In May of 1996 Marilyn Manson, the band, put out
a call for help: it needed a foot soldier to lead guitar for its Antichrist Superstar
tour. The advertisement was innocuous enough, requesting that guitar players send
their tapes, photos and bios to a New Orleans address which surprisingly did not contain
the numbers 666. According to unreliable hearsay , over a thousand wanna be
diabolic acolytes submitted their curricula vitae for consideration. About
fifteen were called in. Three of them were from L.A. No not, Lower Alabama,
but L.A.., you know, City of Lost Angels, post modern Babylon, Sodom on Sunset....a
real naughty place. This is the story of two of those Sin City pilgrims.
Their names haven't been changed. They freely admit their guilt.
Clint Yeager looks like the Devil or at least a hunky Kewpie doll version of the
Unholy One. His all American face has found that perfect compromise between satanic
mischievousness and angelic perversity. He spent much of his youth in a black cape,
listening to Kiss and Alice Cooper which probably explains the dark psychology of a man
who has created a shrine to monsters on his living room mantelpiece. He is a
fan of Jeffrey Dahmer and has the Crucifixion scene tattooed on his back. He is one
of many talented musicians living in L.A. and yes he wants to be a rock star.
Not surprisingly, Clint appreciates that certain something that is Marilyn Manson. He first encountered Manson's music in 1995 while perusing the new-release section of a Hollywood discount record store. Clint took home "Portrait of An American Family" and listened to songs about pedophilia, defecation, and sadomasochism. He fell in love with it immediately. "It was lyrically twisted and I liked Marilyn's vocals. He reminded me of Alice Cooper and 70s glam bands and I thought that was pretty cool especially since just about everything being released at the time was grunge," says Clint.
That same year he encountered the Mephisto in person while working the door of the hip and deviant Silver Lake club, Dragstrip 66. Manson arrived at the club with his bassist Twiggy Ramirez, and Traci Lords. "Marilyn pulled on my goatee and told me he liked it," remembers Clint, who took the opportunity to hand Manson a tape of his then current shock rock project Daisyface. That was Clint's last conversation with Manson before his audition in July of the following year.
In the meantime, Daisyface's driving sound and offbeat stage antics started to create a stir among the A&R set. However, as the time came to take advantage of their rising notoriety, the band dissolved in a crush of personality clashes. So when Clint spotted the Marilyn Manson ad in the L.A. Weekly in May of '96 he was more than ready for a new band in a new city. "Marilyn is creepy. New Orleans is creepy. That gig would have been a dream come true."
After seeing the ad, Clint quickly called his friend, Don Cilurso, a guitar player and fellow Silver Lake resident who shared Clint's affinity for spectral shock rock. On the surface Don appears the typical musician. He has artfully disheveled black hair, porcelain skin, and pouting lips. Your grandmother would feel comfortable sitting next to him at dinner, but then she would've liked Ted Bundy too. No part of his body is visibly pierced or tattooed, but strangely Don gives off a vibe which is simultaneously good natured and innocent, yet depth-of-hell frightening. And scariest of all, Don is from New Orleans. His birthplace is only a few blocks from the former mortuary where Manson now records.
It was through Don's New Orleans connections that he first heard of Manson. Knowing his interest in Gothic and Industrial music, a local friend prompted Don to check out the new act on Trent Reznor's Nothing label. What he discovered was a musical act similar to Deep Six, a band Don had formed back in the early nineties. "We had songs about child molestation and patricide, but the front man for the project was more of an entrepreneur than a real talent and we eventually self-destructed. Manson is far more charismatic and believable." The possibility of playing with the charismatic and commercially viable Manson, tantalized Don, and though he was currently content playing with local Hollywood legends, Texas Terri and the Stiff Ones, he decided to give Marilyn Manson a shot.
Clint and Don began scurrying around in the shadows of their separate closets looking for promotional material to seduce the self-proclaimed Enemy of Christianity. Clint compiled a series of photos, T-shirts, and tapes from his Daisyface days. Two 11 by 17 color-copied collages show a naughty Clint with blackened eyes and bug like antennae, sporting a variety of eye-catching ensembles from pink tutu, frilly underpants, and leather bikini shorts to polio braces and jaw spreaders, his guitar always an unholy sexual appendage. One segment of the collage depicts Clint in a mock display of self sodomy below which is written the enticement "For a good time call Clint" and his home phone number. If that didn't give the Devil a hard on he couldn't fathom what would.
