There was fog and there was a spotlight. The echoes of a familiar distorted sound come out of the speakers. I recognized it but I couldn’t name the tune. Before I knew it, Robin Finck had emerged from the fog into the light, staring out at the crowd with a squint as if he couldn’t see anything. This would have made more sense if it was dark, but at 7:50PM on a summer evening, there is still a dim lingering sun. No matter, the lights on stage provided the necessary distraction and everything behind disappeared. Before I knew it, there he stood. Behold, Trent Reznor in all his glory. It was the first song but it seemed like he had already worked himself into a sweat. The song he was singing was called “Home,” a bonus track from With Teeth. I was unfamiliar with the lyrics, but the crowd began carrying it with ease, the wavering guitar bringing a sense of foreshadowing; it was a calm entrance contrary to expectations. The lights were sparse and the fog heavy.
Somewhat Damaged. The live incarnation begins without the recognizable four note step melody and percussion, just Trent singing with a slight synth background. The second verse ends and it’s over. Not the song, the world. Everything disappears as if a hydrogen bomb is dropped on set. Ilan breaks in with the drums, Robin ignites his guitar and Trent runs backward. Intense light flashes obscure everything. They strobe on and off blinding the crowd, yet for some reason we can still see. The kick could be felt right in the heart, and I would like to believe my palpitations matched rhythm. Half of my sense were shocked so suddenly, I could have sworn I had run into a wall; a bright, loud wall. Not that I could relate with the lyrics of the song, but I screamed them as convincingly as an angry apathetic teenager. Why not? I was of course ecstatic. Recently “Somewhat Damaged” has been one of my favorite Nine Inch Nails tunes and I had not even a trace of suspicion that they might play it, much less open the show with it.
The next two songs demonstrated the newest material. 1,000,000 and Discipline did not disappoint, but they did not trigger any super excitement either. Both songs feature minimal guitars and heavily feature the drums. Unfortunately, from my vantage point, Ilan Rubin was blocked by Robin and the keyboard rig. Still, I felt every one of his beats and remained in awe of his talents. After all, he is only a year older than I. Trent played an improvised riff on the keys toward the end of Discipline masterfully, adding a much needed perspective on the original. Aside from that, I would rather talk about the next songs.
Step right up. Staring across the sea of heads that the crowd is seemingly made of, it was hard to contain my glee when I witnessed a crowd of at least 100 in the pit trying futilely to bob around to a song in 29/8 time. Crawl right up on your knees. A fan favorite at every tour ever, “March of the Pigs” conveys an insane amount of energy. The lights flash. All of the drums cease, save the kick. The bass is steady. Trent stands raising his arms over his head, clapping. The crowd follows. All the pigs are all lined up. Doesn’t it make you feel better? Yeah you. Hey pig. One of my favorites to play on the bass guitar, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes locked on Justin Meldal-Johnsen for this. The drums were nearly non-existent. No guitar; the vocals delivered in a quiet half whisper baritone. Robin moves over to the organ, playing a variation of the iconic The Downward Spiral motif. The bass changes. Then there’s nothing but a backing tambourine. Three snares, a tom, and a kick later, chaos. Trent’s original studio fiddling is ably carried on by Ilan as “Piggy” devolves into a steady chant of “nothing can stop me now.” Trent assumes his place at the piano, playing out the song with the other iconic chromatic riff from The Downward Spiral.
What song is this? It’s funky. I love the bass. Robin seems to be enjoying himself, swinging his head around as if in a trance. He’s got quite a large acoustic guitar, yet the sound coming out of it does not match its appearance. I had to check; the song was “Metal.” I have it, but I had yet to listen to it. JMJ on the piano was sick, producing those bassy notes while Trent messed with his keyboard effects. The sparse drums gave the song a hypnotic effect, especially through the extended outro.
Trent stays at the piano. A blast from And All That Could Have Been, the piano led “The Becoming” is refreshing. The dissonant, irregular, riff cycles around and around. The impact is much more immediate live, as if the studio recording lacks depth of some kind. Robin’s acoustic guitar not appears useful. Hiding backwards inside of me I feel so unafraid. The calm strumming alleviates the confusion of the main riff. It’s relaxing. The song goes out this way, and that’s the way it should. 
Boom. That was the sound of a drum machined kick. Robin comes in with another riff out of the darkness. Echoplex is near the top of my playlist as far as play count is concerned. This version seemed off. The piano played itself. Trent picked up Robin’s riff as he played lead, but it seemed off. I had seen the studio rehearsals, but this didn’t compare. I was waiting for an epic guitar outro, but it never arrived. One of the only moments where I had some expectations; they were unfortunately unmet. Oh well.
