Every armchair criminologist from my generation eventually tackles Charles Manson. He's our Hitler, a larger-than-life incarnation of the ultimate evil that defines the night terrors of our youth. I was four years old and blissfully ignorant when Manson and his Family first initiated the series of killings that would mark 1969's Summer of Blood in Los Angeles and environs. That ignorance would be short-lived, however, and grow into a fascination that persists to this day. Needless to say, when I first got wind of NBC's Aquarius mini-series earlier this year, I went on immediate DVR alert. A look at Manson's nascent psychopathy, i.e. Manson before he became Manson makes must-see TV for a true-crime devotee and cult watcher such as myself. But more on Aquarius later. For now, let's talk about Manson, his music and a possible motive for his crimes.
I first became aware of the Manson murders in elementary school when the nightly news featured regular updates from his trial. My older brother, Bob, worldly and well-read at twelve years old, promptly introduced me to the concept of cult mind control and filled me in on the basics of the crime. (My ever-lasting thanks, Bob!) By the time I was eleven, Manson was safely locked-up in prison while his Family lived on as a creepy coven of real-life bogey women, would-be presidential assassins and fodder for Saturday Night Live Skits. Just one more strain of white noise buzzing in the colorful background of a 70s childhood. A few years later, though, in my early teens, I encountered a new Charlie Manson.
This new Manson wasn't a psycho, evil genius or would-be messiah. Rather he was one of a number anti-establishment antichrists - Anton LaVey, Aleister Crowley, King Diamond - venerated by a sub-set of "satanist" stoners and other proto-goths roaming the halls of North Olmsted Junior High. At that same time in ninth-grade Social Studies, Mr. Evans (NOJHS' coolest teacher) used Manson's Helter Skelter crime spree as launching pad to introduce the current hot topics of counter-culture, "hard drugs" and mind control. Mr. Evans' lectures immediately sent me paper chasing to the Cleveland Public Library downtown where I reviewed news articles from Manson's trial on microfilm and discovered Vincent Bugliosi's 1974 opus Helter Skelter. Needless to say, I devoured the 500-plus pages during a 48-hour reading orgy before augmenting the book with Helter Skelter, the movie, starring a Manson-channeling Steve Railsback.
By the ripe old age of fifteen, then, I knew everything there was to know about Charles Manson, the Tate-LaBianca murders and the Helter-Skelter scenario that fueled his murderous megalomania. Or so I thought before I discovered Charlie's other side. A side only casually mentioned by Bugliosi and others: Charles Manson, the musician.
No doubt that fateful day began normally enough. Just like hundreds of other teenage days during summer vacation. I probably woke up and puttered around the house for a few hours before declaring absolute boredom and hopping a bus to Great Northern Mall. Once at the mall, I looked forward to an afternoon of window-shopping the record stores and hanging out at the food court hoping to meet the one girl on the planet who wouldn't see me as a skinny, acne-ridden, terminally self-conscious loser. On that particular day, I did happen to meet a girl in the food court. Three of them, actually. I later found out they hailed from the neighboring city of Olmsted Falls, which, to my good fortune, meant they didn't know me from school. So they had no preconceptions when I finally grew a pair and struck up a conversation.
Red-eyed, wearing pen-decorated jeans jackets and armed with a small boom-box, these girls advertised who they were to anyone and everyone. Stoner chicks, my friends and I called their kind. Burn-outs. Freaks. The kind of sexy bad girls that fascinated dorks like me. True to their nature, they'd set up camp outside the video arcade, flagrantly disregarding the minor tobacco laws, harassing the rent-a-cops and shouting inappropriate comments towards nearby mall-walking seniors. Circling them for awhile searching for an opening, I eventually caught wind of the music coming from their tape player. Odd, folksy, almost Dylan-esque. Not your typical heavy metal or acid-rock fair for girls such as this. "Who is that?" I finally braved my opening salvo.
"You'll never guess," the loud one in their trio shot back. Seeing as she didn't scream "Rape" or "Faggot," I walked over, sat down and continued listening to their music. After two tracks and some bad guesses (they'd never heard of Tim Buckley or Phil Ochs), the Loud One finally divulged the singer's identity. "That's Charles fucking Manson. She said his name the way I imagine Mary Magdalene referred to Jesus, without the 'fucking' part, of course. What?! Her answer led to further explanations regarding the sociopath songwriter and his surprisingly innocuous music. "He could have been bigger than the Beatles or anybody," the Loud One pronounced as her minions nodded. "But the record business got too scared and censored him. That's what pissed him off, you know. He killed those people because they screwed him out of his record deal. They fucking deserved it." And that was my brief introduction to Charles Manson, the musician, and Sondra I-Forget-Her-Last-Name-Because-The-Phone-Number-She-Gave-Me-Turned-Out-To-Be-Fake.
