realizing that I
might fit into both categories. I certainly helped
Manson become famous, having been a loyal supporter
since his club days, but I was also getting quite a
bit of notoriety in the press these days as a famous
groupie and Manson was definitely my favorite subject.
I hoped that he didn’t lump me in with the ex-band
members, ex-wives and ex-exes that tried to fuck him
when he was down but then I realized I wasn’t an ex, I
was a current! I was still here and had outlived them
all. I knew Manson knew that anytime I spoke of him
it came from a pure place. After all, when you’ve
spent most of your life hanging out with, waiting for,
or watching someone you love, it’s pretty hard to tell
your life story without including them. And although
I wished Manson would keep in closer contact with me
offstage, he has yet to disappoint me onstage. He
paid me lots of attention those two nights in L.A.,
frequently grabbing me and singing to me. In fact, as
soon as he hit the stage the following night in San
Diego, he made his way straight down the catwalk and
held my hand before doing anything else as if to thank
me for coming back again. Perhaps, this experience
was an addiction we both shared. As a reporter, I
should tell you about the pleasant nostalgia of having
Twiggy Ramirez back in the band, the power and fury
that special guest guitarist Slayer’s Kerry King
loaned to “Little Horn” and “1996”, and Rob Holliday’s
intense guitar playing precision over the last guy
that they had… but I’ll leave those comments to LA
WEEKLY.

I want to talk about the fact that no matter how old I
get or how frustrated I get with Manson’s frequent
periods of absence (or maybe absinthe) in my life, I
still forget it all when I watch him play. No matter
how many times I tell myself I won’t take this pill
again, that I won’t go down this emotional
rollercoaster again, that I won’t put my life on hold
to go to the next city again, I can’t help it…it’s
just so fucking good! And there are a dozen other
obsessed Manson friend/fans whispering in my ear, “do
it, do it!” as they shower me with free tickets,
backstage passes and hotel rooms. I’ve become the
high priestess to the ritual and it seems many feel
something is missing if I’m not there. They need the
most notorious Manson fan to show up and justify their
addiction. Misery loves company I guess. Who am I to
argue? I’ll play Manson’s Evita. I know things that
most of these kids don’t. I’ve been behind the iron
curtain. I’ve done my homework on mind control
programming and magic within marketing. I’ve allowed
myself to go over the edge and come back again. I’ve
cracked all the Charlie Manson, Hitler, Illuminati,
Catcher in the Rye, hypnotic, trigger, mind-fuck
Wizard of Oz bullshit. But Manson may be wrong when
he stated, “When all of your wishes are granted, many
of your dreams will be destroyed.” For, I am under no
delusions. But knowing the recipe doesn’t make the
cake any less sweet. Reality may crush my spirits
from time to time, but no one can take away my dreams.
I am still touched by Marilyn Manson and what I
experience through his art and I wouldn’t want it any
other way. The show is stunningly beautiful. And for
us die-hards, it’s like the best drug you can ever
imagine. It’s something that takes place in another
dimension, truly the land of make-believe. Its like
acid, ecstasy, absinthe and heroin all mixed together.
It’s erotic at times, orgasmic, better than any sex
I’ve ever had…and I’ve had a lot of sex! Manson often
looks at me while fondling himself or caressing the
air in such a way that it looks as if he is molesting
an invisible woman while he sings. When he does this,
I am able to connect into his every thought and I can
feel it physically inside my organs as much as I could
if he were making love to me or fucking the living
hell out of me with his hands around my throat. He
has complete control of my body as I climax with every
chorus. I realize that I am forever screwed in the
real world, because no mortal man can ever get me off
like this. I can never love a human being the way I
love those songs and that performance. That’s what
makes a true groupie a groupie. He embodies the Willie
Wonka-esque childhood imaginary friend, a kinky Christ
of taboo sex, and a death angel. He is innocence,
sex, violence, intelligence, spirituality and death
wrapped into one grotesque yet beautiful being that
seduces you like a tragic starlet on the edge of an
overdose. He makes me want to die in the moment so I
can preserve the high. But I don’t have a death wish
these days. I think the world needs people like
Marilyn Manson and Lexa Vonn to play the storytellers.
Its people like us that just may tell the real story,
and that’s the one that people fear most of all.

