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SGTDF #2: Nine Inch Nails (Live)

If you’re reading this, thanks for staying aboard the SGTDF train. I really appreciate it. If you can’t remember what the hell this even is, here’s a link to #1 for a reminder.  

it won't give up

So, the last live show I went to before COVID was the night of what would be the last day I ever spent in an office—March 11, 2020. I was seeing Local H for the hundredth time at the Teragram Ballroom in LA, and there was a hush about things getting weird out there in the world. But mostly, we threw up horns and raged and didn’t worry about it. And then I emerged to an email that was essentially, “we’re going to be working from home for a few weeks as this plays out.” Two years and change later, I’m living in Maine and will, if luck holds, never have to go into an office ever again that isn’t the one in my house. In fact, the only type of outside-the-house withdrawal I’ve really, truly felt since the beginning of lockdown was live music. In the Before Times, being at a show for a band I love was the only time I felt comfortable enough to cut loose and give myself over completely without any sense of self-consciousness about looking stupid or worrying how much of my balding head people could see or what anybody thought of anything I was doing at all, really. I remember having this epiphany very specifically in NYC in 2004 (also seeing Local H, coincidentally). But I’ve been very COVID-cautious, even in this ill-advised era of lax restrictions. I had tickets in September 2021 to see Local H once again, but chickened out and skipped it. It wasn’t until a couple weeks ago, when I decided to take a calculated risk (I’m vaxxed and boosted, wore a mask the whole time, had hand-sani on my person at all times, etc.) to fly to Philly and visit my lifelong friend Erik and see one of our collective faves together: Nine Inch Nails. A couple of things played into this decision: 1.) talking with another friend recently about the mental health impact of staying isolated for 2+ years versus taking a calculated risk to finally get out there and do something you enjoy and 2.) Losing Taylor Hawkins a couple months ago was a cruel reminder of our own mortality and the fact that these musical totems we think will stand strong forever are as nonpermanent as the rest of us. Knowing I’ll never get to see Foo Fighters again with the lineup that I’ve known for a majority of my music-loving life was a hard pill to swallow, and I decided that I couldn't afford to take those chances any more.There will be no more “I’ll seem ‘em the next time around” for me from now on. 

it wants me dead

Erik and I have seen NIN a whole lot on our own (my last NIN show was in Vegas in 2018, I think), but have only seen them together once. So in that context, on top of the first-show-since-COVID catharsis of it all, this was quite possibly the best show I’ve ever been to.The setlist was truly next-level (as Erik put it after the one-two punch of “Heresy” and “The Becoming,” “I’m loving the Spiral deep cuts!”). I wept with joy at least four times, but also going full on NIN-nerd with my best friend and listening for how they rearranged certain songs (the new version of “Sanctified,” for example, a song that’s over 30 years old, fucking ruled) or put something in a different key or remixed a track in a small way. We compared and contrasted what songs we'd never heard them play live before (For me, it was "Heresy," "Me, I'm Not," "Letting You," and "Echoplex").Earlier in the day, we'd met with our friend Meggi who went to the previous evening's show and got the intel about if the opening band sucked or not (they did) and what was at the merch table (they were out of the poster I was hoping to get). But we deliberately avoided any setlist spoilers, because part of the joy of live music for a band you adore is that anticipation between songs, and the sweet, sweet release when you hear the opening note and know exactly what's coming your way.We needn't have worried, as it turned out, because the setlists for each night were radically different. And no shade to the folks who went on Night 1, but we by far had the superior setlist (the presence of "Burn" alone made it so). Though I admit seeing "And All That Could Have Been" played live during the encore of Night 1 would've turned me into a puddle of emotion more than I already was. All of it just added to the overall experience of shedding my COVID skin and letting whatever had grown underneath take its first breath of sweaty, fresh air. This officially occurred toward the end of "The Becoming" when the double-bass drum kicks in, by the way.While we were hanging out waiting for the magic to begin, Erik and I were talking about the variety of fans at a NIN show. I think from the outside one would assume there’d be lots of black t-shirts and combat boots, which there are, but as Erik—an LL Bean catalog model if ever there was one—can attest, there is no one type of NIN fan.We riffed about how if you didn’t know Erik, your best guess at the kind of music he was SUPER into would be, like, Weird Al (Amanda, my wife, suggested Dave Matthews Band). But he recounted telling a coworker how he was taking the day off to see NIN with a friend, and their reaction was equal parts impressed and surprised. And so it made me experience the show in a new way, listening to the incredible songs I’ve heard thousands of times and what the common themes could be that apply to so many different types of people from a variety of social systems. 