Years later at OU, I ended up buying a bootleg cassette tape of Charlie's music at Schoolkids Records in Athens. Whereas the music itself never impressed me, the historical and criminological aspect struck my fancy. By that time, several writers had further explored Charlie's failed music career as a motive for his murder spree. The fact that Sharon Tate lived in the house previously rented by record executive and Manson acquaintance Terry Melcher was already an established fact directly tying Manson to the murder house. Manson's friendship and residency with Beach Boy Dennis Wilson, not to mention the band's reworking of Charlie's "Cease To Exist," provided trivia buffs with a curious footnote to the band's legendary legacy. Gary Hinman, one of Manson's first victims, existed on the fringes of LA's music scene, playing keyboards and giving piano lessons before running afoul of The Family. As for Manson's musical pedigree, numerous sources lent credence to prison-yard tales that notorious murderer Alvin "Creepy" Karpis himself taught Charlie how to play the guitar. Given all these factors combined with Manson's well-publicized obsession with hidden prophetic messages in the works of John, Paul, George & Ringo, even an amateur detective like my younger self could sense a deep connection between Music and Murder in Charlie's crazy cosmology.
Periodically over the proceeding 25-30 years, I actively toyed with the idea of doing an in-depth analysis of Manson's aborted musical dreams in relation to his homicidal temper tantrum. Understandably, I wasn't the only one entertaining such notions, and in 2008 filmmaker Ryan Oksenberg's haunting, unlicensed documentary, Cease To Exist, took the internet underground by storm. ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=go2ym7HNoC4 ) Of course, the film takes its title from Charlie's only well-known composition, "Cease To Exist," ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yI2aAwyzDeE ) later rewritten and re-named by Dennis Wilson as "Never Learn Not To Love," ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I0v2bVX8j4 ), which appeared on Beach Boys' 1969 album, 20/20. As Oksenberg's narrative unwinds, we see the actual true motive for The Manson Family's murderous spree, Charlie's failed aspirations and slighted ego. For anyone interested in the murders, I enthusiastically recommend Oksenberg's film.
Considering Cease To Exist's depth and clarity, I won't rehash it here. Rather, I'll turn my focus to Charlie's demo tape, the only known testimony to his musical legacy. At first listen, one is immediately struck by the utter banality of it all. Frankly, Manson sounds like one of the era's countless warbling troubadours strumming acoustic guitars whilst trying to evoke alternating moods of playfulness and poignancy. Granted, introspective offerings like "Ego," "Mechanical Man," "Sick City," "Don't Do Anything Illegal," and "People Say I'm No Good," offer obvious glimpses into Manson's troubled inner world. But I believe his lighter, pop-oriented tunes like "Look At Your Game, Girl" and "Home Is Where You're Happy" provide us a true hint at Manson's own musical vision, which is, to be truthful, insipid and insincere.
In retrospect, Manson's demo tape, later released as the album Lie: The Love And Terror Cult, reveals a desperate, marginally-talented dilettante willing to sing or write anything in any style that someone somewhere might buy. What else explains a campy sing-along like "I'll Never Say Never To Always," treacly fare better suited to the New Christy Minstrels than a counter-culture Antichrist. Despite Charlie's anti-establishment posturing, Lie presents to us a Manson who would have sold out to The Man in a downbeat if it meant receiving even a modicum of the musical success and public adoration he felt was his due. Just think, if Charlie had been just a little better and a lot luckier, we might now regard him as a One Hit Wonder instead of a One-Time Most Dangerous Man Alive.
Having finished the first two installments of NBC's Aquarius, I can't help but feel the miniseries' writers share a similar vision and version of Charles Manson. In each episode thus far, considerable time has been spent exploring Charlie's musical aspirations. Aquarius' Manson uses music not only to cajole his followers, but control his very surroundings. Likewise, his unshakable belief in his own musical destiny guides his every Machiavellian machination on the road to fame and fortune.
As fast and loose as Aquarius plays with historical facts, it seems conversely obsessed with establishing a narrative truth in the development of Charlie's character. The resulting product makes for some pretty compelling television, at least so far. Being a lifelong Manson watcher, I'll definitely keep my DVR tuned to Aquarius despite its flaws. I only hope the entire run stays consistent and doesn't wander down the same muddled path as other once promising endeavors: Lost, The Mentalist, Prison Break and most recently The Following.