The peak moment of what I witnessed this time around
was in L.A. during a mashed medley of “Coma White” and
“Coma Black”. Manson appeared center stage in a
flurry of snow machine produced flakes that sprinkled
both band and fans. Manson kneeling in a snow-covered
world was a vision I had seen long ago in a suicide
attempt acid trip nightmare, back when I first started
following the band. Maybe it had been a prophecy of
the future, or maybe Manson was replicating that
special alternate world that we frequently met each
other in. Whatever it was, his knowledge of my
connection to it seemed prominent as he grabbed hold
of my hand tightly and sung to me, “This was never my
world, you took the angel away, I’d kill myself to
make everybody pay.” I closed my eyes and felt a
surge of energy transcend through his body into mine
and back again. It was if all the pain in the world
was shared between us in that moment. When he let go,
he remained curled in a ball at the end of the catwalk
screaming and raising his arms to the sky. It was as
if Manson came to pray at my groupie alter, just as I
had prayed at his for so many years. It was this
mutual exchange of meaning, message, and emotion that
would always keep me coming back for more, regardless
of the fact that he was always busy entertaining
celebrities and other women after the show while I
waited patiently, my laminate pass around my neck,
wishing that he’d come to the after-party and whisk me
away to a private room where we could recreate what
happens onstage, offstage. -LV

Ministry
House of Blues
Las Vegas, NV

Photos by: Christine Sesman

Ministry hit the stage with a bang; exciting, heavy, full of dynamics. A very powerful sound to say the least. Al Jourgenson had a commanding presence (sinister and menacing) as eerie lights and spotlights flickered about. And that was just the first song!

They presented the sound of the apocalypse. Of a world gone mad. More than just sheer bombast, there were little intricasies interspersed. They were a bit hard to hear, but they were there.

An impressive display of sight and sound was as hand. A multimedia presentation that made one think and react. I was bombarded by sirens, strobe lights, spotlights, and surrealistic political and sociological film.

Rebellous, raucous, and defiant is how I would describe this show. At the same time, very fluid and sounded natural, not forced. The distortion was controlled as were the punishing rhythms, and the bottomless pit of bass.

In a way that can be best described as being in tune and not out of character. Most other bands couldn't handle or present the wall of sound that Ministry projected without going out of tune or becominc a big sonic glop.

Of course this literal wall of sound was an added bonus to what I described above.

This is Ministry's last tour. Let's hope it's not. -DN

New York Dolls
House of Blues
Anaheim, CA

Photos by: Sunset Vampyre

WE ARE THE FURY
When I arrived We Are The Fury were already up and running, and the crowd were dancing and singing, which is always a good sign that the party is swinging, the beer is flowing, and life is peachy. They were surprisingly good, with an abundance of stage-presence emanating from the snappily-dressed frontman, Jeremy Lublin, and a great posse of band members supporting the vocals with some exceptional playing.  I was actually kicking myself for missing the beginning of the set - an amazing accolade from me who generally dreads the opening bands, as very few of them are on a par with the headliner ( to know what I'm talking about, see my review of Nine Inch Nails! )

Actually, I'm being a little harsh on support bands - they have a difficult enough job to do with half the audience propping up the bar, and there are some amazingly talented bands out there starving to death 'cause the record companies won't pick them up - however I stand by my review of NIN choice of support bands, just 'cause I love Trent Reznor but sometimes I think he has the worst taste in music ( Saul Williams, Dresden Dolls ), although his choice of Queens of the Stone Age and Bauhaus were excellent - then again, maybe I'm just missing point!

Anyhow, back to this band - they play the kind of music that isn't really heard much anymore, kind of a mix of old-school punk, and Queen-esque rock. Whatever, it's fun, can't-stop-moving kind of music that makes you laugh, then has you turning to your mates and say " that was mad, that was"! I even bought their CD "Venus" after the show, and didn't change my mind on playing it - if anything, they have gone up a few digits on my personal Richter Scale! 

