It’s a glorious time to be a goth, rivethead or leather-drenched 90’s sleazeball — Nine Inch Nails is touring again.
American industrial rock band Nine Inch Nails, headed by legendary multi-instrumentalists Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, recently announced the 2025 “Peel It Back” tour set to span across Canada, Europe and the United States.
This will be the band’s first tour since 2022, which featured a short run of cities across the US and UK.
Nine Inch Nails, first concieved in 1988, was the solo project of Trent Reznor, whose pulsating rhythms and acerbic lyricism straddled the line between the ascetic and hedonic.
Infused with a rough industrial slant, the works of NIN quickly solidified a unique, sensuous style.
He performed as the sole member of NIN until Atticus Ross officially joined in 2016, with the pair going on to produce award-winning scores for films like “The Social Network” and “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo.”
Cover for “Pretty Hate Machine” by Nine Inch Nails
The tour will kick off June 15 in Dublin, Ireland and end Sept. 19 in Los Angeles.
The band is set to rock Raleigh Sept. 5 at Lenovo Center, located just a short drive from NC State campus.
While no information has been made available about possible setlists, it’s likely NIN will be pulling straight from the classics. For both long-time fans and newbies, it’s certain to be a wild event.
Cover for "The Lonesome Crowded West" by Modest Mouse
I don’t remember how I found Modest Mouse, and maybe that part doesn’t matter. I just remember how I felt: lonely, disconnected, achy in that way only teenagers on the precipice of young adulthood can ache.
It was almost winter, and everything was crisping up and preparing for death. I trodded up and down the roadside, shapeless in layered flannels, and gave myself windburn.
I had no destination in mind; I would simply walk as far as the grass would take me, pretending I had some greater purpose. Occasionally, I’d listen to music.
I’m on my way to God don’t know
My brain’s the burger, and my heart’s the coal
I’m trying to get my head clear
I push things out through my mouth
I get refilled through my ears
“Heart Cooks Brain,” by Modest Mouse
“Heart Cooks Brain,” an ode to emotions dominating logic. The song sounded the way I felt: lumbering, wind-chapped and just a little pathetic. There was a thread of humor there, too, a shock of self-deprecation highly attractive to my melancholic teenage self.
The song came from Modest Mouse’s sophomore album, “The Lonesome Crowded West,” listed by Pitchfork as one of the greatest albums of the 1990s.
It’s a long album — with a runtime of over an hour — and despite its various stylistic shifts, it manages to maintain a cultivated sense of honest disillusionment throughout.
I think of dried out autumn leaves and the scent of car exhaust, or clumps of fur falling off a squirrel carcass. Ephemeral things. An orange sun dragging across a bleached-bone sky. The ineliminable passage of time. Nostaglia like a knife through your ribs.
When you’re a teenager, misery feels eternal. Time flows like concrete. Everything smarts like you’ve rubbed yourself raw with pumice. You put on eyeliner and pierce your own ears and buy a digicamera, because all of these things are Acts of Self-Actualization and they’re the only things you can do that seem to matter in your state of semi-powerlessness.
You’re a kid-but-not-quite, teetering on the precipice of ego death, writhing in your ill-fitting skin. You’re barely autonomous, and no one understands you, so you commune with radio waves. You look for salvation in strange places and in strange music. The act of listening transforms into the art of ritual and you keep the magic to yourself so no one can steal it.
Live in trailers with no class
Goddamn, I hope I can pass
High school means nothing
Taking heartache with hard work
Goddamn, I am such a jerk
I can’t do anything
“Trailer Trash,” by Modest Mouse
My friends didn’t “get” Modest Mouse, and I didn’t bother trying to make them understand. Sure, everybody knew “Float On,” but the band’s other stuff? Too abstract. Too weird.
Maybe they were right. Isaac Brock’s penchant for colorful metaphor — (“eating snowflakes with plastic forks“) — and reedy, sometimes staggering voice wasn’t for everyone. Especially in “The Lonesome Crowded West.”
The album wore many hats. Sometimes it was plain indie, slow-paced and stripped down (“Out of Gas“). Other times, it was almost punk (“Sh– Luck”) or straight-up folk (“Jesus Christ Was an Only Child“).
