Smoke is billowing out from behind the giant rippling black sheet covering the stage at the RDS. It’s safe to assume that a new pope has not been elected. Far from it – the antichrist superstar himself is in town for his debut Irish concert. And what a figure he cuts – emerging from the dry ice, clothed in goth-tinged military garb (miniature bones in place of rank insignia – nice), and, the sylistic coup de grace, swinging a small chandelier.
It has to be said that in contrast to the ultra hedonistic days of yore (when those “TWIGGY RAMIREZ AUCTIONED MY SISTER ON EBAY!” tabloid headlines were rife, and “let’s get Manson’s gear set up” didn’t necessarily refer to readying the musical equipment), the MM live experience in 2005 is a far slicker operation. But the God of Fuck and his cohorts are still experts at the art of live performance. It’s not just the music itself (a brilliantly twisted fusion of glam, punk and metal), that’s so enthralling, but also the attention to detail paid to costumes, stage décor, etc.
The keyboardist’s instrument is suspended from a hangman’s noose, while Manson himself performs ‘Tourniquet’ atop a pair of stilts, and later dons a medieval-style cowl for ‘The Nobodies’. Images of sundry notorious figures (Hitler, Mussolini, Mao etc) flash by during an electrifying ‘Beautiful People’, and, most strikingly, the singer performs the encore from behind a giant podium, swinging wildly from side to side in the manner of a puppet being manipulated by marionette strings. This kind of supremely entertaining theatricality explains just why Manson continues to be such a huge live draw, even if it is a full ten years since he began causing clerics around the globe to reach for the rosary beads.
“Iron maiden found in Uday Hussein’s playground” screamed time.com a couple of years back. On that occasion, the subject of the report was the actual medieval torture device, as opposed to Bruce Dickinson’s mob. But let there be no doubt, the metal legends are present and correct in Dublin tonight. The only thing is, it could easily be Spinal Tap. There’s the technical malfunctions (the bass amp misfires after the first song, prompting Dickinson to – wait for it ­– play the William Tell Overture on his cheeks in a desperate attempt to keep the crowd interested), the obsession with demons and mysticism, the ludicrous stage-props, the spandex, and, most startlingly, the way the drum intro to ‘Run To The Hills’ so uncannily echoes ‘Big Bottoms’.
In fairness, Maiden are nothing if not spirited performers, pouring all their energy into an hour and a half set that’s notable for its unrelenting intensity, if not for its originality. While the group’s straight down the line, no-frills metallic riffs – the musical equivalent of the long ball tactic – left me cold, the crowd were totally smitten, if the frequent chants of “Maid-en! Maid-en!” were anything to go by.
Nonetheless, it would take a hard-hearted individual not to be moved by the sight of the giant animatronic Eddie playing air guitar during the encore. You’ve got to admit that for a 25- year-old corpse, the dude knows how to party.