David Bowie was right about Trent Reznor. The Thin White Duke’s ability to align himself with the best new talents in any era – from Mick Ronson to Iggy Pop to Lou Reed to Nile Rogers – let him in the early 90s to seek out Trent Reznor. Of all the hard rock musicians to emerge at that time as huge-selling, stadium-packing megastars, he did not seek out Axl Rose or Kurt Cobain or Eddie Vedder, it was Reznor who he buddied up to, and toured with. And the years have proved Reznor to be the one genuine artist (in the absence of Cobain), among them. Around the time of their massive hit double-album The Downward Spiral, a none-more-black heavyweight slice of personal demons fed through industrial metal, he could easily have just turned into another heroin casualty, chewed up by fame, and at best limping along on desultory albums with ever-diminishing returns.
Instead, he sits now as one of the most admired musicians on the planet, an Oscar-winning soundtrack composer - alongside his collaborator and NIN member Atticus Ross – and leader of the most exciting art-rock unit around. Exciting because they refuse to just sit still in a retro-Goth schtick.
An hour before the band actually take the stage, the O2 is bathed in blood-red light as DJ Boyz Noise turns the venue into a Blade film. It’s the perfect set up for a band who have successfully melded the big heavy rock songs with Berlin club electro – as soon demonstrated in a set which is moody, spectacular and pulsating with an charged erotic-psychotic energy. Yes, very Blade.
The show is breathtakingly staged, which makes it all the more surprising that ultimately the show is undone by technical difficulties.
The action is split between two stages, the main stage with hanging screen curtain, and a ‘box’ in the centre of the floor. This is where Reznor first takes the stage, sat at the piano for a hushed opening of Right Where It Belongs and a stripped back Ruiner. The other members of the band slowly joining him as the noise begins for Piggy.
Then they’re off through the crowd to the main stage for a section of bone fide classics which starts with a pulverising Wish and March of the Pigs. Reptile begins spectacularly – Bowie used to sing this with him on their tour – with the hanging backdrop flickering with threatening abstractions in the most seething of factory sounds, only for Reznor’s mic to give in; guitarist Robin Finck has to finish it. Reznor quips afterwards, “The most complicated show ever, undone by a mic cable.”
Copy of A brings the mood back up to speed, after which Reznor and Ross return to the box with Boyz Noize, for a mini-set of evil disco that has a killer version of Came Back Haunted (a single which had a video directed by another key Reznor ally, David Lynch), one which brings the dancefloor aspect of NIN fully to the fore, and gives something for Challengers soundtrack fans to rave about.
The momentum is fierce now, as they return to the main stage for the final act, Reznor in silhouette against the smoke and neons, for more Spiral tunes, Mr. Self Destruct and a harrowing Heresy – “God is dead, and no-one cares!” actually God is back and wreaking havoc again.
Less Than is a combination of the Tron soundtrack (and actually Reznor and Ross have created the music for the upcoming new Tron film) and Springsteen anthem, and was written during Trump’s first term. It’s visions of missiles flying expands into an accusation of macho egos seeking war out of some sense of personal lack – “did it fix what was wrong with you?” – and well, say no more.
Closer is its usual sex swamp cyberpunk self, but the technical issues seem to be muting things, and a Bowie cover of I’m Afraid of Americans sees his mic go down again – of all the things not to work - and then a full pause in proceedings. Reznor awkwardly fills in the time, but more problems mark The Perfect Drug and the momentum is killed on a set that looked like turning into an all-time classic.
Head Like A Hole, the classic from their 1989 debut record Pretty Hate Machine, rescues things at the end, its indictment of America, with its refrain of “God Money, I’ll do anything for you,” and the warning of “Bow down before the one you serve, you’re going to get what you deserve,” feels not just timeless but a prophecy.
Hurt finishes things off but Reznor seems hurt the most, he smashes his guitar just before it, and hurls his mic away at the end. All the effort going into staging this show and then we can’t hear him sing.
Not the complete show then, but more than enough to convince you that here is a group stronger than ever and Reznor as an artist still gathering momentum even at this stage of his career. Somewhere Bowie is grinning down at the last great art rock star.