The multitextural quality of the album was one of its principal appeals. It wasn’t a cohesive narrative, per se, but it was like an impressionist painting; stepping back from the flurry of discordant brushstrokes revealed a harmonious picture.
Life gets lonelier when you’re an adult. The energy to sustain social relationships, let alone make new ones, is often far too finite. It often seems unsurmountable.
Over the summer, I moved to the country. As I puttered away from the city and through miles and miles of farmland, I felt lonelier than ever. Familiar landscapes and familiar people melted into sprawls of tobbacco fields and sunbleached barns.
In the first few weeks of the new semester, I spent these drives near tears, languishing in the agony of complete and utter solutide. My chest ached like a bruise. I felt as frivolously miserable as a teenager with a bad haircut. I was borderline inconsolable, on the verge of total breakdown.
So naturally, I cranked up the radio.
Out of gas, out of road
Out of car, I don’t know how I’m gonna go
I had a drink the other day
My opinions were like kittens, I was giving them away
“Out of Gas,” by Modest Mouse
The feeling of comfort I felt as a teenager returned as the album progressed. I hummed the chords as I drove farther and farther from the city. The lyrics were tired like I was tired, but the beat’s energy lured me away from that Edge of Young Adult Madness and into a state of tacit acceptance.
The idea of a “Lonesome Crowded West” is intentionally oxymoronic, and more real than ever. The breakdown of community leaves us isolated even as the bloated bellies of our cities progressively swell.
Whether it be the result of neoliberalism, socioeconomic instability, climate change or TikTok, the loneliness epidemic is rewriting the mechanics of our social culture and leaving young people fractured and disconnected.
I see the themes of “The Lonesome Crowded West” reflected in my own lonesome crowded East. We’re all overworked and overtired, watching the landscape be rendered unrecognizable in real time. We ache for lost familiarity and hunger for the new and exciting.
Things are different and things are the same in the best and worst ways. So it goes.
Cover for "Tea Time (Legacy)" by Porcelain Vivisection
It’s been a while since I’ve delved into some weird stuff. Not for lack of trying, though. The wells have simply dried up; or rather, I’ve been too busy ruminating in end-of-semester angst to seek out new weird stuff, let alone sit down and write about it.
But fortuitously, I’ve crossed paths with something truly unique, something so absurd that it’s yanked me from my pit of despair (and writer’s block). Wholly improvised, entirely unhinged and totally bizarre — the Soronprfbs made manifest — is the work of Porcelain Vivisection.
Let’s get into it.
Band From the Black Lagoon
My first encounter with Porcelain Vivisection was in the midst of a good late-night doomscroll session. As I flipped hastily through video after video, aggravating my chronic texter’s thumb, something jarring crossed my screen.
Bathed in technicolor lights, magnified by a fuzzy low-angle camera shot, was a man in a Gill-Man mask.
“I’m showing h–le,” was his guttural cry. “I’m showing h–le at the Waffle House.”
Normally, I’d write off such content as overdone memeage, but there was something different here.
Cover for “PURGATORY” by Porcelain Vivisection
The camera panned around the room to reveal a band — all Gill-Men — and the discord of plaintive saxophone, throbbing bass and disaffected drums became transformative.
I was reminded of Clown Core and its eccentric, self-contained universe. I thought of Frank, a movie that made me an insufferable teenager, and the off-the-cuff, highly metaphorical lyricism of the film’s eponymous character.
I was shocked to learn that what I was seeing wasn’t esoteric brainrot humor, but rather an actual music video from an actual band. I had to know more.
Punk Jazz
The Brooklyn-based band consists of comedian Neel Ghosh, guitarist Nick Sala and Asher Herzog. They’ve dropped two releases so far, a 24-minute dirge titled “PURGATORY” and a five-track album titled “Tea Time (Legacy).”
According to the band’s instagram, all of their work is entirely improvised. Their song that first captured me, “Showing H–le & Taco Bell Paint n Sip,” is a sprawl of eclectic jazz discordance. Sharp sounds and slogging rhythms become a vivid audiovisual texture.
Although Porcelain Vivisection tags their releases with the label “punk,” (as well as the more enigmatic “lizard”) I’d argue that they’re undeniably jazz. But maybe those two labels aren’t that different.
