Music Review: Marilyn Manson, The Pale Emperor

By Less Lee Moore

For many, Marilyn Manson is synonymous with the ’90s, even though he has continued to make music well into this new millennium. That’s been both a blessing (he redefined “shock rock” on his own terms) and a curse (he hasn’t had a hit single since 1998 and his record sales have decreased with each subsequent release). Confession time: I lost interest in him not long after Mechanical Animals so I had some homework to do before writing this review of The Pale Emperor, his ninth studio album.

This proved to be both revelatory (Holy Wood, The High End Of Low, Born Villain) and repulsive (half of The Golden Age Of Grotesque, all of the abysmal Eat Me Drink Me). It also exposed a through line to The Pale Emperor.

Bit by bit, Manson has dispensed with the theatrical trappings of his most well known work, while trying to expand his musical palette in sort of a “less is more” artistic evolution. Few would refer to Manson as a talented singer, but he does have an exceedingly identifiable vocal style that is perfect for his particular aesthetic. Although the last two albums were somewhat more stripped down than their predecessors, The Pale Emperor seems to be the first time Manson’s voice hasn’t been buried under layers of noise. The result is much better than what a lot of his detractors would expect. It’s fucked up, sure, but it’s the kind of fucked up I like.

The Pale Emperor starts off with the bluesy “Killing Strangers.” Manson’s still singing about god, guns, and government, but with lyrics like “We’re killing strangers/so we don’t kill the ones that we love” it’s hard not to be impressed by his way with words. Besides, these topics are probably more relevant than ever. Sounding world-weary and unhinged, “Killing Strangers” is a powerful song, probably one of the best ones he’s ever recorded.

The rest of the album isn’t as rough and raw as “Killing Strangers” which is a real disappointment because as his previous two albums demonstrate, he has a gift for captivating melodies. Unfortunately, the bluster of Antichrist Superstar still holds sway over the ears of most music critics, so only Manson’s most ardent followers appreciated songs like the excellent “Lay Down Your Goddamn Arms” from 2012’s Born Villain. Perhaps this is why every album since 1996 has featured—perhaps unintentionally—some variation of the distinctive drumbeat from “The Beautiful People” (on The Pale Emperor it’s “Birds Of Hell Awaiting”).

All that said, “Deep Six” is a decent first single (despite a heinous video) with hooks aplenty. It’s just that Manson can do so much better. The wordless vocal chorus of “Third Day Of A Seven Day Binge” is quite good, although the lyrics feel a bit shopworn and repetitive. “The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles” shows that Manson can pull the same old tricks from his bag but restrain his more overwrought impulses in order to create genuine impact, even if “I don’t know if I can open up/I’m not a birthday present” feels clunky.

“Warship My Wreck” is reminiscent of “Running To The Edge Of The World,” the mournful epic from The High End Of Low, but more ponderous (and I’m not sure if Manson can do “ponderous”). “Slave Only Dreams To Be King” presents more anti-religious rhetoric. No doubt there are those who’ll roll their eyes that Manson’s still singing about the oppressive evils of Christianity, but who among us doesn’t have demons from our past that persist in haunting us no matter how many times we try to exorcise them? Still, despite the subject matter, in a post-Trayvon Martin/Michael Brown/Tamir Rice world, the song’s chorus comes across like so many white male tears.

Things pick up considerably with the lively “The Devil Beneath My Feet,” and one can imagine Manson as an Iggy Pop character, someone who got lost within his own alter ego and barely managed to escape. The Iggy Pop damage is even more apparent on “Birds Of Hell Awaiting,” which as fellow music critic Thierry Côté wryly observed, lifts the drum beat from Pop’s own “Nightclubbing” as well as the guitar stylings of Bon Jovi’s Richie Sambora. (As Côté said, “once you hear it, you can’t unhear it.”) Despite everything, it’s a fantastic track, with Manson wailing like he just doesn’t give a shit.

The cheekily titled “Cupid Carries A Gun” is another highlight of the album, with haunting guitar and vocal melodies and inspired lyrics (“Folks say that I look like Death lived in the hotel of my eyes”), as well as the ominous repetition of “pound me the witch drums.” At six minutes plus, “Odds Of Even” could seem like another slog, but it’s actually damn good, with a stuttering drumbeat and synths like plucked violin strings. There’s Marilyn Manson the band, Marilyn Manson the character, and then there’s Brian Warner. So it’s hard not to feel like some of this song’s lyrics are exposing the difficulties of juggling all three:

Hide your heart in your gut
But for what?
When they’re waiting
To pull you apart
Like a scarecrow on death row,
So now all of your secrets are shown

There’s a lot of sameness on The Pale Emperor, but it’s a good sameness; there’s no outlandish, embarrassing guitar noodling courtesy of Tim Sköld to be found here. I genuinely admire Marilyn Manson’s attempts to break out of his comfort zone even if many of his fans might be happier with more albums like Antichrist Superstar. Underrated as a songwriter, he’s also wickedly clever and creatively omnivorous, drawing upon a wide range of influences for his music and lyrics.

The Pale Emperor is a solid, if sometimes underwhelming album, and represents another fascinating glimpse into the transmogrification of Marilyn Manson. Count me in as a fan. Again.

The Pale Emperor was released by Hell, etc. on January 20.