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From Alternative Press Magazine January 1997
Alternative Press
January 1998
From "The 25 Most Anticipated Albums of 1998"
Nine Inch Nails
by William Ferguson
alternative press - January 98
"If I don't completely change myself..." Trent
Reznor's voice trails away. He stares into space, searching for a
way to express... to express... what it is, about how he's
feeling. "If I don't change... then I won't be able
to..." He falls into a reverie and sinks further into his
couch. And that's as far as that thought is going.
Reznor woke up today in a chemical fog. The night before, he had
taken a few Tylenol-PM, which, with 25 milligrams of
diphenhydramine per capsule, helps you sleep--in the way that a
billy club to the base of your skull helps you sleep. It's not as
if he has to drive a tractor today, but for some reason he has
consented to an interview.
He takes another approach at describing his frame of mind.
"I always thought that music and being a rock star would
save me. provide some sort of..."
When Reznor speaks, his voice is deliberate and gentle, and he
sounds uncannily like Donald Sutherland in the Volvo commercials.
It's a quiet Sunday afternoon in New Orleans, and he's taking the
day off from recording the new Nine Inch Nails record. He has
decided that he will be interviewed in his living room while he
lies on a leather couch and stares at the ceiling. The therapy
posture is surely not lost on him. Maybe he's manipulating the
scene for its dramatic potential, maybe the diphenhydramine is
clouding his sense of syntax, but you could parallel park a
moving van in his conversational pauses.
"...reason," Reznor concludes.
Nearly four years have passed since the last full-length
album of new material from Nine Inch Nails. "The Downward
Spiral" was a desperate hymn to suicide and
self-loathing. The music was brutal, textural, and not at all
commercial. The only thing likely to get airplay had the chorus,
"I want to fuck you like an animal." And the album was
a huge success. At the time, Reznor said that the making of
"Spiral" "sucked the life out of me." And now
he's in the midst of making another album. The new one will be
out when he's done, he says. His tone of voice suggests that
further attempts to pin him down are not welcome. For now, he's
calling it "The Fragile." He's hoping for a
February release. "I think I've done some of my best shit
ever, ever, ever," Reznor says calmly. "And it will be
irritating to people 'cause it's not traditional Nine Inch
Nails." He's reluctant to say more than that. And he isn't
popping in a cassette of demos today. "Think of the most
ridiculous music you could ever imagine... with nursery rhymes
over the top of it.," Reznor says. He alludes to having
"80 pieces of music hanging around" but doesn't
elaborate. "The inspiration for this album has been the
things... that give the Goosebumps, the chills up the
spine," he adds, knowing that description doesn't help much
either. "It's probably the opposite of The Downward
Spiral. A bunch of"--he pauses, not entirely comfortable
with describing himself--"pop songs."
Since Reznor is essentially the only member of Nine Inch Nails,
no one is more aware than he of just how long things are taking.
"I admire those prolific artists, he says, his voice rising.
"And I say that with full fucking sarcasm." He makes a
face of disgust. "Such as..." Reznor spits out the name
of an MTV icon. The name isn't important; it's only a symbol for
Reznor of what he doesn't want for himself. Nevertheless, his
publicist happens to have manifested in the doorway.
"Anybody need anything?" she queries. It's no doubt a
coincidence that she has appeared just as Reznor is dissing the
pop star. Still, she's got good timing. Reznor is notoriously
undiplomatic in his assessment of his peers. A Nine Inch Nails
record is as rare as a comet, and no publicist wants to be
stamping out brush fires before the thing is even finished. He
nods gratefully, indulging her like a favorite teacher.
"We're fine," he says gently. When she heads back
toward the pool, Reznor finishes his thought. "The writing
has been a bit more elusive than it has in the past for me."
It's not as if Reznor has been spending the past four years
hiding out in his mansion, watching NIN videos on the
enormous projection TV that Interscope gave him. Since "The
Downward Spiral," Reznor has maintained his profile by
darting from the bulrushes like Zorro--touche!--and
delivering a blistering new song like "The Perfect
Drug" before slipping back to his bayou hideout. He has
busied himself producing soundtracks (Natural Born Killers
and Lost Highway) and other bands (Marilyn Manson). His
most recent effort is the re-imagining of David Bowie's "I'm
Afraid of Americans."