There isn’t much information publicly available about the enigmatic group (a trait I’ve always found fascinating in alternative bands), which only deepens their sense of “lore.”
I find myself endlessly intrigued by all of it: the carnality of “vivisection,” the grimy musicality paired with sweaty shirtless bodies and the unexplained Gill-Man motif. I suspect there’s a level of (possibly metaphysical) cleverness behind it, or a brand of expertly-contrived nonsense only derived from artists. It’s absurd. It’s philosophical. It’s Porcelain Vivisection.
When I found out Machine Girl was coming to Raleigh, I jumped on tickets so early the openers hadn’t even been announced yet. I sat on those tickets for months, biding my time until the moment of actualization: November 8 at Raleigh’s Lincoln Theatre.
To put it plainly, I wasn’t disappointed — Machine Girl’s performance was riveting, and I haven’t stopped thinking of it since.
Everything about the event was infused with the characteristic uncanniness I’ve come to associate with Machine Girl: spooky fog, strong ambient lighting and buckets upon buckets of sweat.
Stephenson’s stage presence — irreverent, eccentric and interactive — and a melange of chaotic beats and dizzying strobes churned the audience into a frenzy.
I like to say I was fighting for my life in that crowd, the crush of bodies sending those of us in the first two rows sprawling over the barricade. Everyone was desperate to get closer to the music, to reach out and touch Stephenson as he did his rounds about the stage.
I was positively delighted. After catching Machine Girl as the opening act for 100 Gecs back in 2023 and finding myself sufficiently enraged by the audience’s chilly reception to their set, it was a welcome change of pace to see some actual excitement.
The setlist was a perfect compilation of the best of “MG Ultra” and older classics, opening with “…Because I’m Young Arrogant and Hate Everything You Stand For” from the 2017 album of the same name.
“MG Ultra” is a truly inspired release, a pesudo-time capsule for the rollercoaster that is 2024.
The setlist even featured “Dance in the Fire” from the May 2024 EP “SUPER FREQ”
Like the music, Stephenson was ever-moving: dangling off the edge of the stage; dripping sweat into the audience; a languid wrist anointing fans with a cascade of Great Value bottled water.
We loved it. And we absolutely pummeled the living daylights out of each other.
A fellow showgoer’s cell phone video captures Stephenson emerging from the foggy aether of the stage to recieve a sacred gift — a Magic: The Gathering card — which he tosses onto the stage with a sardonic (and long-suffering) flair. An outright mystical exchange, heightened only by the gloomy synths rumbling in the background.
At one point, he darted into the audience for a rendition of “Motherfather,” climbing the stairs to the upper-level seating and balancing precariously on the railing, all while screaming into the mic.
The set ended with “Psychic Attack,” one of the top tracks from “MG Ultra.”
Later returning for an encore, Stephenson pulled out another “MG Ultra” track, “Cicadas,” and — one of my all-time favorites — “Scroll of Sorrow,” from the 2020 album “U-Void Synthesizer.”
By the end of the show, we were all run ragged. I’d lost a bracelet, several of my friends had been cut up (presumably by studs and spikes) in the pit and we all dreamed desperately of cool air and bottled water.
It’s a crazy time for chronically online queer youths. Not only is Machine Girl hitting the stage at Raleigh’s Lincoln Theatre Nov 8, but they’ll be accompanied by iconic and much-beloved egg punk outfit Snooper and alt-tronic Kill Alters.
If you’re somehow out of the loop, here’s what you need to know:
Machine Girl
New York-based alternative electronic duo Machine Girl has maintained a chokehold in the breakcore and “internet music” scenes for several years now.
Winning my heart with their penchant for paper mache, Snooper is delightfully silly.
Hailing from Nashville, these colorful egg-punkers pride themselves on wild, high-energy performances and their iconic insect mascot.
Snooper’s music is like the headrush after downing a drink, mind-melding, sensory and distorted. Music ideal for scuttling around like a bug.
Kill Alters
Crashing electronic band Kill Alters is an experimental, archival project lead by Bonnie Baxter. Dark, obscure and pulsating like a diseased heart, the group’s music is an acquired taste a la Throbbing Gristle and/or Xiu Xiu.
I’m interested in seeing how the group’s work translates into live performance.
