Nine Inch Nails
The Slip

THE REVIEW

20/10/2009 Somewhere in the Canadian forest.

I remained in oblivion for some time: I didn't want to believe it... No, it's not possible, but alas, reality is often much worse than one might expect. I had thought of kidnapping him and then shooting him in the head like you do with a lame horse, but then I had a revelation, struck on the road to Damascus like a cat by the headlights of a truck. I had to redeem him, at all costs. Now he's here, tied to a chair hand and foot with packing tape, naked, 2 electrodes per testicle, the kind used for electrostimulation: a kind souvenir I took from the worm's house. I have him here before me, my idol, Trent Reznor, Mister Self-Destruction, with a ball of rags in his mouth, as if he were a Sardinian porceddu. It was easy to get him to open the door, just offering him some anabolic steroids... Oh my, what a misery, a blow to the head and off to the green woods of the north.

Me: "You've finally woken up, slept well?"

TR: "Oh... the head, who the hell... AAAAAHHH!!!!" (double shock to the balls)

Me: "Shut up, worm, you just need to listen and do what I say. Remember I'm doing this for your own good, pretend you're in Rehab."

TR: "But you're insane, you asshole!!! You're going to make me impotent!!! AAAAAHHH!!!" (second shock to the balls, this time longer; with stubborn animals, that's how it goes)

Me: "I have to admit it's an idea that crossed my mind and remains valid should you prove reluctant to cooperate. You know why you're here, dumbass. You can't deceive people. First, you're a god of music dropping lightning bolts and philosopher's stones, then you go to a clinic to detox... You make us wait years and return pumped up like Mr. Clean and with a crap CD like With Teeth... I would have liked to throw it at your teeth. Time goes by, I'm kind, and I forgive you and..."

TR: "Ok... please... let me go... I'm your idol, right? I won't report you, agreed? I can pay you... NO DAMN!!! NOT THE SHOCKS!!!!AAAAAHHH!!!"

Me: "It doesn't seem like you understand. I'm not interested in your money; I just want you to return to being the artist you once were. You can't go from collaborating with people like Bowie or Foetus and then end up with scum like Grohl and maybe even... Do you know Gabry Ponte? Let's leave that aside. Anyway, the story continues... Our hero comes out with a new album: Year Zero ta-dan! I must admit you know how to create suspense... spreading USBs at the concerts, the codes to enter... Nice packaging too... But I'm sorry to inform you that shit even if well-wrapped remains shit....at most feces, or at worst guano..."

TR: "Ouch... Come on, it wasn't that bad!!! Hyperpower! God Given... SurvivAAAAAHHH!!!"

Me: "I told you to shut up. And anyway, they're just isolated episodes in a sea of desolation. Too often I've found myself skipping tracks out of boredom... And then even that kind of rap at the end... Ghosts I-IV comes out and WOW!!!, you make me reconsider!!! All instrumental tracks, but such atmospheres!!! The old Trent has been found, by Diana!!!...But what you shouldn't have done, what you absolutely shouldn't have done, was release that piece of crap Ep of The Slip DAMN!!! Can't you restrain yourself!!! Since you were at it, you could have called it The Shit!!! At least you would have been consistent. But where the hell were you when you produced it, in the gym lifting 120kg of weights?!! Extremely pompous music and nonexistent lyrics at worst and repetitions of already heard and re-heard motifs at best!!! I'd really give you a Head Like A Hole but with a .44 Magnum and the downward spiral you only see now when you flush... You're in a bad place... very bad..."

TR: "You're crazy... You're sickOOOOOHHH!!!!" (another shock, reeeeally long....)

I take out the pupil dilator and turn on the PC and projector, with A Clockwork Orange as the ideal handbook for the treatment I want to adopt on the patient: a single file, looped endlessly with Media Player, containing all the good videos of the Good Trent in sequence. One sole aim to cure or die.

Me: "You'll see, at first, it will be a bit tough but then you'll understand and think of this period as a restorative vacation. I'll come once a day to give you a drip, the bare minimum... Mom says you need to lose all those useless bulges you have on your body... The sooner you learn, the sooner it will end."

TR: "Oh... No... Please don't leave me here... I beg you..." (I don't even hear him, with the background of "Wish" filling the room...)

I close the door.

(P.S. After a month, the patient made it necessary to start a Valium cycle since he was mumbling disconnected phrases like "Mmmmhhh... Where's myyy... 20kg dumbbbbbell...". I'm optimistic about the progress made. We mustn't give up. He can do it... Maybe.)

You might ask: "Where's the review of The Slip?"
It is exactly this.
NOTHING.