On Music and Nine Inch Nails

It feels diminishing and insufficient and even a little pathetic (to me) to say, "Music has always meant a lot to me my whole life." That sentence doesn't even come close to encapsulating how truly vital the role music plays in my life. My mom is an incredibility talented pianist, singer, and performer; my uncles are accomplished instrumentalists and songwriters and many of my aunts are wonderful singers (I can't even begin to describe how large of a family I have).

I was born into a family that was immersed in music. If the people in my family weren't jamming out as a band during parties (and even impromptu sessions just because), then there was music on in the background.

Music wasn't just a way to celebrate and lament life.

Music was the vehicle through which we celebrated having music as a means to express ourselves.

Someone got married? Best believe the aunts and uncles were playing and singing in their band. Someone's birthday? Band. Normal, average, everyday Wednesday? Best believe the aunts were signing on the porch of my grandma's house while they were drinking and then when it got dark they'd move to backyard and someone busted out the guitar and got drunk while singing the most heart-wrenching songs in Spanish that I never could understand.

Ok - scratch that. I couldn't understand their spoken language. But I understood the tears. I understood the pain in their voices.

I understood that the only way for them to say what they meant was through these songs.

It's as if the very need for music to be part of my life is written into my DNA. Like air and water, it's something I can't even imaging living without. I need to it to function on a basic level; my survival is dependent upon its existence.

As much as I may have understood (or at least have an awareness of) those things about music when I was younger, it was also something I wasn't able to fully articulate and truly know until about the time I was a teenager.

For my part, I also became (kinda of) a musician. I studied (and I do mean studied!) the flute in middle school, then mostly self-taught myself the guitar (confession: I can't read guitar music, can barely follow tablature, and can't three chords in succession without having to think about finger placement - yikes! - but hey, I manage), and have dabbled in the piano/synths.

It's when I started playing music, then later, writing and playing my own music, that I really and truly understood what was flowing in my veins. This... means of wordless communication.

And then Trent Reznor and Nine Inch Nails came into my life.

I had my fair share of musical obsessions in my life up till then. Green Day. 311. Silverchair. Orgy. Marilyn Manson. The usual suspects of an early teen in the late 90s who had unrestricted access to the early Wild West of AOL dial-up internet.

But god almighty did Nine Inch Nails drop out of the sky like a nuke in my life. It was one thing to translate the aggression and frustration and loneliness and despair. You know, all the stuff a semi-privileged suburban white kid experiences; distilled into 4-minute musical chunks of life, right?

But this was different. This music caught me off guard when I kept asking myself, "How the fuck did they do that?" The sonic textures, the white noise shaped to almost no longer be white noise but something new entirely, the multi-rhythms, the carousel of distortion, the musical technique... I was musically learned enough as I entered my teens to know that Trent Reznor knew his shit. He's like a jazz musician showing off to other jazz musicians, but with synths and songs about hating himself and this world and how much loves to fuck.

It was music to listen to when you were joyous because all the different shit going on in it brought me joy. Immense, unadulterated joy.

It was music to listen to when I was mad. And boy, was I one mad teen. But that's ok. The music was there to help me. I was the drunk aunts in the backyard wailing my heart out... Without the drunkenness. Until I was drunk. But that's a whole different story.

Music communicates to me on a profound level.

So combine that, with the importance of Nine Inch Nails, and seeing them live?! Hoo boy!

There's definitely a reason why so much focus on many contemporary churches is the worship music part. There's psychologists and sociologists who can study and give their educated opinions on this matter. Not to mention contemporary worship music is a multi-billion dollar industry.

ANYWAYS!...

I have been going to concerts alone for quite some time. I like a few bands that not many other people in my circle particularly like, so it's not uncommon for there to be zero people who have an interest in seeing a band live when, ya know, they don't like them in the first place.

In September, I went to two Nine Inch Nails shows; in Phoenix, AZ and Inglewood, CA. Both were just incredible.

But as much as listening to music can be a solitary act, it's somehow more sweeter when it can be shared and enjoyed with others. I mean, just the vibes of being in an audience with everyone experiencing the same thing and yet it's being interpreted and responded to in so many different ways; some close their eyes, some thrash their bodies, some sing along, some... take pictures on their cell phones.

GUILTY AS CHARGED!

But, hey... I know how to divide my time between experiencing the show through my eyes and not living it through the screen of my phone.

Everything in moderation, yeah?

So when Nine Inch Nails announced they were going back on the road in early 2026, I offhandedly mentioned to my youngest son, "I'd really want you to go see them with me. I think you'd love it."

And he said, "Bet."

And then the ticket prices said, "Yeah right."

For weeks I was checking prices at different venues. Locally, in Arizona, in Nevada... 10 hours away in fucking Sacramento!

It got to the point where going with him was unlikely.

And then, just a few days before their scheduled stop in Las Vegas, I found some tickets that seemed reasonable.

And I said, "Bet."

And then came this fear. This lingering voice saying, "He's not going to appreciate the concert. He's gonna think it's a bunch of old dudes fiddling with synthesizers and yelling and fog machines and he doesn't even really care for them you just make him a fan by proxy for always listening to them."

I was scared I was overhyping them. Crafting some cringe-inducing mythos of "Dad's Most Favoritest Band in the World". That he'd just side-eye me and humor me and give me a gentle tap on the shoulder and say, "That was fun dad, now let's get home."

That anxiety was with me the whole drive through the desert. The whole time we were eating dinner. The whole time we were walking to the venue. The whole time we were waiting for the whole thing to start.

But the moment the lights went off, the piano started playing, and Trent started singing, I heard him clap and snuck a look at him and saw a little smile on his face.

And we came out on the other side of the concert and I knew that he just got it. That he at least understood where I was coming from. Why - at least to me - they're my number one.

And that's all the you could ever really want from the people you love, right? To be seen and understood by them. Maybe they don't have to agree with your position, but they at least get it; why you'd personally hold that position. It doesn't have to be why you love your favorite band or why your favorite book is what it is or why you love eating the same lunch everyday or whatever.

It's that they took the time to get to know you better. To dig a little deeper. I don't want to be some mystery to the people I love. I want to be an open book. Even if it's to my own detriment.

It's like... I showed my son an open page of my book and he took the time to read it and understand it.

Heart full. I don't need anything else.

But of course I want more.

I don't grasp the concept of moderation.

We all just want someone to thrown horns with every now and then.

Thanks for reading, folks.

I didn't really proofread this one. Wrote it from the hip with no plan. The words just flowed. So, any typos are just a part of the game. Roll with it, yeah?

Until next time!