Final Thoughts
Though I anticipate the Lincoln Theatre will transform into a veritable onion patch, I’m eager to experience certain death (and dehydration) amid a frenzy of Tripp pants, studded wrist bracelets and dyed hair.
Composed of cigarette smoke sighs and technicolor lights flashing across the lenses of sunglasses, the music of French Police is jaunty and moody — disaffected and brimming with emotion, slow-moving and riveting — a wine-smooth melange of perfectly married contradictions.
I’ve loved them since “Clock Man” and “Club De Vampiros” first crossed my path, and jumped at the opportunity to see them live — finally, I might add, after watching them tour the west coast for years — in Carrboro.
Cover for “Pedaleo Nocturno” by French Police
The Show
The venue was awash in showgoers clad in the stylistics of 2014 Tumblr: leather jackets over tight black pants or stockings, feet clad in shiny black boots and dark hair scalded with a flat iron.
A tang of cigarettes and clove cologne was thick on the air. Part of me wondered if I’d accidentally wandered into an Arctic Monkeys gig. Then I spotted it: a merch table decked out with a pair of women’s underwear, the words “FRENCH POLICE” emblazoned across the backside. That’s when I knew I was in the right place.
Cover for “BULLY” by French Police
I attempted to take a photo of the crowd for posterity’s sake, but their clothing rendered them something of a shapeless mass. Maybe it was better that way. When French Police took the stage — dressed all in black, eyes concealed by moody shades — the audience became a dusky, rolling sea.
Exuberant beats, thrumming basslines and the breathy vocals of Brian Flores transformed the backroom into a vivid musical space.
The audience swayed in unison, excitement and jubilation spilling over into cheers as the band flowed through all of our favorite songs, devil-may-care, strutting languid across the stage. It was dreamlike, soaking in the sonorous beats of one of my favorite bands, watching them live and breathe just feet away.
It was a sweet show. Nothing crazy, just pure adoration. And sometimes that’s all you need.
A sin perhaps more grievous than my admission of being a fan of The Garden is that I’ve waited almost a month to sit down and consume their latest singles.
The Garden, an experimental (that’s one way to put it) rock band hailing from Orange County, defines itself with punk-infused, eclectic sounds that continually push the bounds of genre, a concept the band refers to as “Vada Vada,” the name of the “universe” in which all The Garden tracks diegetically exist.
The band got its start in 2013 with the debut album “The Life and Times of a Paperclip,” and has continued to develop its sound since, gaining massive popularity — and some infamy — in the alternative scene.
Cover for “Mirror Might Steal Your Charm” by The Garden
Although labeled by many as a “TikTok music,” The Garden’s work has great artistic merit. Earlier releases like “Call This # Now” and “🙁” (from the album “Mirror Might Steal Your Charm“) are instrumentally and aesthetically robust, towing the line between garage punk and straight-up avant-garde.
While The Garden has played with various flavors of “strange punk music,” their most recent album, “Horsesh– On Route 66” represented what I consider to be an archetypal “The Garden style,” laden with bizarre soundbytes, silly sound effects and grunge-tinged vocals.
Cover for “Horsesh– on Route 66” by The Garden
I’ll be honest: after soaking in the release of “Route 66,” I wondered if The Garden had already reached the extent of its capabilities. The Shears brothers’s respective side projects, Puzzle and Enjoy, were comparatively more prolific than The Garden. I wouldn’t have been surprised if The Garden announced a split after the completion of their “Route 66” tour.
Thus, it was a great surprise when the band dropped two singles — teasers for another album titled “Six Desperate Ballads” — within a few months of each other.
“Filthy Rabbit Hole”
Probably the closest The Garden has gotten thus far to capturing the classic punk sounds of the 80s, “Filthy Rabbit Hole” is laden with vigorous, distorted guitar.
The California-tinged vocals of Wyatt Shears ground the track in nostalgic, almost beachy garage-rock and the simple and repetitive lyrics — “I’m blacked out/ I’m back down” — are fun and rhythmic. While not a particularly “inspired” song, it’s got a catchy and danceable beat.
“Ballet”
My favorite of the two releases, “Ballet” is something of a club anthem: electronic, upbeat and hypnotically syncopated.
