My account!
BEFORE:
Like everyone else I only got 2 hours sleep, so being out of bed at 4am to take a bath and check that I had packed everything in the right bag was more than a little excruciating. Nevertheless, I managed to make it onto the Megabus at 7:30am, nipping into the newsagent's on the way to pick up a copy of Kerrang and take a peek at Scarlet Page's shots of le Reznor. Which are fantastic, obviously. The thwapping of groupies commenced on Wednesday morning.
I arrived in London at around 10:30am after dozing through most of the uncomfortable bus trip. Cheap travel ain't never gonna be pleasant, but you'd think they'd do a little more in terms of leg space, or smaller seats or something along those lines. But anyway, it was off the bus and into Victoria coach station, ambling my way along the concrete and across the road and through the shopping mall, navigating my constantly ringing mobile phone and brick-laden travel bag until I reached the train station. The self-service machines were out of order and the lines for the main ticket clerks were crammed to bursting (it was at this point I started muttering “I fucking hate London”. Having no change, I bought a packet of sweets in WH Smith's with a 20 pound note, only to find I was lacking the pound coin that would be necessary to buy the god-damned travel card. Crossed over, changed up another piece of paper currency and finally managed to purchase an all-day 6 zone travel card.
Phillipe was waiting (and had been waiting) beneath the clock in Waterloo station. No one else seemed to be turning up, and I had a phone call from Danni saying that people had beaten us to the front of the queue, so we ditched Waterloo station, travelling across the Northern Line and out of Tottenham Court Rd Station, amidst the confusion of people on their high street shopping missions, to spin around the corner and plonk our asses on the concrete for the next seven-to-eight hours.
People began to gradually turn up, and I got hopped up on sugar sweets. Melvin, the local drunk who is allegedly a permanent fixture outside the venue, walked the queue, either with a bottle of piss-water beer or a large black rubbish bag in one hand, throwing himself at taxi cabs and yelling out random phrases to make the queuing kids laugh (presumably for attention or money for more beer, or both). Fans turned up in their hundreds, be it gothed to the max, or dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt. Touts began to creep around the barriers, yelling out for spare tickets. Bootleg t-shirts went on sale, complete with the shitty flame NIN logo that appeared on the Astoria website. Us at the front of the queue swapped tit-bits of information about gigs and Nine Inch Nails.
The queue had snaked around the corner by 5pm, the barrier at the front had been pushed and pulled back and forth a fair few times. Everyone had visited either the Chinese place around the corner or the sandwich shop across the road or the toilet at least once. My feet hurt like hell. The Astoria security began to get restless and looked a little stressed out, and the queue was practically bouncing off the walls. People passing the venue would stop and stare, taking pictures of the “sold out” sign with their mobile phones, or even the fans themselves. Melvin persisted, stinking like a bag of trash in the Louisiana sun.
Finally, finally, it was time to go in. I rushed my way through the pat down, bolted up the stairs, through into the main area, and clung to the barrier for dear life, managing to get a slightly right-of-center position. I don't think anyone that hadn't been there before was expecting such a small venue. For example, it was roughly the size of my secondary school hall give or take a little extra and a balcony. The space between the barrier and Trent's mike stand was...oh...about a meter or two.
THE DRESDEN DOLLS:
It didn't take long for the Dresden Dolls to take to the stage, and even less than that to blow me away. They walked on, bowed to the audience and moved to their respective instruments. Since the White Stripes emerged, I've always regarded two piece bands as being a bit...well, crap. Not so with this pair. Unlike the Stripes, their music has a bounce and depth to it, and their stage presence more than doubles that amplification. Amanda has the nickname “octopus legs” for a good reason – although it's far sexier than you would imagine. She wore a smallish dress, no bra, unshaven armpits, and white striped stockings; writhing those legs everywhere. Back, forth, up, down, in time with the music, she contains an unashamed feminine strength that is enviable, from those legs to the hoarse vocals that definitely do not pour out of any mp3 you can find on the internet. Brian was similarly fantastic, a little bolder than Amanda was, whose nerves didn't affect her performance, but restrained her from speaking to the crowd much. Who would blame her? Trent was standing to the side, along with a few other NIN members, watching them perform live for the first time ever. I'd be nervous too. But as I said, Brian was continually bold and dramatic, mouthing along to the lyrics, striking cat-like poses over the kit, his bowler hat coming loose halfway through the set because of the definite speed of the way he hit his drums. Who said drummers had to stay in their seat?
It was in whole, a bare-bones performance with the strongest songs and a consistent, albeit slightly nervous, stage presence. Fuck you to anyone who wants to complain otherwise.
NIN:
Oh yeh baby. What can you say about the main act when the main act pulls off the show in exactly the way you needed them to? The intro melded into two new songs (Love is not Enough/Know What You Are) and then straight into March of the Pigs, which I think nearly everyone was waiting to hear. Trent rolled his eyes, grinned, bounced around, wielded a guitar like a woodsman with his axed, lifted his top, licked sweat from around his mouth (SCWEAM!)...one of the most pleasant things about the recent gigs is how happy he seems to be on stage. There's no sense of negativity, just good natured palling around. Aaron North swung his guitar around like a gymnast, not out of control but completely IN control, only breaking the tight grip to smash his guitar against the amp, sending splintered pieces of wood and wire into the audience because it wasn't doing what he needed it to. His antics didn't interrupt the music, it just added to the experience. The camaraderie between Reznor and North was brother-like. You'd never have guessed that North only joined the band a few months ago.
Alessandro was pretty inconspicuous at the back, with his expensive MODULAR SYNTH and the guitar I actually didn't see him play (although others said he did, so it was more a case of me not being very observant). Jeordie hung out in the corner, occasionally bending his guitar around, but all in all not causing too much trouble. Jerome did such an awesome job, I barely noticed him. In terms of both of the gigs, all eyes were on Trent and Aaron.
The state of things at the front barrier was pressured. People were elbowing their way into my interior organs, and despite linking arms with the lovely black haired lady beside me (one that had been waiting since 6am), I was slowly being pushed out. I began to feel sick, especially with one bitch's elbow in my face. I came close to stabbing her in the face with the pen I was using to write the set list down, but as I began to feel the need to projectile vomit over Rob Sheridan and my arm began to numb out, I figured it was time to get the fuck out of there. Unable to go backwards, I had to get security to yank me out. Now, I'm not fat any more, yet it took THREE OF THEM to prise me out of the crowd as Burn began. Thus, I retreated to the back of the room to hang out by the stairs and watch the rest of the show from a safe position. Ironically, the next song was Gave Up. Hah.
AFTERWARDS:
Battling through the sweaty crowd and past the sea of bad bootleg t-shirts, 99% of them with the wrong logos (and people actually BOUGHT THEM), the collective ETS group reconvened against the blank wall across the road from where we queued, completely fucked out of our skulls. Deciding not to stalk le Reznor, we waited for everyone to emerge from the venue, and then took the train/taxi home for stupid amounts of money.
Continued here...
how can you complain! shed a few tears during hurt i must admit. not really good at reviewing so lets just say that was one of the best nights of my life! i couldnt believe how small the venue was.. roll on birmingham! now to put ice on my pit bruises...
).
. Sucks for everyone right behind though.
), Even Deeper - all sounded awesome. The Hand That Feeds, Line begins to blur were great, really sharp when performed live. Set wasn't as long nor as varied as i' had envisioned, but oh well 
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I love those two.