He knows that his association with Bowie is dubious to some of
his fans. When Nine Inch Nails toured with David Bowie in 1995,
Reznor was accused of letting his image be co-opted by a
has-been. But it was farsighted of Reznor to align Nine Inch
Nails with a legend, further distancing himself from the cliché
that industrial rock had become. Even better, Reznor got to
observe the master changeling from backstage every night.
"I got a lot of shit from doing a tour with him. The thing
is, Bowie mattered to me. He reinvented himself so many times--it
must have been a daring statement to do that, risking failure.
And hanging out with him and seeing him like that--he's my dad's
age, born in the same month--when you find someone who's been
through a really dark period, which most of his music I care
about is from, Low, Lodger, "Heroes" era.... But
he came out of it and made something that mattered."
Reznor was in New York to shoot the video for "I'm Afraid of
Americans." He spent two days running around the Lower East
Side, being menaced for the camera. He's the American Bowie is
afraid of. He says it was good to be in Manhattan; he's debating
getting a place there. But for now, New Orleans is his home. This
is a bold move for Reznor, who in the past decade hasn't lived in
one place for longer than six months. For the first time in his
32 years, he isn't renting.
Reznor's mansion is two miles upriver from the French Quarter.
His neighbor is a longtime fixture on the New Orleans city
council; goth novelist Anne Rice lives a few blocks over. When
the Garden District tours stop in front of Reznor's place, as
they always do, the guide will note the architectural style
(Greek Revival) and the year of its construction (around 1860).
The gaslights of Reznor's house are always burning, even at 2:30
on a Sunday afternoon. 
This is a huge house for one person. Whoever built it had a big
family in mind, as well as servants. When Reznor bought it, the
place was in "a horrible state of disrepair" and had
been turned into a duplex. He had the dividing walls demolished.
In deference to the councilwoman next door, he installed
soundproofing and double-paned windows. As for the gaslights,
Reznor likes them, but he has no idea why they won't burn the
place down.
Though he claims the new album won't even allude to the Crescent
City--no zydeco, no blues, and no washboard--it's obvious the
environment is influencing him. Reznor is talking about
Goosebumps. He's looking for a vibe.
"I saw Erykah Badu here in concert. And it was a kick in the
ass," he says. He props himself on an elbow.
"One-hundred-percent black crowd; I was the only white male
there. And every single person in the room was spellbound,
singing every lyric. And I haven't seen that...probably ever.
"It has a spirituality, a kind of integrity that--as I
incoherently talk about it--I am trying to shoot for. It's one of
those things that's not easily identifiable as a thing that is
good."
If it's difficult for him to say what he's after, it has been no
less frustrating for him to chase it down. On the advice of
producer Rick Rubin, Reznor packed off to Big Sur, California,
for a month. "Another thing that's probably slowed the
procedure down," Reznor says, for those keeping score.
"The whole idea of going up to Big Sur was to try writing
songs on a piano vests the way I'd always done it in the past,
which was to start with a loop or a bass line--and also to avoid
becoming a parody of myself."
It was a noble idea, but Reznor quickly labels it a disaster.
"It was fucking hellacious being up there," he says of
some of the most beautiful coastline in the world. "What
creeps up on you is the feeling that it would be great if you
were here with your girlfriend for a weekend. But when the
element of complete and utter isolation creeps in...it'd be nice
to stare at the 5000 stars in the sky with someone.
That--on top of the fact that it was about a 300-foot cliff at
the end of the front yard."
A few ideas may have come out of the month at Big Sur, he
figures. But most important is that he has stuck with the resolve
to avoid writing with a computer.
"Everything I'm working on now was played on guitar or on a
keyboard that doesn't work right," he says. "It gets to
that elusive... vibe. It's more me as a musician learning about
the subtleties of what makes something feel right. I always
thought that everything was X plus Y plus Z equals..."
Reznor holds up whatever finished, quantized musical product
would result from X plus Y plus Z. it's about the size of a drum
machine.
And maybe it's the quasi-psychoanalyst's couch, but now he really
isn't talking to anybody but himself, as if he were listing his
shortcomings under his breath.
