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A lot of people on here sound like my one of my friends, for whom Sonisphere was his first live experience of NIN. He went off on a long tirade about how Trent was "arrogant" for putting on a set like that. I might have argued back, but I was too busy experiencing an endless wave of euphoria from what I had just witnessed.
I never thought, in my wildest dreams, that I would get to see a set of such intimacy, such poignancy and such emotional depth from my favourite band of all time. Regardless of the band, these sort of sets only usually happen at small, unannounced gigs in tiny venues, where the guy at the back of the crowd can shake hands with the band without stretching. To get it at a FESTIVAL?! Unexpected, unforgettable and utterly unique.
I don't care in the slightest that some people didn't like it and care even less that you feel the need to tell the rest of us how disappointed you were. This was, to me, a perfect set.
By that, I do NOT mean it is the exact setlist I would have chosen to hear, as it is not. Not by a long shot. My set list would include The Perfect Drug, Just Like You Imagined, The Great Destroyer and about a dozen others that didn't get played.
The problem, I think is that that's how most people think of a gig - as a series of songs, nothing more. People might go so far as to give some sort of shape to a gig, normally defined by volume - i.e. loud beginning, quiet middle section, loud ending, encore of biggest hits -, but don't really appreciate that a gig can have a life, a meaning and an emotion of its own, totally seperate from the individual tracks.
To me, this gig felt like a whispered farewell, intended just for me and for those like me, perhaps like the end of the film Lost in Translation. Unlike the film, though, the whisper could be heard by everyone else, so I imagine it felt a little bit like eavesdropping on a private conversation to some.
I have never usually been the sort to fantasise about some sort of imagined closeness between myself and the performers on stage (none of this "I looooooove you, Trent!" nonsense - I've never met the man), but for a moment, just for a moment, the crowds, the heat, the chatter and the stench of bad food and worse toilets all disappeared. All that was left was this lonely figure, sheltering his sunburn, and the icon of music he has respected all his life, taking his hand, embracing him as a friend, saying his final goodbye and exiting, stage right.
Goodbye, Trent and thankyou for the memories
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