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JFK3

JFK3 "Posthuman" [A] ---I think this one and its transition to "I Want to Disappear" are the crux of the record. So this will be long. --- "Posthuman" is a terrific, galloping piece, the only non-Omega hard rocker and thus the one that's most intense and sincere. It's also the only MA song in which the Alien/Angel summons up the power and fire of the Antichrist Superstar, and that's significant, because in this one he crystallizes what he learned in that role and swings it like a bright scorching sword. The reference to the Kennedy assassination, the first thing of the kind in a Manson song since he gave up on serial killers, is precise: Kennedy was the first real television president, his death a national catharsis and mythic hero sacrifice. This track's "she" (not a "you" and probably not a Comawhite) has "eyes like Zapruder", the cameraman who shot the famous grassy-mound assassination footage; "she wants me to be perfect like Kennedy" and in her dreams "she's a saint like Jackie O". - Ergo, she craves Manson's death like it's chocolate, polishing the image of herself at his side in a shot-up limo; a soap-opera star-by-association, a tragic heroine like the legendary and bloodspattered First Widow. Well, *censored* that. "Show me the dead stars, all of them sing," roars Manson in a full-throttle fury, summoning them all up from JFK to Kurt Cobain and Princess Diana but refusing to stand at their side--"this is a riot, religious and clean." Religious and clean - a real, not vicarious, experience of spirit. He rejects the whole cultic, necrophiliac mock-religion of dead icons and TV martyrs - "This isn't God! This isn't God!"- rasping in an ACS-reminiscent line that God is a statistic, "a number you cannot count to." His walk through hell gave him his life's clearest understanding of the soul and its sources. God is a mystery, God is in the heart or in music or you; God is not this synthetic hysteria, this gruesome, Catholic sickness of souvenirs and shed blood. He sees over and through and won't play this game anymore. (And I'll bet he's over his sniper-phobia too.) -- Once the idea of God hunted him through the streets like a mob with torches, and in his confusion and distress he even wondered if he was supposed to die, if his mythic role might be that of black sacrificial lamb. He walked onstage with cerements dripping blood for the final encore, a Jesus who never rose, a beautiful, heartrending gesture to pierce the guilt of all fathers who willingly sacrifice their children. But he's past that now, past that idea of God. He expects to die - expects the end of the world - but he knows he's not a sacrifice. And in reconnecting to his old passion and righteous rage he finds that he hasn't lost everything, that this emotion is real, and still his own. Bibliography:

Word Count: 489