
Marilyn Manson returns to L.A. this fall for Antichrist Superstar’s 30th anniversary.
Los Angeles loves its monsters–and it particularly loves the ones who survive. Marilyn Manson is one of those monsters.
Nearly 30 years ago, in June 1997, a skinny, snarling rock and roll newcomer in ripped fishnets and black lipstick stepped onto a stage at the Blockbuster Pavilion in San Bernardino County, and the crowd immediately booed him. Laughed at him. In fact, the first five minutes of his set consisted of the crowd pelting him with whatever was available: hot dog wrappers, a random sneaker, a dirty cup…
But I was in that crowd. I was cheering from the get-go, because I already knew the brilliance that is Marilyn Manson—though the rest of the world had yet to discover it.

It was that performance, during that Ozzfest tour, where he single-handedly turned around audience show after show by sheer talent and determination, making sure his art and his music hit you upside the head, made you think a little deeper, and rock a little harder. By the end of “The Beautiful People,” even the skeptics were on their feet, screaming, cheering, and wondering if maybe they’d been wrong.
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