Vocal duties shift between Wyatt and Fletcher, with various soundbytes woven throughout. While “Ballet” and “Filthy Rabbit Hole” differ drastically in style, they have complementary elements — a similarly gritty, grunge-filtered quality — that makes them work. I’m interested in seeing where these two tracks fit in the full album.
I’ll be honest: I haven’t been doing a great job scoping out new music. As I wade deeper into what will hopefully be my final year of undergrad, I find comfort in returning to the classics and playing the same three songs by The Smiths over and over again just to feel something.
I’ve managed to drag myself away from “Hatful of Hollow” long enough to compose an assortment of sick new releases by various much-beloved artists to kick off the start of the fall season.
“Infinite Fear Jets” by IAMX
Formerly of the acid-tinged cool kids band Sneaker Pimps, Chris Corner’s newest release continues to push IAMX in a vivid new direction.
“Infinite Fear Jets” maintains the moody seduction typical of an IAMX track, but Corner leans heavily into mesmerizing electronic beats infused with r&b rhythm. The track’s bright and gyrating, landing closer to pop than darkwave on the musical spectrum.
Cover for “Fault Lines²” by IAMX
I totally dig this release. It’s got the kind of energy that pulls you in and leaves you to revel in an expanse of fun and danceable music, and Corner’s penchant for experimentation and the evocation of intense moods really shines through.
“Something is Wrong” by Melted Bodies
Grungy, nu-metal-ly and purely raucous, “Something is Wrong” is a track infused with foreboding, angst and absolutely sick guitar.
I’ve always been intrigued by the incongruous and eccentric sounds of Melted Bodies, and “Something is Wrong” proves to be just that — incongruous and eccentric; a song in multiple acts, weaving in and out of genres with seamless precision. And that guitar — chainsaw-sweet and growling like a wild animal — ties it all together.
“Kiltro” by Kiltro
There’s always an undercurrent of sadness in the music of Denver-based alt folk band Kiltro. The reverberating acoustic quality of their music is rivaled only by the work of vocalist Chris Bowers Castillo, whose lyricism weaves together a brilliant musical tapestry.
Cover for “Kiltro” by Kiltro
“Kiltro,” though written before Kiltro’s inception, captures the core essence of the band. An homage to Castillo’s hometown, the song is tinged with nostalgia so intense it hurts, conveyed so beautifully there are few words to truly capture its impact.
Cover for "Marie / Chronicles of a needful being" by Theatre's Kiss
German darkwave artist Theatre’s Kiss has once again cultivated an astoundingly gothic post-punk album. Let’s talk about it.
An Artificer of Atmosphere
Since I first stumbled upon Theatre’s Kiss in 2020, I’ve remained entranced by their atmospheric melancholia.
Everything about the musical project is intentional, from its black metal-inspired aesthesis to its esoteric lyricism. While separate albums retain a distinct “vibe,” there’s a characteristic Theatre’s Kiss flair throughout — a flair for the enigmatic, emotional and elaborate.
Logo for the artist Theatre’s Kiss
“It’s all about atmosphere,” is the artist’s adage. “Nothing else matters.”
It’s clear that the project, headed by the corpse-painted Fassse Lua, comes from the heart. And its newest installment is no exception.
Suppress Your Memories
“Marie / Chronicles of a needful being,” is the official second chapter of the Theater’s Kiss musical universe and, according to Fassse Lua, a passion project.
Described as a tribute to The Cure — specifically the album “Faith” — “Marie” is about “the fear of being alone and dealing with yourself.”
The story of “Marie,” a character teased in the March EP “II,” is that of a girl’s descent into addiction.
“From that moment on,” Fassse Lua says in an Instagram post, “there’s no turning back. In her addiction, she longs for the moments that allow her to forget everything.”
This idea comes to the forefront with the album’s first track, “Fluch,” or “Curse.”
Into the day Masquerade mode on Routines that push me into…
Inhale the death
Supress your memories Embrace the agony
“Fluch” by Theatre’s Kiss
What I find interesting about this release, as opposed to albums like “Self-Titled” and “Liedensmeloiden,” is the volume of information presented to the audience.
I’ve always been intrigued by the mysterious and borderline-elusive nature of Fassse-Lua, the unnamed — and basically un-faced — progenitor of such trancingly woeful beats.