One little piece of advice for this band, though, is - when you have a lone camera in the pit taking pictures of you, occasionally pose for camera - you never know where those pictures will end up!

NEW YORK DOLLS
After an interminable wait, the opening operatic epic signaled the start of The Dolls set, and the audience was a sight to see - the place was packed to the rafters, and I was glad I was in the pit with a barrier behind me and the stage in front. There suddenly appeared a whole lot of peeps ( C'mon, its from Ali G! ) with cameras working for various magazines, so it got a little crowded in there - where were they when that other great band was on stage? Yeah, I know - propping up the bar.....

Anyhow, out comes Mick Jaggers twin brother, the Dolls vocalist David Johansen wearing a girls pink top, scarf tied around his waist, giving us a big grin and lots of views of his stomach! The rest of the band were as flamboyantly dressed, and they immediately started rockin' out, giving us a great intro into the party they were throwing for us.

Sylvain Sylvain was amazingly noticeable, and not just because of that hat ( you can still get those hats from the 60's? I thought train drivers stopped wearing them decades ago! ) He was very personable, posing for the cameras ( Fury, take note! ) smiling like a Cheshire cat, and showed everybody what a great time he was having.  There's no doubt about it, this band really know how to rock!

They stayed in high gear for most of the show, playing all their much-loved hits, and giving the Stones and Sex Pistols a run for their money. The girl-group sound was blatantly-obvious at times bringing much mirth and merriment to their old-school fans, and the alternating between Punk-Rock and Jerry-Lee Lewis type of swaggering Rock 'n' Roll had the entire HOB up on its feet and dancing. From the first song to the last, that feeling of      " Wow - I Just Got Laid!" never stopped.

Everybody left that place with a smile on their face, glad they had a Condom in their pocket ( read " New York Dolls" ticket! ) -SV

Ratt
House of Blues
Hollywood, CA

Photos by: Lexa Vonn and April Vixxi

On April 17th, 2008 I headed out, alongside my
Plastics sidekick, April Vixxi to catch Ratt and White
Lion at the House of Blues on Sunset. The night was
opened by 80's rock band, Little Caesar who looked as
though when they quit the first time, they never
thought they'd tour again. While their sound wasn't
exactly bad, they looked like a bunch of senior
citizens. I'm not sure how old they were when they
started the first time around, but they really needed
to take some lessons from Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler
on looking and performing like a rock star no matter
what age you are at. We found them boring. White Lion
was next to take the stage and were looking good as
they ran through some of their hits including "Tell
Me" and their cover of the classic Golden Earring song
"Radar Love." To finish off their set the right way,
they rang into their most notorious tune, "Wait",
complete with singer Mike Tramp thanking the audience
for making the song a hit in the 80's and sticking
with the band all of these years, while encouraging us
to all sing along. Finally at around 11 it was time
for some Ratt n' Roll!

The boys of Ratt seemed overjoyed to be playing their
hometown stage with an almost original line-up
featuring guitarist John Corabi filling in for Robin
Crosby who passed away in 2002. The show was
completely sold out with tickets being sold on the
street for well into the hundreds. Old time fans and
young recruits of the glam revival packed against the
barricade like sardines, some to reminisce, others to
catch a glimpse of what they missed out on in the
80's.

Miss April was among those in the front row
while I hung safely inside the barricade snapping away
on my camera and sharing a few flirtatious moments
with singer Steven Percy. The band rocked like the
pros they are and cut absolutely no corners on the set
list. It seems they fit in just about every single
they ever had. Some favorites were, "Way Cool
Junior", "You're in Love", "Lay it Down", "Wanted
Man", "Body Talk", and of course the obvious but
nonetheless engaging finale of "Round and Round".

