Nine Inch Nails - Not The Actual Events EP (Twelve Inch) - Review

NINE INCH NAILS - NOT THE ACTUAL EVENTS E.P.

Right off the bat, full disclosure, I've been a fan of Nine Inch Nails from the start. I had Pretty Hate Machine on cassette, vinyl, and compact disc within the first month of it's release, and I had to purchase that album at least a half-dozen times because friends would forget to return it. I've remained a paying customor on the Trent Reznor carnival ride since, but I'd be lying if I didn't also confess that following The Fragile, I began to develop some motion sickness.With Teeth ushered a realization that I may not enjoy every track on a Nine Inch Nails album going forward. Our love affair had run out of steam, though it very much possessed all the qualities that originally brought us into one another's lives.

 The Downward Spiral opened a new facet into what is the totality of a Nine Inch Nails release; those lucky enough to find the promotional vinyl were rewarded with stunning and painstakingly beautiful art and packaging. The presentation of releases, "Perfect Drug" aside, has developed with each consecutive release, and the art is as integral as the music it encompasses. Though I may be rebuffed for claiming it, for me personally, I believe the packaging and it's careful representation is as much collectible for fans as the often limited nature in which it's offered. Unfortunately, Year Zero, suffered from it... fans were so rabid to piece together a puzzle that was scattered throughout the world in forms of flash drives, hidden messages, secret images - that the presentation eclipsed the product. An otherwise solid album suffered from it's own clever design. And because I wasn't in on the game, I felt a little disconnected from my friend of so many years.

I've said all of this to preface a review of Nine Inch Nails' first E.P. (of three planned for release this year), because, yes, I am probably a little biased, but also, that I am capable of being disappointed. The E.P. was released digitally at the end of 2016, and the physical releases (in the form of a 12-Inch) are just now shipping. A lot has happened musically for Trent Reznor between 2013's Hesitation Marks and this E.P. Collaborations with Atticus Ross have scored some of the largest film releases in the past decade; Trent has become involved with Apple, and let's just ignore the fact that he is also a real person with a family and responsibilities the rest of us have, As quiet as Trent may be - he's never far from surfacing in the ocean of life's minutia. Whether it's receiving critical praise for the tours that followed Hesitation Marks in it's creativity and unique adaptation of light and structure; or it's a film score that writhes like a serpent through your subconscious, or it's a blistering performance on Twin Peaks (The Return) - the man simply isn't forgettable or yesterday's big event, he's more like a tsunami that stops for coffee. 

All that said, Not The Actual Events is as strong a Nine Inch Nails release as anything else in their catalog. "The Idea Of You", incorporates piano in a cinematic fashion that transcends everything that has come before it. The track is easily as aggressive as "Burn", but Trent's vocals are muted and beg the listener to spin that volume knob just enough before the assault happens. "Branches/Bones" is a slow burn that is beautifully crafted with exceptional guitar work and layered vocals that soar and collapse you into "Dear World". Lyrically: cynicism, apathy, and self-deprecating introspection... the kind of dim horizon that only Trent Reznor can illustrate with such clarity. The synth-pop, drum-driven track compliments such dark musings perfectly, and it's the sort of fare a DJ craves to manipulate. 'She's Gone Away" and "Burning Bright (Field On Fire)" offer something new to fans. There's a raw studio element to these tracks that almost seems to emanate from a 1950's radio that's still stored away in the attic at this very moment, and the ghosts have the controls. "She's Gone Away", though unique,  offers a flavor very familiar to fans, an undulating journey a la "Reptile" that creeps in an out of all your naughty thoughts. In other words, it's the perfect fit for anything and everything David Lynch. The closest relatives to "Burning Bright (Field On Fire)" emanated from The Fragile... but this family member has been disowned and spent some time stalking Dirty Beaches and Ariel Pink. There is some (intentionally) buried guitar work on the sub-surface that is so striking that I started manipulating my EQ to get a better listen, and just as your are fully in and submerged - it drops you suddenly but gingerly back into reality.

As I said, this E.P. is incredibly crafted and well worth adding to your collection. It will, along with it's two counterparts to follow, likely find a home in your Top Ten this year, and be a record you'll pull out in the years to come. It's not forgettable, or "fleeting" as Trent has suggested, it's as well done and well-crafted as anything he has done and deserves the praise.