Don's submission was more demure. He sent a black and white photo, a tape containing both his solo material and recordings from Deep Six, and a letter addressed formally to Mr. Manson, detailing Don's musical background. The photo, from a Deep Six promotional poster, shows Don nestled in a fur jacket, seductively eyeing the camera with long locks framing his well painted face: unapologetic N.Y. trash all the way.
Almost a month and a half after submitting their packages and long after they had dismissed the possibility of a Manson lovefest, Don and Clint were contacted by Manson emissary, Tony Ciulla. Ciulla, identifying himself as the band's manager, advised them that if they were still interested in playing with Manson they should learn the guitar parts for each song on the Portrait album and find their way to Reznor's recording studio in New Orleans by July 17, a mere week away. He further informed them that they were among the chosen few to be asked to appear before Manson. Many, many musicians, perhaps over a thousand had submitted audition packets for consideration. Only fifteen were selected.
Don and Clint were tremulous with excitement and fear. Yes, they had been chosen but would they be worthy? For the next few days they labored over the guitar riffs that former Manson member, Daisy Berkowitz had contrived. Don turned to his GSP 2101 processor to enliven the corpse of guitar sounds entombed in the Portrait disc. His strategy was to pull out all the guns and show Manson what he could do.
Clint's strategy, on the other hand, was to simplify his task. He focused on five songs from the album: "Lunch Box," "Get Your Gun," "Cake and Sodomy," "Dope Hat," and "Misery Machine". Then, he reformulated the songs to include only the juiciest guitar parts. "The solos weren't easy to learn. They were nonsensical and rambled on, not going anywhere. I doubt Daisy Berkowitz could duplicate them," opines Clint.
In the late morning of July 17th Clint emerged from the meat locker cool of the New Orleans International Airport and into the sweltering, steamy caldron of Kenner, Louisiana. His sunglasses immediately fogged as he approached the curbside taxi. His last few hours had been a dream-like, slow moving, sleep deprived trip to this place of evil. What he wanted most in the world in that instant was to lie down in an air-conditioned room. The driver of the first taxi in line, perhaps frightened by the colorful space-alien-infested rotting flesh tattooed over his arm, refused to take him to his motel. The next driver acquiesced, and minutes later Clint stood before the entrance to the Roadway Inn, a two story architectural tribute to the rectangle.
Don arrived at the motel a half of an hour after Clint, and headed straight for the ever-ubiquitous Denny's restaurant in the motel for one last supper before the audition. After eating he retired to his room, collapsed on the bed and tried to force slumber. A few minutes later the phone rang and Don heard the voice of Tony Ciulla telling him to be at the studio by four that afternoon.
Four hours later pandemonium broke loose at the motel. "Suddenly it was `Oh no, what are we going to wear?'' says Clint. What exactly does one wear when auditioning before the Antichrist? Clint had brought black leather shorts, "Frankenstein" engineer boots, a straw cowboy hat held together with duct tape and two T-shirts.. The dilemma came down to the T-shirts: an undersized white tank top or a pink glitter Frankenstein shirt with the caption, "I just wanna be loved." "Don recommended the wife-beater [tank top] and I thought that the best choice," says Clint.
Don's final ensemble included black jeans, an all black T-shirt and silver space shoes. "I felt extremely confident. I had just dyed my hair red, had my nails done and was wearing my silver space shoes. Basically I was just being myself. I wanted them to pay more attention to my music and what I could do with a guitar. They could always figure out a look for me later."
At 3:30 a gangrene colored taxi creeped into the motel parking lot. Another musician, Brad, whom Don had met in the Elvintine lounge of the Memphis Airport, joined Don and Clint at the taxi. They each loaded their equipment into the trunk. Don took his hollowbody electric, E-bow, slide and Digitech GSP 2101 processor. Clint took his green B.C. Rich guitar, and several foot pedals: a Boss Digital delay, Metal Zone, Super Chorus, and Cry Baby.
The taxi driver suspiciously eyed the trio as they loaded their equipment into the back of the sedan. Finally he asked in a New Orleans drawl akin to a Brooklyn accent, "Hey are you guys in a band or something?" Don responded by telling him that they were all guitar players auditioning for the same spot in the same band, and yes, sharing the same taxi. "We weren't feeling competitive," Clint remembers. "In fact we tried to boost each others confidence by talking about why we thought the other was qualified and a prime candidate."
