With a new studio and a 19th-century mansion, Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor joins the parade of edgy
artists who have planted roots in New Orleans.
New Orleans is renowned as the home of classic jazz, Creole cuisine, ornate balconies in the French
Quarter ... and Nine Inch Nails' new studio and headquarters? Yes, add Trent Reznor to the long list of
creative types - from Lafcadio Hearn, William Faulkner and Tennessee Williams to Bob Dylan and
Daniel Lanois - who fell for the city's exotic ambiance and decided to settle in for a spell.
It's been a long journey - from his high school band in rural Mercer, Pennsylvania, to the Cleveland club
scene where this self-described "computer dweeb" forged his personal blend of hard-core and industrial
sounds. Reznor, a one-man band in the studio, emerged in 1989 with the million selling Pretty Hate
Machine, following with the equally uncompromising Broken (1992) and The Downward Spiral (1994). He
broke out of the pack of alternative rockers with electrifying performances during the first Lollapalooza
tour in 1991. Los Angeles Times pop-music critic Robert Hilburn called his appearance at Woodstock 2
in 1994 "a marvelous reminder of rock's rebellious roots." The following year, after a period in Los
Angeles, Reznor was in search of an inspirational place to live and work. New Orleans was the perfectly
logical choice.
Not that Reznor's computer-crafted sound and tormented lyrics owe much to such Big Easy icons as
Fats Domino and Louis Armstrong. "At least not on a conscious level," Reznor comments, ensconced
behind the 48-track board in his recently installed high-tech studio. "I'm not really familiar with the music
scene that exists in New Orleans, and it's not what I moved here for."
"Moved," in Reznor's case, refers both to the 19th-century Garden District mansion he calls home and
the elaborate recording/rehearsal facility he set up in a former funeral home uptown. Just a few blocks
from the nightclub and local-culture bastion known as Tipitina's, Reznor's studio has no formal name
and no sign out front. But the spiffy new paint job - in a rather mundane shade of brown - makes it
obvious that the two-story building has just been renovated. Such squeaky-cleanness stands out in a
town that celebrates decaying grandeur, especially on a block that also boasts a homemade praline
stand and several funky antique shops.
These atmospheric touches are more typical of what Reznor moved for - the profound and pervasive
weirdness that is one of the city's less touted but most striking features. In New Orleans, the four points
of the compass are useless in determining direction; logic and efficiency defer to whimsy and
indulgence. It's the kind of city where even the decadent eccentricity of Reznor's controversial "Closer"
video would barely raise eyebrows. New Orleans lies well outside of America's cultural mainstream and
work-ethic mentality, a fact celebrated I S. Frederick Starr's New Orleans Unmasqued - which Reznor
recently purchased - and John Kennedy Toole's A Confederacy of Dunces. In this spacey, sensual
environment, an enterprising artist can work hard and draw on the rich local vibe yet avoid most of the
intrusive trappings of a major industry scene.
All of which suits Trent Reznor just fine. "I feel creative here," he says, "rather than oppressed by the
big-city feel and the music business - I hate all that s--."
In contrast to the hard-core feel of his music and videos, Reznor is not the least bit ominous in
conversation. Bright, direct and articulate, he comes across as focused and professional. Inside,
Reznor's studio emanates a similarly businesslike attitude, with muted mauve carpeting in the office and
the healthy 90's touch of an elaborate weight room. There are traces of youthful indulgence and
techno-culture in his extensive collection of video games, pinball machines and vintage arcade games.
The basement garage - once home to a fleet of hearses - now houses several pricey cars.
A few bizarre items are to be found, most notably a door from the Sharon Tate mansion in Los Angeles,
site of the Manson Family murders, where Reznor lived while recording The Downward Spiral. What was
once the casket elevator is now used, pragmatically, to move heavy gear. But the studio's most notable
feature is a sophisticated and seemingly endless array of sound equipment, enough for two complete
recording studios and a digital-editing suite.
Sitting at the center of this sonic universe, Reznor continues to contemplate the world outside his door.
"I like the fact that New Orleans is still kind of a small town," he says. "There are parts of the
small-town mentality that I'm really comfortable with. But the small town where I grew up in
Pennsylvania has very long winters, and there isn't much sense of culture and tradition. It was
ultraconservative and stifling. New Orleans is just the opposite. It feels like a European city. I find it
relaxing. I like the weather, the architecture and the way the city looks. And I like the fact that when I'm
stuck on something I can just go ride my bike and find a sense of space - I'm not oppressed here.
"There's also a weird sort of spirituality in New Orleans," Reznor reflects. "I'm not talking about the spirit
world that exists in Anne Rice's books, although some people see a connection between our work." So
much so that groups of young, black-clad tourists see roaming the Garden District are usually hoping
for a glimpse of Rice, Reznor or both. "There was a time in my life when Anne Rice's books were
interesting to me," he explains. "That was before I moved here, and I suppose that in a way they tainted
my first impressions of the city. But I'm out of that now. The spirituality that I'm talking about is the
personal freedom, the strangeness. So I'm definitely influenced by New Orleans in that it puts me in a
good frame of mind to work."
And work is indeed what the 31-year-old Reznor does. Disturbing though that work is to many people,
it's also extremely popular and lucrative. Reznor's skills are in great demand. He produced Antichrist
Superstar, a record by shock-rock brats Marilyn Manson, and will soon start on a long-awaited Nine
Inch Nails album. There was also talk of a soundtrack project for a Robert De Niro film, following a
similar assignment on Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers.
Such weighty projects call for serious gear, and Reznor can will afford to be picky. "When I decided that
I wanted to live in New Orleans," he recalls, "I found that none of the studios here really met my needs
in terms of equipment, especially since I do most of my recording in the control room. I had been
thinking of creating a space that could be a complex for Nine Inch Nails, where we could make noise,
rehearse, record, have several different things going on at once. I wanted to be self-sufficient. So far the
studio has been used mainly for my projects, although Pantera did come in and work for a few weeks,
and Coil may book some time.
"But I'm not really into the idea of being a studio owner and renting the place out," Reznor emphasizes.
"What's the point of setting all this up if I can't get in and use it when I want to? Eventually, though, I
may open it to selected clients."
With big-league projects stacking up, Reznor is hardly a club-hopping man-about-town, though he does
have a penchant for a French Quarter restaurant called NOLA. "But as for hanging out or interacting, I'm
not really tied in to the local scene right now," he says. "I don't mean that in a standoffish way; I just
work a lot. I think that my studio could eventually become a part of the local scene and offer something
really modern that hasn't existed here before. If that happens, it would change the preconception that all
music made in New Orleans is jazz or rhythm and blues.
"Of course," Reznor hastens to add, "people like the Meters and Allen Toussaint are really good. But
there are many other things going on here as well. And," he concludes with grand understatement, "the
nature of what's classically known as New Orleans music is certainly a far cry from what I'm working on
over at my new place."