Eraser? No, the sound effects are different. The kid next to me says “Burn.” Yellow and orange lights immerse the stage in their light. Misanthropic lyrics echo in the amphitheatre. Easily a highlight of the night. Fuzzy bass, quiet sine-like synth. Then distortion, piano and cymbal crashes. Shocks like a defibrillator. Flashes of light take over as the drum pace quickens, culminating at a deafening climax. The distortion segues into another less familiar realm. Wake up! Having seen this on the Beside You In Time DVD, it was expected. I knew what was coming. The lights turned on with each pair guitar chords. They began out of synch, but caught up eventually. What struck me more than anything was the rousing chorus of fans that followed Trent in singing the hook “I tried; I gave up.” Depressing, maybe. Exhilarating, most definitely.
Quiet. Trent’s alone at the piano. Can you hear me? Blue light behind, reminiscent of a waterfall. He’s playing something. I know what this is, but I can’t pinpoint it. It’s probably one of those piano only tracks on All That Could Have Been. Yes, it is. Trent’s speaking. 10 years ago he locked himself in a house by the ocean and wrote one song. He was trying to kill himself. Why? He doesn’t say. This place haunts him, but he’s going back. Sounds familiar. JMJ grabs a double-bass. I grow more and more excited. My heart jumps. The blue from behind takes over. Robin plays a vibraphone. Ilan does too. JMJ plucks the bass with Trent playing a dark, minor key piano riff. This is like a dream. I’m underwater. I cannot believe this is happening. Ilan moves away from the vibes, taking his place at the kit. Suddenly there’s a sense of urgency. JMJ moves to the electric. Robin shifts to the slide guitar. Trent diligently keeps the piano going. Nothing can stop me now. I’m being swept away. This is beautiful. I almost shed a tear. Ilan stops. JMJ stops. Robin lets the guitar fade. The double-bass is once again resonating with the same eight notes. Trent keeps playing. I’m so caught up that I don’t remember how the song ends. I was probably cheering like a maniac. Perhaps I was so blown away that it only happened on the inside. This moment will never end. I won’t let you fall apart.
Trent Reznor can read my mind. This song has been stuck in my head all week. Now it’s here. Coincidence? Yes, but serendipitous regardless. Staccato bass notes and loose percussion grow into a soaring chorus. I can’t help but scream along. I won’t let you fall apart. Purple lights. The yellow spots waver above their heads. Robin takes the piano from The Frail and makes it his own on the guitar. It’s remarkable that just three songs previous Trent’s screaming about burning the world down. She shines in a world full of ugliness.
He leaves. Ilan and JMJ are at the piano. It’s an instrumental track. Another one from And All That Could Have Been. I didn’t know Ilan was so talented. This is beautiful. The band functions apart from their leader. Even when he’s Gone, they Still play. This is dark. It’s slow. I know what it is. The drums are unmistakable. The way out is through. This song builds. It keeps building. It’s still dark. The guitar enters. Like a train, the bass distorts, the guitar takes on a massive sound volume and the drums kick it into gear. Trent belts out 14 words and it’s done. The last offering from The Fragile. Incredible.
Shifting directions, the drums pick up. It’s fast, and it’s loud. The stage is once again blue for a while. Suddenly everything is white. Wish there was something real. Uplifting guitar breaks open the darkness before again relenting to the rapid darkness. Fist fuck. I enjoyed that. Is that a low-pass filter I hear? Similar to the last one, but more electro-pop. You’re keeping in step in the line. The crowd has been standing for two hours. The energy delivered from the stage keeps them jumping on their feet. You could feel it. The energy lasts though. I feel the conscious urge to pump my hands into the air. I think about the fraternity. God money, I’d do anything for you. Trent doesn’t sing the chorus; the crowd does. The very first song in all of Nine Inch Nails’ discography; the last tour for a while. I don’t know anything that can close a show so perfectly. The lights flicker; the band rises. Trent bids a good night and vacates the deck. Nobody moves. The lights stay down.
Turn around. The flames convey a certain serenity to the raucous crowd. Little specks of light dot the sea of people. A sight to behold. My camera doesn’t do it justice.
Trent returns. Robin grabs his acoustic. No, I didn’t forget about you. This is the way it’s going to end. Standing alone in the center of the stage while the rest of the band hides in the darkness, Trent sings about pain and feeling. Robin’s guitar plays a dissonant tritone. What have I become? He’s alone. There’s an overwhelming feeling of solitude and loneliness. There are 15,000 people here, but that doesn’t matter. I will make you hurt. The crowd cheers. The darkness yields to the light. Bass comes in. There are drums here, too. Trent finds himself surrounded by the band as they reveal their presence to him. If I could start again a million miles away, I would keep myself.
Crash. Lights burst. Guitars chime. Everything culminates at this single point in time. The world stops, impossibility ceases to exist. Overwhelming optimism. All angst and self-loathing become meaningless. Hope. Nothing can stop me now. I will find a way.
