wearing these chains: on nine inch nails, trent reznor, and all things gothemo

[Dear_Rob: QUIT_IT]

Dear Rob,

Just because Dierdre isn't real, don't think that I'm still not totally ready to take you outside and flog you. Here's what's on my mind today: the whole AXL ROSE thing that's been going on with the pictures posted to nin.com.

Now, I will readily admit that the last time I saw Axl Rose on a stage, I had to leave the room, because it was just too sad to see him not only go all Jacko freaky-style with the cornrows and orange tan, but also to demonstrate that he can no longer carry a tune. I agree that Guns 'n' Roses truly set the bar for how we can know that a rock band has completely jumped the shark that time they made the 45 minute music video with the full orchestra, an aircraft carrier, and Axl swimming with dolphins. That did totally suck. I also know there's the whole Robin Finck incident, and I suppose there must be something to the mythology of the vindictive tenor of Trent's spectacular break-ups with his former minions, but dude, please. STOP.

I mean, nothing tremendously negative has been "said" via your little photo-rigging in-joke, but Axl Rose used to be totally rock 'n' roll magic, and if you're going to post a picture of something as FUCKING AWESOME as Trent, on his knees, twiddling knobs for Saul Fucking Williams, is it really necessary to despoil it with some stupid photoshoppery involving Axl Rose? I mean, that whole Chinese Democracy business was kinda funny, I guess, in light of the sense in which NIN is totally not a democracy, sort of like, uh, China? But, maybe that isn't what you meant to say?

Just what ARE you trying to say, Rob? If you, or the bossman (and, frankly, I can't imagine that it's him photoshopping G'n'R mularkey into everything), have a point, then fucking make it already. If you don't, and this is all just a clever bid to generate retarded conspiracy speculation amongst the geniuses who frequent NIN message boards, then I am begging you to please STOP, because GOD KNOWS they don't need any help.

I'm sure you're sitting there at your laptop feeling totally chuffed with how fucking hilarious you are, Mr. Wizard, but please stop spluging frat juice all over pictures of my favorite artist at work. At best, it's boring; at worst, it makes Trent look petty. Seriously, give it a fucking rest.

Until next time,
Dierdre

[Pictures_Of_You_#_19: The_Dear_Rob_Edition]

Dear Rob,

You've done it. You've finally posted a picture of TRENT REZNOR on nin.com.

Usually, all you have on offer there are pictures of the other guys in the "band" (and, who cares?), or pictures of a whole cast of rock 'n' roll cartoon characters, garishly lit, their bulgingly-muscled commander, arms out-stretched, resplendent at their helm. And, let's be clear: if Trent Reznor is captured photographically in any way, shape, or form, I will look at it; I'm not picky. However, despite the obvious wet-dreamy coolness of your camera and lenses, all the access and practice you get in aiming and shooting your magnificent subject, and as technically proficient as you clearly are, I always find it disappointing that there aren't more pictures of TRENT REZNOR; you know, where he isn't in the middle of a BIG ACT, but is just Trent, doing stuff that Trent does when he's not on a stage where we can all see him for ourselves. Seriously, Rob. What's the point if you're not going to show us something we can't see without your specially positioned eyes?

This latest offering, though, shows notre amour exactly as I love him most: sharp-eyed with concentration, working on something. Something wonderful, I would wager. Something that, should I ever be fortunate enough to hear it, might just thrill me more than anything else he's ever worked on, which is to say A FUCKING LOT. Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that room! Or, better yet, inside Trent's big, giant brain, watching the neurons fire their little electrical charges, and being able to somehow know exactly what paths they follow through the constellation of his memories, thoughts, emotions, desires, and proficiencies to align themselves in the production his beautiful work! Jesus Fucking Christ. I love that guy.

On top of that, there's that delicious bed, and there are no words in the English language to adequately express the scrumptious perfection of the image of Trent lying asleep in it, his dark hair and warm skin a stark contrast to it's cool, clean, whitness; his eyes closed softly, lips slightly parted, his breathing deep and peaceful. Oh, God. I can't even think of anything more delicious, and I am WRACKING MY BRAINS.

Then there's the dog! The dog who is allowed on the bed! The dog with its sweet, attentive face focused on its master, listening. The Dog! Jesus, THE DOG. What is it about the dog that makes you feel like you can see into Trent's heart when you look at it? Yes, yes. I know I'm insane, and that there is no math in what I'm saying, but I hope that while Trent lay in that bed, feverish, swallowing bits of glass, or drowning in phlegm, that his sweet dog licked his face, and rested it's delicate little chin on his thigh. I hope that dog looked at him with all the uncomplicated, unreserved love that can only come from the pure heart of a dog, and I hope that if he spent hours alone, suffering his illness like a man, that his dog was there to make it all a little less abject.

I know we have our differences, Rob, but all I'm saying is that, while I still think you don't have enough aesthetic sense, appreciation, love, or adequate humanist reverence in your frat-tastic Hollywood hipster heart to do your job as documentarian of that gorgeous creature ANY FUCKING JUSTICE, this latest picture is lovely; so thanks for posting it.

Love,
Dierdre

[Dear_Rob: You_Suck]

Dear Rob,

It took me awhile to get around to giving a rat's ass about the latest round of NIN junk that will be obsessively collected by the people who never stop photographing and then wanking over their awesome hoards of NIN related garbage, namely, the latest round of lithographs commemorating the tour of small markets, but I finally did.