As the taxi approached the innards of New Orleans, the conversation turned to speculation about possible names for the new lead guitarist. "I was going to be Selena Menendez," says Clint, " and I think Don wanted to be Squeaky Menendez but I told him that you couldn't combine two killers' names." Brad informed them otherwise. He had heard that the old rules no longer applied and that the band already had a name picked out for the new lead guitar player. A hush swept over the back seat of the taxi as each pondered what horrible deeds the band could be plotting for the future.
At a quarter to four, the musicians stood alone, at the foot of behemothian gray building on Magazine Street near Audobon Park, staring at the tail of the taxi speeding off into the distance. Their transportation gone, they then turned and faced the minimalist gothic edifice that once housed the dearly departed. Slowly and purposefully they approached the rod iron gates fronting the entrance. Clint pressed the intercom button and announced their arrival. A disembodied voice floated onto the heavy air, welcoming them. The mammoth doors clicked open. They entered.
"The place looked like a huge living room with no taste in decor" recalls Don. Posters of Marilyn Manson and Kiss adorned the walls and the lobby buzzed with the upbeat patter of young, hip staff members. "They looked like they had been transplanted from L.A.," says Don of the staff. Yes, this was truly the work of the Devil.
The pretty receptionist smiled and directed them into the lounge where a few other musicians were talking among themselves in hushed tones. As they entered the room, a thirtysomething man of average height with well trimmed salt and pepper hair approached them and introduced himself. It was Tony Ciulla. He knew each by name and welcomed them warmly. He then asked them if they'd like to partake in refreshments and to follow him through a door at the back of the room. The door opened into a huge kitchen. Had this been the former mortuary's embalming room long ago? He pointed to the refrigerator and told them to help themselves. It was full of colas and beer. "I thought that we were getting some sort of special treatment until he said we couldn't have any beer and I discovered the colas were warm," says Don.
An attractive Asian woman, apparently a member of the Reznor staff, watched them as they scrounged in the refrigerator for a drink. "She was really attractive and I checked her out but she was totally unresponsive" remembers Don.
After rejection from the Asian beauty and
spitting out the warm colas, they returned to the waiting area. Behind the
room's large sectional couch stood a table with a pile of questionnaires intended
for the auditioning musicians. They picked up the questionnaires and read the
questions:
1) What is your symbol of personal power?
2) How do you feel about people of color?
3) What is your definition of art?
4) If you had sex with a man but were not in love with him does that mean
you are gay? Explain.
Don and Clint decided that a combination of neutrality and wit was the best approach to answering the questions. Who knew if Manson would take them seriously. In a tribute to his job at a Silver Lake diner, Don incorporated "dishwashing liquid" into each answer.
As they worked away on their answers more people began to stream into the lounge. Clint scanned the room, taking stock of the competition. For the most part, the other musicians appeared to be in their twenties, thin, long haired and clothed in black. A few stylistically stood out in make-up, dreadlocks, lacy tops or suits.
"Everyone was pretty cocky. A lot of self-promotion was going on with guys talking about their music and bands back home," says Clint. Clint spotted a guy with Robert Smith-like hair, patent leather shorts and striped stockings. He approached him. It was Jeremy Meza, the third, and only other guitar player to hail from L.A. Both Clint and Jeremy had played in Kommunity F.K., an L.A. death rock band formed by Patrick Mata, but had never met--they had played in the band at different times. They mused over the irony of being face to face for the first time over two thousand miles from home, in the belly of Reznor's recording studio.
As they spoke, Trent Reznor, the famed talent behind mega successful Nine Inch Nails, Satan's own John the Baptist, and head of Nothing, appeared out of nowhere ... carrying toilet paper. "Yeah he just walked from room to room carrying toilet paper. It was funny and weird. Maybe he was living out some sort of slave fantasy," ponders Clint at this strange, unheard of cabalistic ritual.
Yes things were beginning to get weird and Don was ready to explode with anticipation. He was on deck as the next musician to audition. Ciulla guided Don into a small room adjacent to the audition room, where he could get ready. "I started setting up, feeling nervous. I don't know if it was intentional or not but they had this horrific noise looped on a tape in a boombox in the corner of the room. I thought I was going to go crazy until a sound engineer finally popped in and turned it off, smiling and apologizing for the noise." At the entrance to the audition room, the touring guitar player for Nine Inch Nails worked a CD console, cueing songs from the Portrait CD.
