I had a haircut the other day. Now that in itself is certainly nothing worth writing about, but the encounter at the front door upon arriving sparked a nice San Francisco memory. As I entered the shop, a freshly trimmed gentleman was paying my stylist Jackie for his cut. When he turned to walk out, I stepped aside to let him pass and said “Hello.” He nodded his head and softly replied, “Hey.”
After he was gone, I turned to Jackie and said, “Was that Trent Reznor?”
She smiled and replied, “Yes! And I just cut his hair!”
Now, I used to be a devoted fan of Nine Inch Nails. When Pretty Hate Machine came out, my roommate Cindy was incredibly enamored, and she played it non-stop for months. Despite the constant grinding repetition of the electronic mayhem, I grew quite found of them anyway. There was something special about that record, and it didn’t take long before I was singing their praises to everyone around me.
Every time they came through, we just had to be at the show. Before I got the chance to see them headline, I saw them open for both Ministry and Peter Murphy. I also saw them two nights in a row when they toured with the Jesus & Mary Chain. We traveled over 100 miles to Orlando just to see them play in a different city. Since living in San Francisco, I’ve seen them on their co-headlining tour with Marilyn Manson; and by themselves at the famous Warfield Auditorium.
When I first moved to San Francisco in 1994, their second album, The Downward Spiral, was set for release, and a local San Francisco club held a listening party so people could get a chance to hear it a week before the album hit the market. Standing in line with hundreds of other Nine Inch Nails fan, I was the happiest camper in the concrete woods. When I finally made it to the front door of the venue, my good mood wavered for a moment when I was informed that entrance into the club would cost me $15. When I grumbled to the doorman that seemed like an exorbitant amount to pay for a listening party, my disappointment turned to joy with his next statement.
“Trent showed up, he wants to play a short set.”
After he was gone, I turned to Jackie and said, “Was that Trent Reznor?”
She smiled and replied, “Yes! And I just cut his hair!”
Now, I used to be a devoted fan of Nine Inch Nails. When Pretty Hate Machine came out, my roommate Cindy was incredibly enamored, and she played it non-stop for months. Despite the constant grinding repetition of the electronic mayhem, I grew quite found of them anyway. There was something special about that record, and it didn’t take long before I was singing their praises to everyone around me.
Every time they came through, we just had to be at the show. Before I got the chance to see them headline, I saw them open for both Ministry and Peter Murphy. I also saw them two nights in a row when they toured with the Jesus & Mary Chain. We traveled over 100 miles to Orlando just to see them play in a different city. Since living in San Francisco, I’ve seen them on their co-headlining tour with Marilyn Manson; and by themselves at the famous Warfield Auditorium.
When I first moved to San Francisco in 1994, their second album, The Downward Spiral, was set for release, and a local San Francisco club held a listening party so people could get a chance to hear it a week before the album hit the market. Standing in line with hundreds of other Nine Inch Nails fan, I was the happiest camper in the concrete woods. When I finally made it to the front door of the venue, my good mood wavered for a moment when I was informed that entrance into the club would cost me $15. When I grumbled to the doorman that seemed like an exorbitant amount to pay for a listening party, my disappointment turned to joy with his next statement.
“Trent showed up, he wants to play a short set.”
1 comment:
I've got a few intimate show stories like that, though none worth mentioning here.
I did love that first album, though my fascination with Madchester and shoegaze took me in a different direction shortly thereafter.
How funny that you walked right by Trent. He's so buff now, it's no wonder you didn't recognize the guy.
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