Tuesday, March 14, 2006

NIN @ HOB, 3-11-06

how good was the NIN show sat nite? so good i didn't feel the floor shaking. ant noticed it, from his vantage point on the soundboard rail, and so did those in the balcony, but it didn't register on me, so much flotsamjetsam in the crush 4 rows back.

the setlist was *sick*. House of Blues was too small to accommodate trent's happy curtain, so we were spared the whole screaming, bloodthirsty monkeys bit and got Mr. Self-Destruct, Reptile ("a sweet love song") and Sin instead.

sadly, aaron did not fly. he banged his noggin, or a snapped guitar string grazed his forehead (stories vary), and he was in sad shape, leaving the stage for good at the beginning of that old chesnut, Head Like a Hole. he was probably right chuffed. trent gets hit by a lighter during Hurt and ends the show right there; aaron cracks his skull, or's bleeding down his arm, and the show must go on.

best live renditions EVah of The Day the World Went Away, and Reptile -- even Starfuckers didn't suck, largely cos trent dropped out the middle part and josh freese's drums sped up so fast that trent & aaron could barely keep up. wicked. i guess jeordie was there cos ppl were talking about how he kept staring at the flasher chicks in the balcony, but i didn't notice.

the pit was fine (IF you're 5' 9", 160lbs and substantial) -- lots of to'g and fro'g, and once i went down with a couple others, but we were quickly yanked back on our feet. no real assholes, and i didn't get groped during Closer; and once again i give props to security, who put their necks -- literally -- on the line to pull people from the floor. and they're proactive about it, too: one guy reached out to a girl standing two rows ahead of me, just standing there with her head down; he reached out and gently pushed her forehead up, eyebrows raised to ask her if she were okay. he cocked a thumb back toward the stage: you want out? an imperceptible nod later, he reached under her arms, she stretched around his neck, and he plucked her from the mass of black shirts and over the rail in one smooth movement.

the strobe lights ending HLAH (and the show) triggered a blonde chick into an epileptic fit: the crowd passed her up and into the hands of the guys in the blue shirts. so perhaps NIN shows can restore a bit of faith in humanity, as well as proving you can pull yourself out of the hole of whatever addictive, self-destructive shit is consuming you.

i think it's safe to say that trent reznor is one of the few people who can bang a tambourine and not look like a total gaywad.

finally, saul williams is pre' smokin'. somewhat unintelligible at times, he's most effective when he's just riffing though i don't know how he remembers all those words without any music behind 'em.

eds and adam were too fucked up after the show and went straight back to the Flagship; ant and i had malteds at johnny rockets and then took the slowest People Mover in the world into the belly of Bally's and Claridge. total n00b gamblers, it took us forever to figure out how to play a slot machine, but i walked away with total net profit of $7. we scrutinised the eyes of poker players, watched the faces of blackjack dealers as the house lost a hand to a jubilant victor, and conjured stories about the roulette players with their lucky shirts and eye tics.

i left, though; i didn't stay. i wanted to be alone, and collected, and so i drove back home at 3:30, marvelling at the inexplicable traffic on the atlantic city expressway. i took a long shower to wash other peoples' sweat off me-- my leather belt was soaked through, as were my jeans & tee (red, a challenge to those 18-year old goths in their prosiac black).

i did NOT race the CR half-marathon five hours later. it was raining.

No comments: