Nine Inch Nails at Palladium: Sweat and Darkness
Never let it be said that Trent Reznor can't admit when he's wrong. Last spring's co-headlining tour with Nine Inch Nails and Jane's Addiction was an exciting idea; two alt-rock giants -- one exiting the music scene, the other re-entering -- hitting the road together. But it wasn't NIN's tour to steal. Maybe it was Reznor's decision to open for Jane's Addiction, or maybe it was having to see NIN during the day, which, for industrial music fans, is unnatural and against God's plan. Either way, Reznor's "Wave Goodbye," as the tour was called, felt more like a shoulder shrug.
Which brings us to the Palladium, one of four local clubs Reznor's booked for just himself and his brothers, including guitarist Robin Finck, bassist Justin Meldal-Johnsen and drummer Ilan Rubin. And last I checked, the highest asking price on Craigslist for the Echoplex gig was $700, while another was offering $2,400 for four VIP tickets to the Palladium.
Worth every penny, if you have that many pennies. Never before has Reznor played the entirety of the landmark 1994 album The Downward Spiral track-by-track, starting with the thundering clapping of "Mr. Self Destruct" and its wall of fuzz. From where I stood in the VIP area, Reznor, in signature all-black, as was the rest of the band, and drenched by the third song, was crystal clear. Save the hate mail. A primo viewing spot and free popcorn always come with a price. Sure, I had to grab the balcony's railing after watching Steve -- gulp -- Perry walk in. But being booted from table to table -- even though I was assigned a reserved number -- and jockeying for space with quasi-celebs (not you Jared Leto. Or you Tatum O'Neal), apathetic talkers and texters, and overly amorous couples who never come up for air is nothing to brag about. It must be hard watching a band while grinding on your boyfriend's lap. Excessive lap dancing, by the way, can lead to chaffing.
America's Next Top Model winner Adrianne Curry, however, is a girl after my own heart. She was on the floor. She's hardcore. She's also six-feet-tall. Yup, standing ankle-deep in plastic cups, straws, cigarettes, eye-drop bottles and discarded sneakers, not to mention blood, sweat, tears and blughhhhh, is the only way to show true dedication.