"What really made me nervous was when Pogo came out of the audition room while this other guy was still auditioning and rolled his eyes to the Nine Inch Nails guitar player. I thought, `Wow, these guys are tough,'" remembers Don.
Minutes later, the Nine Inch Nail's guitar player called Don into the audition room. "It was pitch black in there and I couldn't see anything but the Marshall stack and the bright spot light directed at it." He shuffled cautiously over to the stack, self-consciously toting his suitcase full of equipment and began setting up his processor. Then his nightmare began. The N.I.N. guitarist informed him that he would not be allowed to use his effects processor. Don's heart missed a beat. "I felt total despair after all the time I had put into getting the effects right. I debated whether or not to throw a primadonna fit."
Don protested until the ephemeral glow of Manson materialized in the dark. Don's eyes had finally dilated and for the first time he could see the band. Manson sat regally on a couch with Twiggy Ramirez to his right and Pogo, the keyboardist cum percussionist, to his left. "I was struck by how Marilyn was both profoundly ugly and yet beautiful," remembers Don. Manson refused to allow Don to use his effects processor, explaining that there was too little time and too many guitar players to still audition. Don gave in--what else could he do? "You know, I think they could smell the fear in me."
Getting down to business, Manson asked Don what song he wanted to play first. "I said that at that point I didn't really care and that my whole game plan was all fucked up." Manson offered that he might start off with "Lunch Box," a song with which the other guitar players had begun their auditions. Don agreed and played it well. His confidence surged.
Then Manson surprised him and requested "Sweet Dreams," the Eurythmics tune that had catapulted the band into radio mainstream a few months earlier. "I declined, kicking myself for not having learned it. You know it wasn't on Portrait, but I had a suspicion he might ask me to play it." Finally, Manson asked if there was anything Don wanted to play. He chose "Dope Hat" and executed it perfectly except for one of the solo parts. "I came into it in the wrong chord and then recovered, but felt as though I had committed a mortal sin."
After finishing, Manson thanked him and Ciulla escorted him out of the dark and into the lobby. "He gave me his phone number and told me to give him a call later. He said they were trying to weed out the people they didn't want but that they liked me and that they'd set up a time for me to come back. He gave me a lot of encouragement."
Several hours later, Clint walked into the dark of Manson's court. The set up was exactly as Don had described it to him: Manson sat on a couch flanked by Twiggy and Pogo. "I walked towards Marilyn and asked him if he wanted the questionnaire and then handed it to him." Manson took the questionnaire and smiled. Clint then walked over to the Marshall stack to set up. "The spot light was blinding. I said `I'm scared, I can't see you guys.' And they laughed. Marilyn told me to try and relax. Yeah right."
Clint plugged his foot pedals directly into the
amps and checked the sound. "Marilyn was really friendly and told me to take my
time and make sure I got the sound I wanted."
As he did with all the guitar players Manson asked Clint which song he would like to
play first. "I told him I felt equally uncomfortable with all the songs because
I was nervous and had had only a week to learn them." Manson requested he play
"Lunch Box" and then "Get Your Gun."
"I felt those songs went really well. Once I started playing I relaxed and just had fun, jumping around and doing my thing."
As with Don, Manson then asked Clint to play "Sweet Dreams." "I told him I didn't really know it, that I didn't know the solo parts but that I could probably figure it out." The song began and Clint played it, stumbling in the wrong key at first and then transposing down half a step until he got it right.
Manson still hadn't heard enough and asked Clint if there was anything that he'd like to play.
"`Yeah,' I said, `I'd like to play "Rock 'n Roll Nigger" because I really like that song.' I played it hard, jumping around, really high energy." And then it was over. Manson thanked him, told him that they'd had a lot of fun watching him play, and suggested that he talk to Ciulla before leaving.
As Clint walked toward the door, Manson stopped him. Did he play any other instruments like drums or keyboards? Clint responded that he could play keyboards and knew how to program drums. Manson nodded, again thanked him and turned away.
Back in the lobby Ciulla told Clint exactly what he had told Don: that they were still auditioning people, to give him a call when he got back to the motel, and that they may want him to play again that night or the next day.
