Trent Reznor has two piles of scientific photo books, their titles promising microscopic views of molecular chaos and such, stacked on the coffee table in his San Fernando Valley hotel suite. More flipped pages. A nervous chuckle over the graphic grotesqueries. Disease and decay are hardly foreign metaphors for the consumptive anger and despair that make up the unsettling lyrical world of Nine Inch Nails--the nom de plume under which Reznor records.
Time called Reznor 'the anti- Bon Jovi '. His 'vulnerable vocals and accessible lyrics' led an industrial revolution: he gave the gloomy genre a human heart. Reznor's music was filthy, brutish stuff, oozing with aberrant sex, dark melancholy and violent misanthropy. But to the low-spirited, his music proffered pop's perpetual message of hope: there is worse pain in the world than yours. It is a lesson as old as Robert Johnson 's blues. He was also an overlooked recording genius; a studio nerd who pioneered a polished, aggressive metal sound that is still ubiquitous today.
It does seem, though, that returning to the music that made him famous has put Reznor in an expansive — and pugnacious — mood. For a long time, you were one of the real avatars of white male angst and anger. Have you noticed a change in how those feelings get expressed culturally?
Select Magazine. November Columbine Harvester. He's back - unhappily reaping the whirlwind of the Colorado high school shootings while trying to forge ahead with his first new album for four years. Story: Andrew Male.