god damn this noise 

I think the main theme of a lot of Trent’s music is searching for someone or something to blame for the way you feel. A need to aim your discontent and misery at something external, which especially in 2022, comes up a lot. On top of that, there's the futility of our actions, embracing the void and isolation we can all feel at one time or another. And, of course, the unbridled anger we carry as empathetic people in a criminally unempathetic world. It’s knowing that Trent—and all of us—are right there with you. Trent just puts a soundtrack to it. They played "Letting You" from The Slip ("upon our plates to feed / the dying left to bleed / how much we really need / your politics of greed") during this show, the day after the latest school shooting in Texas, and I can’t imagine it was a coincidence they played that particular song during this time of reprehensible non-action from our supposed "representatives" sitting on their hands like fucking cowards, hoping we’ll all just move on and forget.Hearing "Me, I'm Not" live for the first time made me realize that in the lore of Year Zero, NIN's incredible 2007 concept album about an authoritarian theocratic hellscape and the hopeless battle against our own self-destruction, 2022 was the year being depicted. It's sobering to realize that Year Zero's vision isn't that far off from the world as we know it today.To that end, the therapeutic benefits of screaming the chorus of “Heresy” at the top of your lungs ("god is dead / and no one cares / if there is a hell / i’ll see you there") or belting out “I’m Afraid of Americans” at Trent Reznor as he taps a tambourine against his chest are greater and more immediate than any number of therapy sessions could possibly provide. And I think the evolving angst as we grow older adds a lot to the staying power of their music. For example, the angst of my high school or college self was more likely related to love and relationships but now it’s more about existential dread and the boiling rage at a system designed to wring dry and discard the most susceptible of us.I’m still screaming the same lyrics I've shouted for years, but the motivation behind that scream has changed. Also, it hurts a little more than it used to.  

inside my head

I honestly believe there’s something for everyone at a NIN show; for gear nerds and audiophiles there’s the creation of soundscapes unlike anything you’ve ever heard; for visual artists there’s a stage show that I can only describe as a modern Pink Floyd, masters of atmosphere and mood; for EDM dorks there’s an understated electronic groove to most of NIN’s catalog; for metalheads there’s shredding guitar riffs and a great neck workout. Add to that Trent and Atticus' Oscar and Emmy wins for their movie/TV scores, and you've got a cocktail that almost anyone will enjoy.More than once I’ve heard self-proclaimed non-NIN fans, or music enthusiasts with an opinion of indifference on the band, come out of a NIN show expressing how it was one of the best they’d ever seen. But to the point of the “types” of fans; I think no matter what reductive high school clique we may have belonged to, the fact of the matter is that we’re all fucking angry, we’re all fucking lonely, we all have that pent up frustration with the world at large that we don’t always know how to express.And like the best music that cuts you deeply, it’s recognizing a kindred spirit who has the ability to articulate the things you’re thinking and feeling in a way you simply can’t. That’s what NIN does for me, and probably for Erik, and for everyone else inside The Met the other night. This was a truly life-changing—and life-affirming—show for me in a lot of different ways. It was worth keeping the fear of infection at bay for a few hours and I hope I’ll get to see them again soon. Thanks for reading, JoeyP.S. Looking at the comments on the NIN Archive’s YouTube video of this show, I was glad to see everyone else found it as transformative as we did. P.P.S. Last time I majorly beefed the link to Amanda’s newsletter Pleaushares, so here it is again. I highly recommend it!P.P.P.S. Here'a s Spotify playlist of this setlist, courtesy of Erik. 

A friendly reminder that I've got a Batman/Aquaman story coming out in July from DC Comics in BATMAN: URBAN LEGENDS #17, with artist Serg Acuña. This issue also has a Batman/Flash story written by my friend Ryan Cady, and it's pretty rad to share some DCU real estate with him. Please tell your comic shop you'd like 50 copies.