photo: aversives · cc by 4.0 ↗In January 1997, Rolling Stone sent Neil Strauss to spend a week with Brian Warner in Florida for a profile that opened on a rumor Warner had let run wild: "For a solid year, there was a rumor that I was going to commit suicide on Halloween," he said. Warner had formed Marilyn Manson there in 1989, splicing a movie icon's first name to a killer's surname, and grown up attending a private Christian school's anti-metal seminars that, he said, only sent him straight to the record store. Discovered and signed by Trent Reznor, the band's 1996 breakthrough Antichrist Superstar fused industrial menace with theatrical shock rock, and 1998's glam pivot Mechanical Animals made Manson the decade's most reliably controversial rock star — an entertainer who, by his own account, craved the spectacle he built.
Manson didn't just cite David Bowie as an inspiration — he'd secretly been rehearsing him for years. When outlaw-country singer Shooter Jennings asked him to sing Bowie's "Cat People" for a Giorgio Moroder tribute album, Manson didn't need convincing: "I sing that song every night before I go onstage," he told Jennings. "That's my song I warm up to." They cut the vocal in one take at three in the morning. Manson had already borrowed Bowie's glam-alien silhouette for 1998's Mechanical Animals; the cover just made the debt explicit.
listen forBowie's 1982 version glides on a serpentine bassline and his own cool, detached delivery, written with producer Giorgio Moroder for Paul Schrader's horror film Cat People. On the 2016 Shooter Jennings recording, Manson sings that same lyric over a stomping piano and eerie country fiddle, turning Bowie's clipped menace into a rasped, theatrical growl — an actual vocal take from the artist himself, not a soundalike.
Trent Reznor discovered Manson playing in Florida, signed him to his own Nothing Records, and produced Portrait of an American Family, Smells Like Children, and 1996's Antichrist Superstar — the run that made Manson's name. Asked years later, after a long rift, whether he'd work with Reznor again, Manson didn't hedge: "He taught me a lot of what I know about music." The two had fallen out and reconciled, Manson said, after an HBO documentary about Dr. Dre and Jimmy Iovine reminded Reznor of what they'd once built together.
listen forNIN's 1989 Head Like a Hole grinds distorted synths and mechanical, gated drums into a tightly sequenced groove that snaps into a defiant, screamed hook. Manson's producer-mentor imprint shows directly on 1996's The Beautiful People, built from the same industrial toolkit: a lurching, machine-tight rhythm section detonating into a shouted, fist-in-the-air chorus that turns Reznor's cold precision into arena-size aggression.
Manson's mother, a Neil Diamond and Bee Gees fan, also owned Alice Cooper records, and one song stuck. "I could identify with it," Manson said of 1971's "I'm Eighteen." "It felt true, and it will always be true." Years later, touring together on 2013's Masters of Madness tour, he finally got to sing it onstage with Cooper — "a childhood dream come true," he called it. Cooper returned the admiration, recalling the first time he saw Manson perform: "Finally, somebody doing something interesting."
listen forCooper's 1972 School's Out marches a taunting, singalong hook — a children's chorus chanting the title — over a swaggering hard-rock riff built for a stadium to shout back. Manson's 2003 mOBSCENE does the same job with a different toolkit: a stomping, chant-ready chorus and cheerleader-style backing vocals riding a glammed-up, industrial-tinged strut, the shock-rock formula Cooper originated updated with a dance-club sheen.