Don spent the evening visiting with his parents while Clint returned to the motel to await Ciulla's call. At about eleven o'clock Ciulla called and informed Clint that he wouldn't be calling anyone back for another audition. They had videotaped the performances and would simply refer to the tapes in making their final decision. He also told Clint that Manson wanted to speak with him before he left New Orleans, and that he might find him down in the French Quarter that evening.
The stink of stale beer and the sounds of 80s cover bands permeated the steamy air as Clint walked down Bourbon Street for the first time and into the arms of the underworld. As if destiny had steered his course he immediately encountered Jeremy and a small group of guitar players who had been the last to audition before Manson. With the group was a tiny, frail musician in black leather pants. Red streaks hilighted his chin-length, jet-black hair. His name was Michael and he was from Chicago. "He was quiet, cool, down to earth and pretty intelligent. He reminded me of a young Ace Frehley," recalls Clint. Unbeknownst to the group, this petite, soft spoken musician from Chicago would soon metamorphose into Zim Zum, lead guitarist of the Antichrist tour.
The group moved from bar to bar exploring the historic section of town known for its seediness and debauchery. Around 2 a.m. the gangly, dreadlocked Twiggy sans Manson ambled into the bar where the group had settled for one last beer. He approached the musicians, said hello to all and then pulled Clint to the side. He told him that he and the others had liked him and reaffirmed what Ciulla had said: Manson wanted to talk with him. But where was Manson? Twiggy then pulled Michael to the side and spoke with him for a few minutes before leaving. With Twiggy gone and the chances of finding Manson in the Quarter diminishing, the group dispersed. Clint returned to Kenner, to his small motel room with the muffled sounds of distant jet engines, and found at long last his much longed for sleep.
Six hours later the shrill sound of the phone pierced Clint's safe slumber. He didn't know where he was at first and he couldn't understand why a groggy voice calling itself Manson was calling him. The voice was apologizing for waking him but insisting that it wanted to catch him before he left because it really liked his playing and ... Clint jolted awake. "He said that he liked my playing and watching me play and that it would be fun to be in a band with me. I was beginning to wake up to an adrenaline rush at that point." But Manson continued that he thought Clint seemed more comfortable as a rhythm player who liked to perform than a lead player. "For some stupid reason I agreed with him rather than fully explain that it had been hard to follow Daisy's playing and come off as a good lead player."
The mention of Daisy's playing struck a chord with Manson and he went off on a tirade about him. After explaining his frustrations with Daisy, he then cut to the chase and shared his thoughts about the outcome of the auditions. "He told me he wanted to have two guitar players. One to play lead and a another guy to play rhythm guitar and maybe keyboards and percussion. He said the new album was pretty complex and that if he didn't have a second guitarist with versatile skills he'd have to run tape during live shows. He didn't want to run tape." If they went with two guitar players, Clint was told he would definitely be the rhythm guitarist but if they only went with the lead, they still had to decide among him and two other players. Tony Ciulla would call him.
L.A. became a virtual Purgatory for Clint and Don as they awaited the call that could change their lives. Both had been given enough encouragement to make them believe that they might become the next lead guitar player for Marilyn Manson, or at the very least a rhythm guitarist as in Clint's case. Clint went into hibernation. "Most of the people I knew had heard about the audition and rumors that I got the spot began circulating. I was sick of telling people that I didn't know yet."
Three weeks later Don was out of the game. The band had picked Michael to be Zim Zum. Clint however, still had a chance of getting a job as the rhythm guitarist. He waited and waited. But it never happened. "I just never heard from them and after a month and a half I gave up." It was all over.
So what does one do after flirting with the Satan and his promise of worldy fame and fortune? Don is recording with Texas Terri and the Stiff Ones and has found a day job that does not involve dishwashing liquid. Clint has formed a new band which he calls Superfiends and is just beginning to take the show on the road. "The hardest part about it all is that I saw Marilyn Manson as my savior," comments Clint. "I had invested two years of my life into a former band that got burnt before reaching the sun. Playing with Marilyn Manson would have saved me from what I'm doing now: starting over from scratch.".
And how do they feel about Marilyn Manson's success? "I think it's great. I really like what he's doing," asserts Clint. Don is more verbose, "You know . . . what I dig about Marilyn--he's always been up front about lusting for stardom. And I would have been down for anything with that band," he pauses, "....well maybe not the group defecation but anything else I would have been down for."
And life between heaven and hell
goes on ....
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© 1997 BRIAN B. WILSON