Looking around at the faces in the crowd everyone was
wowed by the energy and enthusiasm of the band. It
seemed as if they could've played even longer as the
last picks and drum sticks were thrown to an audience
reluctant to depart. Although hair metal never earned
the true musical respect it may have deserved in its
own decade, it remains one of the few genres of music
that can still pack a venue today. Ironic. I loved
it then and I still do. -LV

Stolen Babies
The Knitting Factory
Hollywood, CA

Photos by: Sunset Vampyre

COMPELLING.
In the same way as a car accident or porno film holds your complete and undivided attention, Stolen Babies, with merely a glance, accomplishes the same thing, only without the blood and the sweat.  They are TOTALLY mesmerizing.
I'm convinced that one of the band is a professional hypnotist who waves a pocket watch in front of our eyes, making time stand still.
All of a sudden we are in a gingerbread house, and a delectable, diminutive doll walks out into the spotlight, her white face, glittering eyes and evil grin spelling out her intent to eat you, just as soon as she's finished singing you a sweet lullaby.

And how sweet it is. The songs are fabulous potions of poison, made all the easier to swallow by the liberal doses of honey which exude from Dominique's ( shouldn't that be Dominatrix? )vocal cords - just before the guttural demonic shrieks tear a hole in your psyche and her teeth tear a hole in your throat.

What's scarier, Piranha or Vampire? Meet their darling daughter Dominique. She treated us to soulful notes on her accordion, berated us for looking into the bands eyes when she told us not to ( during the singing of  "Mind Your Eyes!" ) And subjected us to the fearsome sight of her bottom teeth biting on to her top lip, her face looking like a ghastly dislocated Zombie's jaw just before he snaps it back into place.

The rest of the band are equally awesome ( if you can tear your eyes away from the Voodoo Doll sticking pins into you ), with the stand-up bass player, Rani Sharone, doing a great job looking like a cross between a mad scientist trying to fire electricity out of his strings, and the Vampire Letstat.
The whole band were a tightly-knit unit, highly polished and professional, and most of all, unique.
If this band doesn't make it big real soon, I'll drink their embalming fluid! -SV

Wednesday 13
Whisky-A-Go-Go
West Hollywood, CA

Photos by: Sunset Vampyre

HIGH-OCTANE ROCK'N'ROLL Is what Wednesday plays - albeit of the Crawlies-and-Creepies-and-long-legged-Beasties kind. We waited an INTERMINABLE length of time for him to come on, with the crowd getting more and more hyped up the nearer it got to the cemetery gates swinging open - in fact, the electricity being emanated from the crowd alone could light up a small city ( or certainly stir the nether regions of Frankensteins's monster ) but of course, we gotta have the multiple support bands first - Creature Feature ( good ), AKA's ( no comment ) and probably one or two others that I missed 'cause I got there a little late. C'est La Vie - Its only Rock 'n' Roll but I like it........

Oh My God, Is Wednesday worth waiting for? You bet your sweet life he is!
The sheer change in the whole crowd is worth seeing alone - mass hysteria along the lines of the Pope stepping out onto the balcony of the Vatican is the only analogy worthy of Wednesday. He steps into the spotlight, cranks the amps up to MAX, and the best, fun-filled show on the planet takes place. The band ( including Trashlight Visions Acey Slade ) are the sexiest of ghouls, all horror-tattoos and corpse make-up, gyrating frenziedly in a Voodoo trance kind of way, with Wednesday as the Witch Doctor directing the proceedings, throwing the blood into the chicken bones cooking on the fire ( he'd already eaten the flesh. )

He sang songs from his Drag Queen days, the mayhem that was Murderdolls, and his current persona of Drop-Dead Gorgeous Chanel no 13 ( boy, those flower-filled graves sure smell good! )
We all sang "I Want Bad Things To Happen To You" and "Die My Bride" as well as "Happily Ever Cadaver" and "I Love To Say Fuck" - songs that will go down in horror history as having the most fun lyrics you will ever be lucky enough to drunkenly sing in public. But all "Bad Things" come to an end, and however long a Wednesday 13 show is, its too short, but after its over he comes and hangs out, talking and signing all our crap, having his picture taken with us just like every other time, and putting on his fake English accent every time he sees me.

Yeah, Wednesday does have a way of making everybody wanna roll over and die!
Cheers, Mate! -SV

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