Nine Inch Nails in ChicagoSubmitted by Murphy1844 at 2005-05-28 17:02:08 EDT
Rating: 1.69 on 18 ratings (18 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Two weeks ago I flew to Chicago to see, amongst other things, a Nine Inch Nails concert. I woke up, the day of the concert, hung-over. I drank water and took a nap and later in the day I was in top form, the form one should be in to see Trent Reznor live.
Standing in line wearing a heavy cotton blue T-shirt, I noticed a young man walking toward me saying, in a low and muffled voice, “tickets, tickets, tickets.” He sounded like a robot, he looked straight ahead, all low-key. I knew what he was doing. He was fishing.
A young lady bit. She said, without making eye contact, “how much?” He continued looking straight ahead. He said:
“Give me a price.”
“How about forty?”
“Right now I can’t do less than two hundred”
She said, “okay,” and he continued walking along, saying “tickets, tickets, tickets.”
The security person ripped our tickets in half before giving us the stub and saying, “over there.” Then a concert security person told us to empty our pockets and put our arms out, which we did. Then we went to the floor where Trent would eventually start screaming. My heavy cotton blue T-shirt was dry at this point.
The opening band’s name was the Dresden Dolls. I’d never heard of them before. They were pleasing, but everyone came to see Trent, not painted up twenty-something Goths.
They eventually left and back-up lights turned on and people mingled and smoked cigarettes and pot. A few minutes later, the lights dimmed. People stopped mingling and started cheering. The lights slowly faded to black and “Pinion” started playing over the speakers. The crowd grew louder and so did I.
A silhouette moved from behind the curtains. Everyone knew who it was, even though it was just a shadow. Now we wailed. It was Trent. Trent fucking Reznor. Nine Inch fucking Nails. The next song started, strobe lights flashed, and I started jumping.
As soon as the first light came on, the crowd moved forward about twenty feet. After the concert, my friend Aaron asked, “where did that room COME from?”
Trent was beautiful, his long dark hair, simple black T-shirt, strong arms gripping the microphone. I loved him. I would fuck him like an animal.
The third song came on and I can’t remember what song it was. At this point, I’m smashed between a zillion sweaty and screaming fans. Whenever he sang the chorus I would put my hands in the air and start jumping and screaming. I started sweating and, when the next song came on, I tried to put my arms down. It was too packed… I had to point my fingers down and sort of slither my arms to my side. My blue shirt was getting damp.
For about the first ten minutes, the pussies backed out. This was the second most entertaining thing about the concert, aside from the music and Trent fuck-me Reznor himself. The first most entertaining thing was SATAN. Satan was the leader of the mosh pit Right. I’ll get to him later. But the second most—hold on, I have to set this up.
I laugh every time I think about this. You see, before the Dresden Dolls came on there was this innocent looking heterosexual couple in front of Aaron and I. The guy was the one to see NIN and he brought his stupid naïve girlfriend with him. This was when the back up lights were on and people were smoking various substances and talking. As we were waiting, some determined fan muscled his way to the front of the floor and, on his way, he bumped this chick’s elbow. Her reaction was priceless: it was like someone shit in her spaghetti. She said, “did he just BUMP me!?” She was disgusted. If only she knew what she was in to.
I’ll nick-name her kind “sugar-tits.” Most sugar-tits weren’t the well-adjusted early 20’s type, like this chick. Most sugar-tits were the teenage, hard-core fans who think that Trent Reznor is the only person who REALLY understands them. After we got smashed together and thrown the fuck around indiscriminately, all the sugar-tits and sugar-dicks backed out. I can understand, if they didn’t know what to expect, why they’d want to get out. It was their *faces* that I loved. They all looked the same, as they were pushing out to the safe-zone. In words: absolutely determined horror.
Back to Satan. When the drums started rattling the prelude to “Wish,” I thought ‘oh fuck me, here we go.’ Two mosh pits opened up to the right and left of where we were standing, if one could call that standing. I would rather call it trying-to-stay-on-your-fucking-feet. And Satan ruled the Right pit. He was about 6’3”, 300 pounds, his shirt was off, he had tattoos and long black hair that was dripping sweat all over the place. I remember the most his eyes. He was PISSED! Anyone who got close to him was swiftly thrown aside and, although I couldn’t hear him over the music and cheering, I’m sure he was yelling—maybe growling. As a result, he had his own little bubble, about the space of one-arms length all around him. People were shooting pictures of him with their cell phones so they could show their friends what the Devil in flesh actually looks like.
At some point in the concert I couldn’t feel anyone around me. Before this feeling I was squished and it took me about one second to realize what had happened. As the crowd was swaying, as we were getting pushed around, I found myself in the mosh pit Right. Possibly within arms reach of Satan. I fortunately made the connection immediately—I thought “shit.” Then I got SMASHED, back in to the crowd, between the two pits. It could have been the devil who smashed me but it happened too quickly. I should have been scared but, throughout the entire concert, I couldn’t stop smiling, jumping, and laughing.
The concert was, in a word, intense. At the end of the show, my heavy cotton blue T-shirt was soaked in my sweat, along with the sweat of about a bazillion other people.
I loved every second.