Chalk up another one for image iconoclasm. With one smash album on the charts and another on the way, the strange case of the Nine Inch Brass Nails is making headlines from Hollywood to Hong Kong. And a case of two artists following their own instincts in the face of public skepticism rarely has proved so fulfilling.
The unlikely story began in early March of 1995. Reznor, burned out and exhausted after a full year of touring behind his megahit The Downward Spiral, had begun to question whether or not he should even release another record. "I just wanted to step back and rethink what Nine Inch Nails was all about," he says. "But I'd gotten so hypersensitive to how 'the fans' or 'the cool people' would react that all I could see happening was me landing on my ass."
He thought he'd like to bring something new to his music, perhaps incorporating his early love for the saxophone. "I was looking for a collaborator who spoke that language, someone who'd be comfortable with unconventional ideas," he says. At the same time, "it was important to me that whoever I did work with wouldn't try to intimidate me in the studio. Or try to get into my pants. You have no fucking idea how old that gets. So there were some pretty tough preconditions right there."
Then an Internet-fueled rumor about a new NIN album came to Reznor's attention. "Apparently, there were these two chicks with Usenet accounts and too much time on their hands who thought it would be cool to tell everyone who'd listen that Herb Alpert was producing the next record," he recalls. "Well, it was a pretty good laugh at first. But upon further reflection, I decided maybe the Geek Sisters had a point."
Meanwhile, Alpert was getting bored with solo work and looking for a new genre in which to re-explore his own first love, Mexican brass. He'd seen the video for the NIN hit "Closer" on MTV and "thought these guys were really onto something," he says. "It had that, well, 'groovy' feel to it, and at the same time it was almost...'subversive' is the word that comes to mind. You hear the melody and the groove, and you expect this pop-oriented kind of song, and then the lyrics subvert your expectations. It was an interesting, exciting mix of styles." When Reznor called, it turned out to be a match made in heaven.
"We actually tried to call each other at the same time, which resulted in some frustration when we both kept getting busy signals," Alpert says. "So finally, I just walked away from the phone for a moment." Within two minutes, there was a ring. It was the relentless Reznor, and "we both just knew this was meant to be."
Still, their relationship didn't exactly start out reeking of peaches and cream. "It was a bit awkward at first," Reznor admits. "We were both a little shy. I was a bit intimidated by Herb's stature, you know, and I think he was probably a bit leery of me too, because I'm so fucking cool. Oh, that's another thing. Herb's real clean-cut, you know, he doesn't really curse or anything like that. I think my proclivity for words like 'fuck' and its related terms might have taken him aback in the beginning."
It didn't take long, however, before things clicked. "Sure, I thought the profanity was a bit excessive. And when he started bossing me around on day one, with all this 'I want bullfighting noises. And a piñata party. Vrenna's not here so you're gonna have to go sample them. And it better be fucking cool,' et cetera...well, I had my doubts," Alpert remembers. "But just when I was thinking of walking out on the whole deal, I noticed a bottle of Cuervo in one of the iso booths. I casually asked Trent if he'd like to do a shot or two, and the rest, my friend, was magic." From then on, it was smooth sailing aboard the U.S.S. Brass Nails.
A typical day in the studio saw the men working together like clockwork. Reznor would get an idea: "Okay, now when we get to the quieter part, I want you to just swing into some real tasty trumpet work there, we'll have the acoustic guitarist accent it nicely, and then, we'll insidiously build it back up, and we'll all come screaming in, and that's where you just let 'er rip, right there in the third chorus." And Alpert would joyfully reply, "Okay, and then after that, we'll do a modulation up a semitone, and then we'll speed it up and change the feel. The kids'll love it!"
The much-anticipated collaboration was a smash on the charts. The first single, "Spanish Pig," reached an admirable #4 on Billboard's Hot 100 before the album even saw the light of day. And when Nine Inches of Brass finally hit the stores, it was an instant success, debuting at #2. It was fifteen tracks of utter ingenuity, each with its own unique form, yet all contributing seamlessly to the themes of Reznor's second concept album (and Alpert's first) -- a harrowing look at the trials and tribulations of a man coming to terms with himself and the world around him, a world where machismo and hell-hot weather are two of the major components of life (see track listing below). "Spanish Pig" soon squealed its way to the #1 slot; after that, the Reznor-Alpert juggernaut was as unstoppable as an enraged Pamplona bull.
A tour was inevitable. And it turned out to be incredible. The energy in Alpert and Reznor's Army of Darkness road show was even greater than that of Reznor's mindboggling Spiral trip. The two seemed rejuvenated, supercharged, aching to bare their souls after the hiatus each had endured in his own way. And destruction, as promised, was rampant. At first, Alpert wasn't enthusiastic about haphazardly flung mic stands heading straight for his head, or the idea of trashing musical instruments of any sort. But with a bit of convincing from Reznor, his own increasing agility, and a newfound love for the beautiful release to be found in demolition, Alpert soon became "one of the guys."
