Yesterday I was reading the local paper (don’t ask me why I still do this) and noticed that Nine Inch Nails and Soundgarden were playing a concert at the Chula Vista Ampitheater, formerly Coors Ampitheater, now Sleep Train Ampitheater, which is rather embarrassing to even say. I knew NIN was my daughter’s favorite band. We’ve been under a lot of stress packing and getting ready to move so I casually ask her “Want to see Nine Inch Nails?” Of course, she does. “When is it?” TONIGHT.
I get online and find 4th row tickets for a shockingly reasonable price. I purchase them and follow it up with an online chat with a representative about the logistics of receiving them. She says she’ll call me back after she gets with the seller. I go back to packing. Time goes on. I finally check my email and there are 3 increasingly urgent messages from the ticket people. I call. They are very sorry, but they can’t fulfill the order. They will give me a discount coupon worth $50.
I find tickets that are VIP access in the mysterious row d, not D. I call and no one seems to know where this is. I figure with VIP parking, they’re probably good. I purchase them. I call to find out the logistics of receiving the tickets and am told that I can be emailed the tickets, but I won’t get any of the VIP privileges. Oh, and d was a typo, it’s row D or the 4th row again. They offer me $100 off or 3 extra tickets, but I decide it’s all kind of odd and decline.
By now it’s 4 p.m. The concert is at 7 p.m. and I still don’t have any tickets. For the same price as the mysterious VIP tickets, I find 2 front row seats that can be emailed to me. I buy them and follow up with a phone call. I get a delightful representative in Texas who is wondering why someone my age (over 30) is going to see NIN. Gee, thanks? Uh, they’ve been around awhile and “older” folks do go to concerts.
Finally, I get the tickets and we race to the border to the concert venue. Race? If 10-20 mph traffic for 35 miles can be called that. Then we were subjected to a full pat-down and purse search before being allowed in. Was I attending a rap concert in an inner city by mistake?
We missed early opening act Cold Cave and they’re setting up for Soundgarden. We are in front row, center seats! To our right is a beer drinking couple who probably wouldn’t cause trouble if you paid them. They were quiet, shy and had their tickets for months. The man professed to be a fan for 20 years of NIN, but had never listened to Hesitation Marks, NIN’s newest effort. My daughter said just contemplating that made her mad and that he shouldn’t have even come to the concert. Judgmental? Us? Then there was the duo on our left, a female lawyer and her male makeup artist friend who she always introduced, repeatedly, as “my GAY friend.” How about just “friend?”
Soundgarden played an eleven song set, for which I was enthusiastic for about seven. I knew a lot more of their music than I thought I would, including the one that seems to stick in my mind most, Black Hole Sun, perhaps because I had to hear (and hate) it so much.
The lead singer, Chris Cornell, was Mick Jagger thin in the de rigour tight jeans, t-shirt and poodle mop hair.
Lead guitar was Kim Thayil, ranked 100th greatest guitar player of all time by Rolling Stone magazine.
His bass man was Ben Shepherd, who spent most of the concert looking immensely bored, randomly knocking over things or swinging some type of plastic rope, kind of like a fat sadomasochist. At the end, he just chucked his bass over his shoulder onto the floor. I know it was the last concert of a long tour, but still.
After men in black swarmed the stage to transition it for Nine Inch Nails, out comes a small man in a black skirt/legging outfit and he starts playing “Copy of A.” That’s Trent Reznor? I think. We’d seen NIN in LA at the Staples Center last year, but we were in the nosebleed section. Up close, it’s a whole different world.
The energy, the nonstop music and beat of a fabulous seventeen song set made the whole experience feel like we’d only been listening for five minutes. It was fun to watch Trent’s young stage hand jump up and down from the stage with microphones, water bottles, wires and more. The concert was dotted with calls (typically by men) of “I LOVE you, Trent!” and wafts of weed. What photos I could get were lucky because smoke and burn your retinas lighting was a prime factor in the production. Not fun was getting splashed with a large glass of beer someone decided to chuck at the stage and having a glowering mountain of a security guy occasionally plant himself in front of me, typically when I was about to get a pretty good photo.
Of note, Trent sang “Closer,” which he had gotten bored with, but brought back for his fans on what might be his last tour for awhile. He closed it out with “Hurt,” from his Downward Spiral album. It’s a song filled with emotional loss and his pain radiated off of him as he sang it, tears in his eyes. Or maybe sweat. I’m not sure.
At the close, after I complimented the stage hand on his hard work, he gave Kat a copy of the NIN set list as a souvenir.
The concert was exactly what we needed to renew our energy and take us away from the daily grind of life. I now have a taste for front row seats and life is going to be an expensive, but fun, proposition.