Normally, I'd be too busy looking for pictures that showcase Trent's pornographically sexy teeth and thinking deep thoughts about Kierkegaard and what not to be bothered with a bullshit topic like this, but seriously, Rob, are you fucking kidding? I know the usual response you get for your trouble in whipping up such things is a fat load of retards lining up on messageboards the NINternet over to enthusiastically slob your knob, but here at WTC, we are not about that, because frankly, I can barely comprehend how you still have a job. You must be cheap, or something.

Let's forget, for one moment, the embarrassingly venal milking it effrontery of making four concert lithographs that, displayed together, make up a complete image, thereby compelling those who scream "WHOOOOOO! NINE INCH FUCKIN' NAILS! WOOOOO!!!!" in your brilliant videos to spend more of their parents' money in an effort to be the ultimate collector, and let's forget the question of why anyone needs a fucking Nine Inch Nails BILLBOARD commemorating the never-ending [With_Teeth: Until_The_End_Of_The_World] tour. Let's just concentrate on the image itself, ok?

I'm no prude, but is it just me, or is there something about this bullshit right here that just REEKS of puerile imbecility?   

I don't know why I'm surprised. I mean, this is the work of the man who fucked a latex pussy in a plastic beer can and then proudly told the entire interweb all about it, produced this (not work safe) Christmas Card for the readers of his frat-tastic blog, and whose smugly self-congratulating tone in posts like this one (in fact, in every post) is only enhanced by the smarmy gambit of last minute self-reflexivity, but goddamn, that is just fucking retarded.

Yeah. I think I'll collect all four and hang a giant, NIN-branded COCK on my wall.

Cheers. Great idea.

Love,
Dierdre

[Dear_Rob: On_Cameras_and_Clapping]

Hey Rob. It's Gabriel here, from Wearing These Chains. You gotta sec?

Good. Firstly, I just wanted to say thanks. I think everything involved with this record from a design standpoint has been really strong, and Dierdre's even mentioned, before she sold-out her fandom, how much she loved your photography on this tour (especially the picture of Teethy Trent and the B&W Held Up By The Mic pics from Fresno). So as a fan, I'd like to say thank you.

But then there's the matter of those videos.

See, we're all fans of the band. And as fans we act foolish sometimes. Lame, even. Hell, I think you could reasonably say that some of us, when it comes to the matter of a live show, or meeting Trent, act just plain old fucking RETARDED.

But for the most part we're smart folks, and we know we're lame. And we kinda suspect that you guys in TeamNails™ know we're lame, too. But what we really don't need is you reminding us that Trent and the rest of you know we're a bunch of idiots.

Take for example this girl:

Now she starts off well -- she's super cute, she's got "*-FUCKER" written on her back in sharpie cause she's gothemo like that, and she addresses the camera with full passion: "WOOOOOOO!!" And then right in mid-cheer, common sense hits her: "NINE INch... nails.... yes......". And she gets all self-conscious and covers herself up.

Course she did! Everybody's seen the videos with the crazy fans, but no one ever actually thinks that person is going to be them. Unfortunately, Rob, when that official band video-cam gets in our faces, all good sense goes the way of the dodo, overpowered by whatever poorly-advised gut instinct pops up at the moment. And your lens can be oh-so-cruel.

[By the way, if you're out there, Super-Cute Blonde Girl With Face Crackling Makeup: I think you rule. Email me.]

Then there's this Frodo-looking motherfucker playing with his sticks, which is neat at first, except he keeps dropping it. I mean, damn Rob, you got us -- we try to impress you guys with stupid tricks in the hopes that we'll score a backstage pass, or that maybe Trent will invite us on the tour (playing with sticks is kinda like the Jim Rose show, right?) But come on -- you don't have to point out how desperate and pathetic we look when we do it!

Dear God, man. It's just a matter of human decency at times.

That's not to say there's not moments of sheer brilliance. I don't think any image has ever captured just why I love rock concerts as much as this one:

And who knew Tom Waits of all people was a NIN fan before this gem?

But for every young girl in the early blush of womanhood, there's some freaky guy wearing a CalTrans vest yapping about how he's just witnessed the best show since the beginning of God, and kissing the camera. Just just be gentle Rob; that's all we ask.

Now that we've had this chat, however, I'm hoping you can bend an ear to the Powers-That-Be on another matter, because I noticed a slight problem at the Hollywood Bowl show: Trent likes to clap now. And not in a Alright! My Band Kicks Sweet Ass way, but in a Put Your Hands In The Air And Clap Them Like You Just Don't Care kinda way. And he does it during "march of the pigs".

How does this actually happen? Well I've assembled an interactive experience below for your benefit. Click on the play button below for full immersion....

Trent singing "motp". All is rockin' in the free world.

Reznor Triumphant™.

Things go horribly awry as Trent begins to lead the crowd in audience participation...

All the pigs, all lined up.

Okay, Rob, you're right -- we shouldn't be clapping along in the first place. It's goofy, this isn't a Barry Manilow concert, and we know better. But as I said earlier, we're nine inch nails fans. If Trent tells us to go "Hip Hip Hooray" like Josh Homme felt compelled to do (WTF?????) we'd probably throw down without hesitation.

But that doesn't make it right.

So try to talk to M.T. on the whole clapping thing. We love him, and the great job everyone's doing, but The Dread Marching Clap is a little embrassing -- better we take care of this within the family, before he goes and does it on MTV or something.

I'm just thankful there was no clapping part in "non-entity".

Best regards,

Gabriel Miller