Now, it's one thing for Reznor to trash his DX-7 synths -- those metal boxes are virtually indestructible, and the keys are easy enough to replace. But a trumpet is a delicately balanced instrument that even the slightest dent can render suboperational. How can Alpert destroy his horns so cavalierly, night after night?
"Two words: Pier One," Reznor chuckles. "They've got that brass shit coming out the windows. Herb keeps his favorite horn in a safe place -- well, a relatively safe place -- on stage, and then he just lets fly with the prop stuff."
Besides, Reznor says with a shrug, it's not as if Alpert needs a full complement of working instruments that much anyway. "Anything a hand can do, a machine can do faster," he says with a grin. "Herb improvises on the top line, where the trumpet lives. But the middle, with all the flugelhorn and trombone in it, is digital. We just run it through the effects pedals, get some really sweet distortion, store it, and play it through with the synth tracks. No problem."
Do they even make an effects pedal for trombone? "They do now," Reznor says matter-of-factly.
Even with the tremendous success of the Army of Darkness tour, Reznor admits there were "a few bumps in the road" at first. "We had some of these little MTV drones at the shows early on, and they thought Herb must be Tony Bennett or something," Reznor confides. "He got really hostile over this at one point.... For one thing, Alpert doesn't wear a rug." He runs a hand through his own preternaturally black hair meaningfully. "That's 100 percent Herb up there. So you can imagine how pissed-off this made him."
The dynamic duo are hard at work on a second project, due out sometime between this fall and next April. It promises to be yet another work of true brilliance. They've been giving it their all; they spend the majority of their time nowadays locked away in the studio. It's become their second home. Amidst the mannequins dressed up as matadors -- bound and gagged with their pants around their ankles and swords protruding from their abdomens (one with a sign reading "Fist Me, I'm Steve" hanging from its neck) -- amongst the broken piñatas, the empty Cuervo bottles, and hundreds of peanut butter jars, ramen packages, and chewing gum wrappers, you'll find some of the other necessities of home, including a huge bed for when exhaustion gets the better of these two musical geniuses. "I'm not as afraid to share a bed with another man as I might have been ten years ago," Reznor says proudly.
Alpert excuses himself to return to the pressing business in the studio. "Trent won't say anything behind my back that he hasn't already said to my face," he says, and with a wave he's off. He seems intense, focused, almost like a man possessed. "He's really, really into this," Reznor muses. Then his tone becomes mock-combative. "He'd just better not change the names of all my hard drives again. All that shit's linked, you know."
Alpert sits down at the mixing console. Reznor's voice comes over the speaker system, singing new lyrics to an old standard:
"You see this guy, this slave you must abuseHe sounds great. The strain of nonstop touring seems to have never existed. Reznor listens for a moment, clearly pleased with what he's hearing. His smile belies his next words. "Who the fuck do I think I am, Tony Orlando?"
guess I'm in love, I just wish there was something true
When you smile, I can tell
I'm heading on my way to hell..."
Alpert is putting the finishing touches on tracks for A Brass-Balled Conceit, a typically (for Reznor) crowded single release that will contain no fewer than seven remixes of "Wish I Was In Love With You," including one by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, A&M's in-house production superstars. "Talk about your control freaks," Reznor says. "They park their asses up there in Minnesota and say, 'Send us the tracks, and we'll mail back your single.' What they want is what you get." He chuckles. "Which is a pretty cool way to do business, when you think about it."
Won't the title affect the CD's distribution potential? Reznor's smile disappears. "Maybe those cunts at Sound Whorehouse or Ballbuster Music or whatever they're calling themselves these days won't like it," he says, the familiar cutting edge in his voice. "They can all just suck my dick. This fucker's shipping platinum. All those big record chains can smell money. They'll carry the CD, even if they have to hide it under the counter to do it." Suddenly he lightens up again. "Besides, Herb came up with this title himself. I hate to discourage vulgarity, especially when he's just getting the hang of it."
Plainly, the collaboration has rubbed off on Reznor as well. Even the prospect of another year-long tour seems to excite him. "These are the best fucking shows I've ever done," he says earnestly. "And with the new material we're working on now, they're only going to get better."
The music on the speaker system has been slowly increasing in volume, as multiple layers of almost subliminal sound build toward a trademark catharsis. Suddenly there's a near-deafening blast of distortion. Reznor jumps to his feet and pounds on the glass divider. The noise abruptly stops. "What the fuck are you doing to my sax line, Alpert?" he screams. "I should have gotten Sergio Mendez in the first fucking place!" He returns to his seat. "Don't worry," he says. "Herb knows I'm kidding. He loves it when I do that."
The silence is broken by the sudden crash of a spit valve against the glass. Reznor smiles, unfazed.
"See what I mean?" he says serenely.
-- Reported by Stephanie Nahas in Los Angeles and Kathleen Tibbetts in New Orleans
Unsafe At Any Speed (released December 1994)
Nine Inches Of Brass (released January 1996)