But I'm not done! Right? We didn't touch on the packaging after so much time was spent writing about packaging! Trent Reznor has a theme running throughout this year's releases "existing in the real world" and many really didn't know what that meant. Turning quickly to Year Zero-ocd- paranoia; fans began dissecting the imagery and subtext. Whether or not there's something there to find, I don't know. I'm staying on the train but I'm not studying what's passing by the windows. This particular twelve-inch and the book that preceded it offer the same evocative imagery that delves into Nine Inch Nails as a physical art form, and presents each owner with a unique reward to make your physical component truly your own, one-of-a-kind item.

This much-anticipated, immersive experience I set myself up for was somewhat unraveled by a distribution company that didn't carry the mantle of devotion, care, and creativity that brought all of this together. They instead threw my 12-inch into a mailer without any cardboard support and what I received as a result, is one jacked-up bent-to-hell record. I've been exchanging emails with Sandbag, Ltd, but so far, I'm stuck with what I have and I'm pretty disappointed. I'm confident this is not what Trent Reznor had in mind when he decided to put out the twelve-inch for fans and take the time to make it unique. He didn't intend for my experience to incorporate a postal-worker's bad day at the office. So, Sandbag - not happy. My advice - if you can find another way to obtain your Not The Actual Events EP - then do so. At least save your email with your order number... because Paypal transaction IDs and proof of payment will get you nowhere.

The Desert Island Post or Life-Affected Albums - Part One

Any music-lover, or casual music appreciator has them; those indispensable items in your music collection that either opened you to a whole new world of creativity, or profoundly developed into the soundtrack to an emotional span of time. I've tried for months (mentally for years) to pinpoint those releases for me; many were obvious, others far less. Then I found myself with a much-too-long list, and realized what I had created were albums that impacted me and changed me, and albums that I would carry with me forever (quite literally), and still yet, others that bled into both areas. Below; are those that presented a moment when my brain, my heart or my body were impacted and offered a new path of discovery, or a vessel within which to collect my pain. These aren't presented in any particular order, after all, who can catalogue the moments of their life into a top ten?

MOTLEY CRUE: TOO FAST FOR LOVE
The story really begins here. Prior to this, I was sort of a non-musical child. Despite growing up in a household omnipresent with music, I didn't really identify with music personally until 1983. I think the first song I ever blared out of my father's stereo was "Shout", and I don't really feel at all embarrassed about it. But, I went to school one day (5th Grade) and met new student, Tony Boupha. A very tall for his age, Asian American, who murdered everyone on the dodgeball court. He was the first person I ever exchanged music with, and in our first encounter, he lay in front of me this album. I wasn't unfamiliar with metal or hard rock, but I certainly had no adolescent preparation for how much my world would be consumed by Motley Crue. My room was adorned with posters of "ugly women" (my dad's description), and I still have that collection today. Hearing Motley Crue didn't simply open a door of exploration, it kicked it in. In my early years of music collecting, it was hair metal heaven. Ratt, Quiet Riot, Loudness... the fondness for metal music has never waned. Granted, my tastes have changed quite a bit since 5th Grade, but I will never forget the mark the music of 5th Grade left with me, and if my passion for music had a prophet, it came in the form of Vince Neil's leather-bound crotch.

CHRISTIAN DEATH: CATASTROPHE BALLET
Wasn't my first Christian Death album, but it was the one that consumed my heart and soul. Rozz Williams' lyrics burned through me and ignited all of my passion and creativity. Large chucks of my life have in one capacity or another been linked to the artistry of Rozz Williams, and that tree is firmly rooted in and around my mind and heart. The difference between the impact of this album as opposed to the others in this list - is that it became much more to me than just music. It opened more doors into art and literary extremes than it ever did on a musical level. That's the brilliance of Rozz Williams - influenced by Dadaism, Surrealism, and stark reflections of hypocrisy, it was perhaps the most educational journey of my life. I was 15 and everything had just been changed. A piece of vinyl became more than anti-social, teen-angst, self-loathing rebellion. Love or hate me - this album became much of who I was and continue to be to this day.


