By Darryl Smyers, Special Contributor
Many, many people dressed in black made their way into Gexa Energy Pavilion Wednesday night to catch a terrific double bill of alternative rock featuring two distinctive frontmen: Marilyn Manson and the Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan.
Years ago this pairing might have frightened parents, but these days, even Marilyn Manson has mellowed. Sure, Manson's stage antics (flaming Bibles, scantily clad strippers) are meant to shock, but now, it all comes across as theater, a grandiose Broadway production hitting on technology run rampant and organized religion.
On Wednesday night, it was all campy fun. As much as Manson has profited from this image as the ultimate outsider, when push comes to shove, his music can be as mundane and harmless as that of Aerosmith. Indeed, songs like "Disposable Teen" and "No Reflection" could have easily ended up on some mid '70s album with better vocals care of Steven Tyler.
But give Manson credit: When he covers Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" or the Eurythmics' "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)," he devilishly deconstructs the songs with the glee of a teenager and the skill of a top notch arranger. Manson is a salesman of the highest order, the misfit who made it, the oddball who scaled the commercial heights and now laughs at the fools who once derided him.
Compared to Manson, the Smashing Pumpkins' Billy Corgan is the lanky nerd who feared folks like Manson all through high school. But unlike Manson, Corgan is a clever tunesmith who knows when to rock out and when to ride a harmonious groove. All throughout the evening, Corgan proved the master of the ebb and flow, the perfectionist who gives no quarter to slipups.
Starting off its set smartly with "Cherub Rock," this version of Smashing Pumpkins was as technically proficient as any that has come before. Alternating between the punishing power chords of "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" with the more gentle musings of "Tonight, Tonight," Corgan and crew were spot on all evening. Keeping the between-song banter to a minimum, Corgan let the music do the talking. For most of the evening, it did.
The only comedown was "Landslide." This chestnut from Fleetwood Mac is one of those songs (like Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah") that needs to be left alone. Corgan's nasal whine comes across as a bad parody of Stevie Nicks. Thankfully, the Pumpkins promptly launched into "1979," a classic with a killer hook and a hipster wink to the year of its title.
All in all, the evening was an interesting mixture of crafted ugliness and professional reliability. Fans left the hot and humid confines of Gexa with slightly demented smiles on their faces and the realization that what they once feared in their youth was now acceptable dinner theater played out before the masses.
