I am an appreciative consumer of alcohol endorsed by rock musicians. I lost my virginity to a freaky girlfriend wooed into the folly of sleeping with me by goblets full of KISS-brand wine (or, perhaps more likely, the engorged, 14-inch long protrusion of Gene Simmons’ tongue prominently displayed on the label). I also like absinthe — not for the taste, which is fermented Listerine, but for the pretentiousness: the ornate louching rituals, the vague idea of opium-scented absinthe parlors, fluffy cravats and decadent poets tormented by wormwood-induced spectres.
So I would think I would be all for Marilyn Manson’s new absinthe, called Mansinthe. I’m not. Oh, yes, at $56 a bottle, it’s not direly expensive, which is a plus. And as a product between Manson, Absinthe.de and Matter-Luginbühl AG, it should, at least, be just as drinkable as any absinthe. More, probably: it’s won the gold medal at the 2008 San Francisco World Spirits Competition. Heck, it even has a pretty incredible bottle.
But ultimately, it’s the name. Mansinthe. This is the exact name of the house specialty at a strange underground absinthe bar I was dragged to in San Francisco’s Castro district a few years back. You don’t even want to know how they louched it.