"PERFECT DRUG"
ANALYSIS
(TRENT REZNOR'S ABSINTHE OF MALICE)
For reasons too embarassing to detail, I was stuck in the in-laws' house the weekend of January 18th, and spent most of it catching up on my MTV viewing. As it so happens, that was their big "Preview '97" weekend where they were spotlighting lotsa new upcoming-and-hot videos. Overall, I wasn't impressed. You had U2 boogeying inside a mirror ball for "Discotheque" (Look! They're dressed up like the Village People! How cute!). You had Live blasting away in a drained swimming pool beside semi-clothed couples while the director randomly rack-focussed for "Secret Samadhi" (stop, my eyes hurt). You had Bush and a roomfull of suburban grunge-a-teers pogoing in slo-mo for "Swallowed" (just stop already). By this point, I woulda settled for some Beastie Boys/Spike Jonze slapstick.
Then "The Perfect Drug" came on, and in four minutes my faith in MTV in general, Mark Romanek in particular, and especially the dormant-too-long Nine Inch Nails, was reassured.
I'd actually first heard "Drug" on the radio earlier that weekend (thanks, K-Rock!); it simultaneously managed to sound like everything I loved about NIN and like nothing NIN ever did before. First, the beat: a scrambled cacaphony of everything from real drums to bursts of white noise, sculpted together into a art-brut montage and propelled out of the speakers at rocket-sled speed (you thought "March of the Pigs" was undancable? This one'll exhaust you before the second line!). Into the verse, and where was the melody? Virtually gone, aside from Trent Reznor's singing. The whole thing sounded like refried Chemical Brothers -- until the chorus, and damn it if Trent doesn't lob in one of his fat trademark singalong-hooks. (Remember, the guy's not only forgotten more music theory than you or I'll ever learn, he's also a naturally-gifted songwriter.) Finally, the minor-key coda, as over a sotto-voice chant "Take...me...with...you..." Reznor keens "Without you/Without you, everything falls apart/Without you/Without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces..." I've heard of some so-called diehard NINites who hated the song, but da Flatline fell in love with it instantly and was able to hum most of it after only one listen.
On to the video. In one of the first smart moves of the new year, Reznor re-teamed with Mark Romanek, with whom he created the incredible music-vid for "closer." Romanek is what you might call a "environmentist" (sic) video director, i.e. he creates strange, hyper-realistic worlds in which to unleash his rock artist du jour. He dropped Lenny Kravitz into an "electric coliseum" for "Are You Gonna Go My Way", starred En Vogue in a cyberpunk fashion show for "Free Your Mind," shot Michael and Janet Jackson into space (but brought them back, dammit!) for "Scream," and made doves erupt from Madonna's midriff in "Bedtime Story." The scratchy, antique-looking "closer" (which looks like it was beamed in from some alternate dimension's 1920's Dadaist art exhibit) is actually an anomaly in Romanek's video clips, most of which features ultra-clean cinematography and coolly stylized actors, but it shares the same unexplained, straight-from-the-id images. (Discussing "closer" on alt.music.nin back in 1994, Romanek compared it to a "pleasantly disturbing dream" -- in retrospect, a phrase that fits almost all of his work.)
The "dream" this time around is Euro-Gothic, 19th century, aristocratic, with a newly-goatee'd Reznor "lord of the manse," complete with Oriental servants and an androgenous young protoge'. I've heard comparisons to Edward Gorey etchings, the Francis Coppola/Gary Oldman DRACULA, even "was this filmed at Anne Rice's house?" They're all missing the point: Trent's playing French "symbolist" poet/dissipate Arthur Rimbaud (1854-91), right down to the bottle of absinthe (a highly-toxic, now illegal booze, sometimes called "the Parisian crack" -- and, of course, Rimbaud's "perfect drug"). In the video, Reznor's character keeps trying different avenues of escape -- immersing himself in photography, music, books, even (most literally "immersed!") a hotspring spa -- but it is the green-tinged fever visions of the absinthe that still provide him with his strongest kick. And despite being surrounded by staff, fellow musicians, even a favorite dog, what comes across strongest is an almost crushing sense of isolation, of being trapped by your addiction (be what it may) and your surroundings.
Every so often, you get a "perfect" filmmaker/rocker pairing: "Ashes to Ashes"-era Bowie with David Mallet, Duran Duran's exotic forays with Russell Mulcahey, Chuck Statler with Devo. I'm firmly of the belief that if Reznor never hires anyone other than Romanek to give vision to the sound of Nine Inch Nails, we'd all benefit in the long run. Like Salvador Dali shilling for Coca-Cola, Romanek is "The Surreal Thing."
* Recent research has discovered that the link to Gorey is stronger than first thought; click here for the -- you'll pardon the pun -- "gorey details."
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