JANE'S ADDICTION: NOTHING'S SHOCKING
Jon and I decided 3rd period constituted a long enough school day. We drove in his 1983 baby blue Celica towards Tampa, and found ourselves at Fashion Square Mall. On that journey, my music mental checklist was the usual, but included a new entry. I had been struck by a promotional photo I'd seen some months ago of Jane's Addiction (a poster of which adorns my hallway), and an article mentioning their release on Warner Bros. After hitting all of our normal haunts, we arrived at Tracks, a music chain that provided me more rarities and gems than I've ever encountered in a chain store. I found my two choices for the afternoon, and waited in line to check out. Jon asked, "Did you find that one band you mentioned?" I almost let it go, but an especially slow register clerk prompted me to go find "that one band". My reaction to seeing the cover for the first time must have been a Kodak moment. I dropped what I was holding and proceeded back to the counter with "Nothing's Shocking". I really had zero idea what to expect, I'd heard nothing by this band - I just knew that they looked the way my head wanted to hear. We climbed into the baby blue Celica, which I feel compelled to mention was adorned with an Alpine deck and a back seat that basically consisted of a box containing to 18-inch Cerwin Vega woofers. In went the tape - lulling us into a false sense of bliss. We arrived at the main entrance to the mall just as the emotionally-soaked "HOME" tore across the asphalt: terrifying children, scattering pigeons,  and sending the elderly into cardiac arrest. The sincerity of Perry's vocals, and the ferocity of the music gave me chills. It was my first social commentary; "Nothing's Shocking" was my folk music. It was okay to not be A or B or C, and it's okay to present that awkwardness on a loud, spastic level. The other realization I had on that ride back home was that my emotional impact was my own... Jon was less than overwhelmed by Jane's Addiction - but I applaud him on allowing my weirdness to flow and have an outlet. "Hello, English Class taught by a former Catholic Nun - this is my new Jane's Addiction shirt, and yes that is Mary holding a plate with eyeballs on it, and that's okay." "By the way - I'm addicted to heroin now..."

NINE INCH NAILS: PRETTY HATE MACHINE
Hello, life-crushing, emotional, hell of my own creation starring Julia Lewis. If your world revolved around someone unattainable or happened to value your heart on a sliding scale - then this was your soundtrack to that pain. Dripping with hurt, anger, lust - if an autopsy had been performed on my heart at the time - inside would have been this cassette. Not since very recently, has an album tied me so emotionally to a very finite period of my life, and so quickly transports me right back to it with even a passing listen. Trent made everything I was feeling so visceral, that I could only believe, that he too was dating Julia Lewis. It's not Nine Inch Nails' darkest, or purest, or most personal album, arguably, not their best album either - but it was at a perfect time in my life to give voice to feelings I felt consumed and suffocated by.

SHANNON WRIGHT: DYED IN THE WOOL
I sat in my living room late one night, going through a box of treasures that my closest friend, Shawn had sent me. I was, honestly, feeling a little jaded - nothing had profoundly impacted me musically on an emotional level in quite some time at this point. Certainly, I had found bands I liked, and others had shared amazing artists with me - but nothing that stuck me in the chest repeatedly like an inmate targeted by the Aryan Brotherhood. In this box lay a series of videos, the last of which I played, were two live performances of Shannon Wright. The first, at Coney Island, I believe, was a little underwhelming. The videographer was more interested in asses in the crowd than the show on stage (might I mention - he was there with a woman and a stroller-bound child). The second performance however took place in a small theater (Kentucky-I think) and then that assault on my senses happened. This banshee, beating the life out of her keyboard while drums thrashed violently made my blood run cold. I don't remember if Shawn sent me this album or if I obtained it on my own - but every emotion that was tore out my body watching Shannon Wright live was succinctly preserved on "Dyed In The Wool". Here again, a seemingly tortured, ravaged wreck of a human being, wrapped in this seething, pernicious ferocity was screaming out in an effort to exorcise pain and memory. If ever I could write again, I know it would be because of Shannon Wright. She's a muse for the fragility of weathered hearts. I missed my one (and apparently) only chance to see her live... I won't ever make that mistake again.

So, that's it for Part One. I'm going to try and piece together Part Two this weekend. Thanks for reading.