there’s all this S&M, and the snuff video [for “Down in It” 39 ]. My friend got that tape for us; it was so taboo at the time. It was like, “Wow, somebody’s showing this,” and before it was underground. We were into that scene. We were looking to get high and do anything weird or bizarre. It was an outside stimulant for the mind, what Trent was projecting. When you’re doing all that stuff, you want to take it to another level, and there was something that was kind of giving us ideas.
I remember the first time I listened to
The Downward Spiral
—I didn’t like it. It was difficult to listen to. There was a lot more going on, and I had to investigate it. And then I couldn’t stop playing it. It was a story.
TDS
was released after my NIN friend killed himself (there was nothing related). That guy was special, a great person. He would always put his hand out to people who were a total mess—people you generally don’t associate with—so I tried to take that when he died. He was the guy who was into everything that was cool, and he brought me to my favorite band. So after that—Ithink he killed himself in ’93, ’94—there was Trent writing about a guy who shoots himself: “So much blood for such a tiny little hole.” I’m not really religious, but I believe, and am grateful that I’m here today, because I attempted suicide once.
Trent sounded like he was crying out, and you could hear how pissed off he was when he used
God
and
fuck
in the same sentence. He said all these horrific things, but when I sang the lines, it made me feel good. Horrible lines about being brokenhearted, being hurt, suicide, you know … “God is dead and no one cares.” It’s like you’re the bad schoolboy and saying to a nun, “Listen to this, Teach!” So many people would say his music’s gloom and doom, but it was the most thrilling days of my life, to see those concerts. There was somebody who was expressing the hurt I felt or the pain I had, and it was good to me.
Broken
and
Fixed
are my favorite albums. I remember being in my apartment—a guy in his underwear all alone blasting music—and singing “Wish.” I love the rage of it. There wasn’t always a “you,” but many times I imagined that I was singing those songs to a girl who broke my heart. I bet you’ve been there, in your room alone, and whatever emotion comes in feels good to you or maybe hurtful. But that’s okay; it makes you feel. And that’s the essence of any good music, right? It makes you feel—any art, really.
After my friend’s death, I started to notice that where my friends and I were at was, like, nowhere. We were getting used to collecting our checks and not doing anything. We were like pigs in shit and we were getting comfortable, and I realized that I didn’t want that anymore.
I didn’t know if I had it in me to get out. I decided to borrow some money and take a class at Youngstown State University, and the next thing you knew, I was there for fouryears. I took art classes and got good grades. I was hanging out at the group home and met a beautiful girl who worked there, and I ended up marrying her. Since then we’ve been married for 10 years. It was hard, but somehow I came out of all that mess.
My wife was instrumental, and there were teachers who believed in me. Because of those people, the hospitalizations stopped, and I became everything I hated. I became a productive person in society. Before, we were just punkers on the street and we hated everybody who had a job, but to be honest, we were scared that we couldn’t be part of that. Now I use the word
conform
in a positive way. I knew then that it was all good for me, but I didn’t want to sell out. One of the few things I held on to was the music. Foremost was NIN.
My wife and her brothers owned group homes for retarded kids, and she said, “I think you can work in one of these homes.”
Work
was like a four-letter word to me, but I got training and became good
I remember the first time I listened to
The Downward Spiral
—I didn’t like it. It was difficult to listen to. There was a lot more going on, and I had to investigate it. And then I couldn’t stop playing it. It was a story.
TDS
was released after my NIN friend killed himself (there was nothing related). That guy was special, a great person. He would always put his hand out to people who were a total mess—people you generally don’t associate with—so I tried to take that when he died. He was the guy who was into everything that was cool, and he brought me to my favorite band. So after that—Ithink he killed himself in ’93, ’94—there was Trent writing about a guy who shoots himself: “So much blood for such a tiny little hole.” I’m not really religious, but I believe, and am grateful that I’m here today, because I attempted suicide once.
Trent sounded like he was crying out, and you could hear how pissed off he was when he used
God
and
fuck
in the same sentence. He said all these horrific things, but when I sang the lines, it made me feel good. Horrible lines about being brokenhearted, being hurt, suicide, you know … “God is dead and no one cares.” It’s like you’re the bad schoolboy and saying to a nun, “Listen to this, Teach!” So many people would say his music’s gloom and doom, but it was the most thrilling days of my life, to see those concerts. There was somebody who was expressing the hurt I felt or the pain I had, and it was good to me.
Broken
and
Fixed
are my favorite albums. I remember being in my apartment—a guy in his underwear all alone blasting music—and singing “Wish.” I love the rage of it. There wasn’t always a “you,” but many times I imagined that I was singing those songs to a girl who broke my heart. I bet you’ve been there, in your room alone, and whatever emotion comes in feels good to you or maybe hurtful. But that’s okay; it makes you feel. And that’s the essence of any good music, right? It makes you feel—any art, really.
After my friend’s death, I started to notice that where my friends and I were at was, like, nowhere. We were getting used to collecting our checks and not doing anything. We were like pigs in shit and we were getting comfortable, and I realized that I didn’t want that anymore.
I didn’t know if I had it in me to get out. I decided to borrow some money and take a class at Youngstown State University, and the next thing you knew, I was there for fouryears. I took art classes and got good grades. I was hanging out at the group home and met a beautiful girl who worked there, and I ended up marrying her. Since then we’ve been married for 10 years. It was hard, but somehow I came out of all that mess.
My wife was instrumental, and there were teachers who believed in me. Because of those people, the hospitalizations stopped, and I became everything I hated. I became a productive person in society. Before, we were just punkers on the street and we hated everybody who had a job, but to be honest, we were scared that we couldn’t be part of that. Now I use the word
conform
in a positive way. I knew then that it was all good for me, but I didn’t want to sell out. One of the few things I held on to was the music. Foremost was NIN.
My wife and her brothers owned group homes for retarded kids, and she said, “I think you can work in one of these homes.”
Work
was like a four-letter word to me, but I got training and became good
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