For the most part, the audience is expected to infer the meaning behind various tracks.
For “Marie,” however, we’re granted not just context, but a storyline. And for me, that completely transforms the listening experience.
Endless Sorrow
Constructed so as to give the impression of a single, continuous song, “Marie” represents a waxxing and waning of misery as the album’s titular character struggles to reconcile with her declining mental health.
Some tracks are moody, laden with drums and despondent strings (“Pillows of Repression”) while others are light and airy, reminiscent of the soft sadness seen in “Self-Titled” (“Numb”).
The more prevalent use of drums also gives the album a distinct post-punk edge, as opposed to the darkwave vibes of earlier projects.
Reading through each song’s lyrics adds another layer of intrigue. For example, we learn in “Peer Pressure” that it was Marie’s romantic partner who served as her entrypoint into drug use.
Our first try ruined everything
We gave up on ourselves We thought of nobody else What we had in common was the painful urge
“Peer Pressure” by Theatre’s Kiss
There’s simply so much to talk about with this album. To avoid writing a dissertation, I’ll finish with an assessment of my favorite track off the album: “Deceased Dreams.”
Alternating between jangly, ethereal energy and the utterly dour, “Deceased Dreams” represents the sudden crush of hard-hitting reality. But rather than deliver a barrage of punches, it presents an esoteric dance.
What I really love about this track is its sudden deluge into German — the first instance of its kind across the span of Theatre’s Kiss — and the perfectly sweet vocals of Fassse Lua to go along with it.
Final Thoughts
While I’m not sure “Marie” is my favorite project by Theatre’s Kiss, it’s certainly the most interesting.
The album’s development of a diegesis through lyricism and imagery is exciting in a way not many artists can deliver.
I find myself playing detective, piecing together bits of information to try and uncover the bigger picture. Perhaps that was Lua’s intention, or perhaps the true enigma of “Marie” comes from its personal roots.
Either way, I look forward to traversing more of this lyrical world.
In an effort to become more of a musical elitist, I’ve started collecting cassettes.
Not just any cassettes, but obscure punk cassettes.
The most recent tape I got my hands on, “Aluminum-Free” by a band aptly named Deodorant, was release #4 of a collective known as Open Palm Tapes, a Chicago-based punk label and distro dedicated to “the sh–t that slaps.”
Open Palm Tapes has a cultivated image, with a strong DIY ethos evidenced by zine-style graphics and eggy illustrations. Deodorant — debuting with their 2018 LP “Smells Good” — is but one of many bands affiliated with the Open Palm.
Poster included with “Aluminum Free” EP cassette
Part of what attracted me to Deodorant — aside from the $3 price tag — was the eclectic artwork on the tape sleeve, which featured a collage of photographic images, illustrations and the beloved male leads from the 2019 film “The Lighthouse.”
A write-up by Ralph Rivera Jr. characterizes Deodorant thusly:
“…Deodorant: organic, time-tested, mother approved, Aluminum Free. Guaranteed to upwrench and unclench the stench of monotony from yer fetid pits, leaving only the Phunkiest of Pheromones behind.”
The “Phunk”
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I fed the tape into my cassette player, but the garage rock-infused freestyle rap of “Bunta Groovin’ / Boast Mk. II” certainly was not it.
It’s not uncommon for punk tracks to feature spoken word — Uranium Club, for instance, makes ample use of it — but Deodorant’s intentional rhyme scheme and old school flow was an unequivocal punk take on rap.
Laden with references to punk rock ethos (“smash the fash and them blue lives bastards now”) and subversions of opulence (“I’m slamming in some Gucci hand-me-downs”)
Cover for “Smells Good” by Deodorant
Conversely, track three (“Top”) followed the prototype of punk spoken word — rhyme and flow coming secondary to lyrical content, with instrumental backing serving as the figurative “spinal cord” — before devolving into genre-characteristic chaos.
The prior track, a viciously garagey guitar slant titled “King Samo,” kept up the EP’s frenetic energy.
Other tracks, like “Deodorant vs. Son of Baconator” and “Guitar Hero World Tour” smack of classic garage punk, ridden with distortion and maddening guitar riffs.