"And when I look back at my lyrics, I realize every song
starts with 'I'." He is silent for some time.
"Yeah," he warily continues. I went through a hard
process recently." After some prodding, Reznor reveals that
his grandmother, who raised him, died at 85. "I got to watch
her die," he says with grim sarcasm. He stares at the
ceiling for nearly a minute and then says, "That
sucked."
He draws his arms across his chest. His chin quivers. The only
sound in the room is the sound of him sucking back his own
saliva. It is a tense moment.
One of the criticisms Reznor has endured as a public figure is
that he's faking it. When you're known as a tortured soul, there
will always be those who doubt your integrity. The assumption is
that it's a scheme to get attention. In fact, Reznor was asked in
interviews after Woodstock II whether Nine Inch Nails appearing
on stage smeared in mud was calculated. Calculated? What kind of
mind do people think Reznor has? That he could see a patch of mud
and in an instant understand that smearing it on himself
translates as triple-platinum record sales?
Back in New Orleans--did his chin really quiver? Yes. Can that be
faked? Is he really that miserable? Instead of answering that,
ask yourself this: if, for the past decade, Trent Reznor has
consistently and constantly faked his angst--every time he has
appeared onstage, on television, in a video, in an interview, as
well as in every lyric he has ever written--if he has so
completely hidden what a shrewd and happy chap he really is,
then, well, wouldn't that be a miserable existence, too?
He stares glassily at a middle ground, unshaven and wan.
"Watch somebody die sometime," he says. "And it's
not the perfect, fucking"--he closes his eyes in a peaceful
gesture--"thing you're told it would be. It's terror."
It's fair to wonder whether Reznor feels isolated in New
Orleans. Unlike Los Angeles or Cleveland, recent way stations on
Reznor's journey to find a home, he has invested in his new city.
In addition o his house, he has built a state-of-the-art studio
here. He has sunk more than a million dollars into a place he
moved to because he liked it when Nine Inch Nails came through
the city on tour. Of course, he's kind of an adopted local hero:
the Sunday edition of the local paper printed a page-one photo of
Reznor's mansion the day he moved in.
Every city in America has at least one Gothic club. In New
Orleans, it's the Blue Crystal. When a band like the Cure is in
town, the Blue Crystal throws a party after the show. The club
called Reznor, the closest thing they have to local dignitary, to
invite him to the Cure after-show party. Further conversation
revealed that the only way the Cure would show is if Reznor is
there, too. You can't hear it anywhere in Nine Inch Nails, but
Reznor is a Cure fan from way back. He considers the Cure's The
Head On the Door "one of the best records ever."
His favorite description of himself: "Robert Smith with a
head cold."
"I end up going to the club, and surprisingly, everyone from
the Cure is there. And the bartender calls me over and says,
'Robert really wants to talk to you.'" Reznor smiles, makes
a face that says: You mean I have to meet one of my teen idols
in a goth club in Louisiana? Now? In front of all these people?
"It ends up, "Reznor says," me and him, hugging on
the dance floor. He's like, 'I love you, dude,' and I'm like 'I
love you too, man.'" The Cure fans formed a loose circle
around the pair while New Order's "Blue Monday" pumped
out of the speakers. "It was the greatest scene,"
Reznor says.
"We were both fairly incoherent," he feels compelled to
add.
"New Orleans is so decadent and ridiculous--and that's what
drew me here in the first place. And it was so unlike
Pennsylvania, which is what I so desperately wanted to get away
from."
True, New Orleans is as culturally distant from the "Deer
Hunter" landscape in which Reznor was raised. (Mercer,
Pennsylvania, is notable chiefly as the intersection of
Interstates 79 and 80.) And maybe that's exactly what he needs.
But when he observes that his "whole process has been
eliminating people from my art, reducing...down to one
person," --if he can find a place like Big Sur
"hellacious," how long can he last in a swamp?
His isolation is not purely geographic. Although Nine Inch Nails
was always Reznor's project, many longtime associates have left
the fold. And although he has left once before, Chris Vrenna, who
was with Reznor when he learned how to use a sampler back in
Cleveland, is no longer in the NIN camp. Reznor only alludes to
Vrenna's departure.
