Even rock stars can be broken-hearted. And when they are, they can usually count on a little help from
their friends. But when word spread among Nine Inch Nails fans recently that group leader Trent
Reznor's dog, Maise, had died after falling 50 feet from a third floor balcony in a Columbus, Ohio,
concert hall, the grief wasn't universal. "I'm sort of happy that Trent's dog died," said leather clad Laurie
Davis, 21, during a NIN concert outside Chicago a week after the accident. "I like it when he's
depressed. It's good for his music."
Reznor would likely agree. Wailing his songs about self-loathing, sexual obsession, torture and suicide
over a thick sludge of gnashing guitars and computer-synthesized beats, the 29-year-old rocker, like
Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourne before him, has built his name on theatrics adn hihilism. Nearly all of
Reznor's lyrics are unprintable, and his videos, with their frightful scenes of dismemberment and
sadomasochism, have been censored or banned outright by MTV. Yet Nine Inch Nails' three dark and
complex albums- 1989's Pretty Hate Machine, 1992's Grammy-winning Broken (EP) and their current
Grammy nominee and million selling megahit The Downward Spiral- all made Billboard's pop charts. The
group's continuing Self Destruct Tour, which played 83 sold out concerts in 71 cities last year and has
grossed more than $10 million to date, has won raves from critics and fans for performances as intense
and viscerally thrilling as any in rock. "There is no music out there like this," said one fan after the
Chicago concert. "They are a step beyond."
Much as Reznor's fans worship him- "He is my messiah," proclaimed one devotee on an Internet chat
line recently- he may figure in the nightmares of their parents, who wonder what rock will come up with
next. But even the shouts of fundamentalist Christians who picket the band's concert sites claiming
Reznor is doing "the work of the devil" are music to the singer's ears. "Rock music was never meant to
be safe," he told Los Angeles Times music critic Robert Hilburn last October. "Ther needs to be an
element of intrigue, mystery, subversiveness. Your parens *should* hate it. If you think I worship Satan
because of something you see in the 'Closer' video [with its images of a crucified monkey]- great!"
So is this guy the product of a warped childhood or not? Surprisingly, the answer is not. Reznor was
raised from the age of 6 by his maternal grandparents in little Mercer, Pa., north of Pittsburgh, after his
parents, Mike, and interior designer and amateur bluegrass musician, and Nancy, a homemaker,
divorced in the early 70's. And even though his only sibling, Tera, now 24 and mother of two, lived
nearby with Nancy, Reznor did not grow up steeped in bitterness. "He was always a good kid," says his
grandfather Bill Clark, 84, a semi retired furniture salesman, as he pers Rusty, the chocolate Labrador
Reznor gave him, and recalls idyllic days spent cane-pole fishing with his grandson, a Boy Scout who
loved to skateboard, build model planes and play the piano. "Music was his life, from the time he was a
wee boy. He was so gifted."
Though family and friends saw few hints of the fearsome dramaturgy to come- Reznor's playing "always
reminded me of Harry Connick Jr.," says his former piano teacher, Rita Beglin- no one in Mercer seems
surprised by his success. Remembered as clean-cut, handsome and popular, Reznor, who played tenor
sax and keyboards, starred in his Mercer Area Junior and Senior High School jazz and marching bands,
was voted best in drama by his classmates and performed with various local rock groups before and
after graduating in 1983. "I considered him to be very upbeat and friendly," says Mercer's band director
Hendley Hoge, 40. "I think all that 'dark avenging angel' stuff is marketing- Trent making a career for
himself."
After a year studying computer engineering at nearby Allegheny College, Reznor moved to Cleveland,
where he played in a succession of bar bands while working as a handyman in the Right Track studio (it
has since been renamed Midtown Recording). "He is so focused in everything he does," says Midtown's
owner Bart Koster. "When that guy waxed the floor, it looked great." During the studio's off hours,
Koster let Reznor work on his first album, Pretty Hate Machine. "How could I possibly stand in this
guy's way?" says Koster. "It wasn't costing me anything, just a little wear on my tape heads." As for
Reznor's pain-driven stage act, Koster believes, "it's planned, but it is not contrived. He's pulling that
stuff out from inside somewhere. You cannot fake that delivery."
Off the road the reclusive Reznor spends most of his time composing in a series of rented Hollywood
homes. (One of them, the Bel Air mansion where he recorded TDS, was the site of the Manson family
murders of Sharon Tate and four others in 1969.) Though Reznor visited Mercer during the holidays and
drops in on old pals whenever he's in Cleveland, he has claimed that he has few friends and no current
love interest. (A rumoured recent liason with Courtney Love was "blown out of proportion" his managers
say.) Indeed, his strongest emotional tie seems to have been to the ill-fated Maise: Reznor canceled a
concert after her death. Now he's back on his yearlong tour- it winds up in New Orleans on Feb. 18- and
his nightmarish exertions have lost none of their fury. "It's good," says Chicago fan Davis, "to see Trent
back in hell, where he belongs."
