loving pretty hate

One of the most formative albums of my angst-filled youth turned twenty this week.

TWENTY!

The news has completely knocked me off-balance, leaving me with a flood of emotions, many happy hours spent rocking out in my car and a compelling desire to contact everyone I knew during those days to share the shock and appreciation.

The news makes me want to fall to my knees and weep. Weep with longing, with regret, with joy, with shock, with wonder, with gratitude.

I’m sad. Wistful. And completely gob-smacked.

Twenty years.

I was 18 when I was introduced to the greatness that was and still is Nine Inch Nails. I am still a die-hard fan. His music is still as good today as it ever was; but pretty hate? Pretty hate has my heart. There is no greater song than ‘sin’ and no better album to belt out at the top of your lungs.

Here’s the thing about the album: it’s still as good today as it ever was. This album and Trent Reznor in general was well ahead of its time. I don’t think I’m understating it to say that it was unparalleled in its brilliance. Sure, downward spiral is what put NIN on the map, but pretty hate told them how to get there.

I have been telling everyone I know “Hey, pretty hate machine is 20 years old.” I am mostly met with blank stares. Most of the people I tell have no idea who or what that is, nor what it means to me. And if they have heard of it, they could really care less.

I hate it. I want to grab them by their scrawny ignorant little necks and shake some sense and appreciation into them.

“PRETTY HATE MACHINE CHANGED MY LIFE, DAMNIT!”

But what good would that do? You either get it or you don't.

Pretty Hate Machine, you had me at Head Like A Hole.
Trent Reznor, you are a musical genius.
Friends, old & new, listen to this album today/this week/forever and tip your hat/rip your shirt/ wallow in your own self-loathing.

This is what it’s all about.