"I gave up the notion that Nine Inch Nails was a
collaborative project," he says. He deliberates for a
moment. "And, recently, with the departure of some friends
and the inspiration of the new music, I feel good about it."
Reznor's publicist makes another appearance. She's trying to
gauge Trent. Almost done? Everything okay? Okay, says Reznor.
"Who are we talking about?" she asks, and then recites
a list of verboten subjects. "Bush, R.E.M., and
Prince?" Convinced of Trent's safety, she exits. Reznor
rights himself and in a stage voice says, "So anyway,
about Courtney..."
The publicist wheels and bolts back into the room. "Did you
see her on the cover of Us?" For the first time all
day, Reznor raises his voice. "What the fuck was
that?!" he demands. A brief off-the-record discussion about
Courtney Love and her new California look ensues. Reznor insists
that whatever Poppy Z. Brite wrote about him in her Courtney bio
is "1000 percent untrue." The publicist says she just
thinks it's sad and takes her leave. She pauses at the door.
"Anyway," she concludes, "those names we just
mentioned? we didn't mention them."
Reznor rises to give a quick tour of the house. The interior is
pretty much what one would expect of an industrial rock
millionaire bachelor with a taste for self destruction. A bust of
Mephistopheles stands in the foyer; Reznor's Grammy hangs on a
ribbon around its neck. A chandelier has goldfish swimming in its
base.
How many rooms? "Good question," Reznor replies. At the
top of the stairs is a useless nook that is bathed in sunlight.
"Here's where the harpsichord will go," he says. His
bedroom is dark and imposing, dominated by a medieval-looking
four-poster bed. The windows are hung with thick velvet drapes,
blocking out the afternoon sun. The woman in his bed waves
sheepishly. He saunters through an empty little space off the
bedroom. "This will be the baby room," he says. Wait.
Is he serious? But he's off and standing at the entrance to the
bathroom. "Okay. This is decadent, I realize," he
says." But we had to put in a whole new bathroom, so why
not?" He opens the door. There is a Jacuzzi. And there is
also a shower. It is without question the best shower in
Louisiana. Reznor opens the glass door and turns a faucet, and a
torrent is released. The shower head is the size of a Frisbee.
There are side jets. It's a great shower.
Earlier, Reznor had apologized for being "so
depressed." Yet it seems funny that he can be so transfixed
by something as homely as plumbing. I can't help but wonder if it
isn't the music that's making him miserable--if that's the right
word. So here's the Faustian bargain: If Trent Reznor knew that
he could be happy only if he quit music forever, would he?
"I've never been happy," he says. "So I don't
know."
ARTICLE FROM HIT PARADER -
January 1997>
SIGHTS AND SOUNDS ROCK NEWS ON THE INTERNET
NIN aficionados are definitely some of the most dedicated fans around. The morning we set out to write this month's Sites and sounds column, we found an e-mail from Jay DeBard which had some wise words to pass along regarding teh quantity of NIN home pages. He wrote,"NIN has one of the biggest presence on the Internet. There is probably more sites about NIN on the Internet than ANY other music group on the Net. I do agree that there are a lot of "no info" sites regarding NIN( like ones that just links, or images and stuff), but why criticize the amount of sites? Look at all the good sites out there. There's tons of information that you can't get anywhere else and it's good that it's there. Well, that's all I've got to say. Check out my NIN site if you'd like (it's not a no info one either). Thanks jdebard@compuserve.com
Jay was cool enough to turn us onto TONCN: The official NIN Collaborators Network located at http://www.amazingprices.com/nin/ and there we found a really great up-to-date scrapbook of NIN articles. The headline when we pulled up the home page featured a "short article from Hit Parader naming Trent as the most influential rocker of the year. "Gotta love it when people put you on the Internet."
While we were hanging out there we checked out a few more NIN links. When we clicked on http://www.geocities.com/sunsetstrip/alley/7997/, the Metalilica/NIN site, we were told that we were about to enter a zone of complete and absolute coolness- but if we were under 18 or couldn't handle it we should just push the cancel butt. Quite a buildup... the Metallica/NIN site is truly that of a dedicated fan, whose into other things as well. They link all their favorite bands and hobbies through one home page.
