Oh, heaven knows Trent Razors miserable now. In
fact, heaven knows Trent‘s on the verge of mental meltdown, and he‘s about to
find his mind has collapsed in an itself and shut down for the duration. But,
we knew that anyway. If Reznor had jumped psyche first into a vat of Biactol he
could not have cleansed himself half as thoroughly as he has done with Pretty Hate
Machine. As he‘s fond of saying, this LP is a record of his life at the time -
thank God we never invited him round for tea. ‘Err, Trent, would you like some more salad?‘
‘Fuck, man. My life‘s in a mess, why don‘t you shove that cucumber up your ass,
Had Bob Mould bought a synthesiser when he left
Husker Du... For those of you who saw NIN‘s live show may well be surprised or
even disappointed by this LP - it is not
40 minutes of Head Like A Hole(remember that this LP was originally released some
three years ago; NIN have had considerable opportunity to upgrade and uglify
their live sound). Sure, the LP occasionally steps out of the ether and plants
its bloody great Doc Maren in your face, but there are times when it sounds like
a sadistic Depeche Mode/substandard Front 242: all muscle bound pose-pop. And
there are times when it whimpers like a scolded child - powerless and afraid
despite its anger.
Reznor is literally scaring himself to death.
Someone ought to have a word with him… and soon.