Chronically Ironic

·I didn’t get to See Nine Inch Nails because the Venue Caught Fire.

I have seen many a concert in my time. From the time I was a very young girl, I loved going to shows. Although I try not to admit those first “shows” – Barry Manilow, Kenny Rogers, The Pointer Sisters (well, now that one of them is dead, it’s kinda cool) they paved the way for many more to come.

I remember being 14 and being blessed with the honor of seeing Van Halen when it was really for real no joke Runnin’ With the Fucking Devil Van Halen on the infamous 1984 tour, David Lee Roth adorned in his samurai suit and pretending to be a swordsman AND ALL. I then entered the Extra Bad Hair and Makeup phase where I could bestow my good looks upon such rockers as Queensryche, Kiss, Lita Ford, Judas Priest (twice) and to my dismay, Twisted Sister. Who would ever think Dee Snider would wind up on VH1? Holy shit, what a crazy-haired trouper he is. Mag-fucking-nificent.

After the metal shall come The Fall, an ancient proverb states. A lonely girl as a sophomore, I was sitting in choir when a girl with awesome self-decorated Converse high-tops put a pair of headphones on me and played “Reel around the Fountain” by The Smiths. I had never heard such sweet, sorrowful droning before in my sad, miserable life. I was no longer angry, although that emotion would make another appearance in my musical journey – but from that first time I ever heard the phrase “bee’s knees” in a fucking song I was a sucker for the rest of my life for any band with “The” in front of the name. The Smiths. The Cure. The Damned. The Fall. The The. The Smithereens. The Replacements. And, even though people always THINK there’s a “The” in front, Pixies.

Then it wasn’t cool anymore to be a “The” band, and so came Joy Division (even though older than many bands heretofore named – we’re talking about MY musical journey, not the fucking evolution of Sad Bastard Music, for Christ’s sake,) Siouxsie and her many Banshees, Cocteau Twins, This Mortal Coil, New Order, Throwing Muses, and pretty much any band sought after by the super tiny label out of England, 4AD. Including my personal favorite of perhaps all time in the Kill Myself in a Happy Way category, Red House Painters. When I first heard Mark Kozeleck sing and play, I wanted to crawl into my stereo and bleed every drop of blood I had to play guitar like that. I used to fantasize that one day I would be at one of their shows and by some act of God I had learned to play guitar, and he would invite me up on stage to sing and trade solos with him. Ugh. Oh, and holy shit, how can I possibly forget to mention my undying love for Tori Amos? Did I mention I married a gay guy? Do you think it had anything to do with our tastes in music?

This would sort of bring us to our title, since being a fan of all this other dark, poignant music, you were kind of sucked in to Pretty Hate Machine by Nine Inch Nails like a penny in a vacuum. I think it was the release of the second album though, something about pigs I think (I might be wrong there – no yelling, fucking purists) that I endearingly bought tickets to the fun yet too-small Video Bar, where NIN would be playing.

Standing in line for two hours before a show was routine, but looking back on all of that now, it seems simply, um, DUMB. How important is it, really, to be RIGHT THERE next to the stage? Maybe it’s because now, I would rather have rabies than be right next to a stage, unless we are talking about Lauryn Hill Unplugged or my dear, dear Mr. Kozeleck. Nine Inch Nails, at the time, seemed worth it. Oh Trent Reznor, how you would fade to black in my late-90’s sensibility. You just got too weird.

Anyway, while standing outside in the line, I was contemplating the choice of my footwear when they finally let us in. Yay, we are in. Woo hoo! We were there for a total of 10 minutes when we started hearing Dallas’ Finest on the Bullhorn of Destruction, telling us to calmly vacate the premises. Are you fucking kidding me? We just got here. Then someone said fire.

It was pretty much all over after that. The crush for the door was ridiculous. All that, and no Fuck You Like an Animal. Damn you, arsonist. Or whatever/whoever ruined my night.

Oh well. So I couldn’t ever add Nine Inch Nails to my concert list. It was completely made up for when I saw George Clinton and Parliament. I think I’m possibly still high from that show. When they all took off in the Mothership, I knew I had seen the face of God.

Musical Hootenanny