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Any introduction to the impact that Nine Inch Nails has left on the music world should start at the beginning since Pretty Hate Machine marks the moment where industrial music—an experimental style of music relying on an abrasive mixture of hard rock and electronic music—breached the mainstream. That’s largely due to the fact that despite the use of electronic instruments, Trent Reznor created fully-formed songs with distinguishable song structures of verse-chorus. In many ways, Pretty Hate Machine marks one of three NIN albums (the other two being With Teeth and Hesitation Marks) that can function as a pop album—albeit one that’s carefully-designed by one person: Trent Reznor.
However, Pretty Hate Machine is an album whose quality comes across as inconsistent. Tracks such as “Head Like a Hole,” “Terrible Lie,” “Sin,” and “Something I Can Never Have,” register now as strongly as they probably did upon a first listen (especially the first two songs). However, a few songs—especially “Kinda I Want To”—are definite clunkers that can reflect the notion that Trent was green (age 23-24) at the time of the recording. Because future releases from NIN end up mirroring the development of Trent as a person in the time-span between writing and recording.
Lyrically, this record has some good moments (namely “Head Like a Hole” and “Terrible Lie”). But it’s probably the worst NIN album in terms of lyrics. Mostly because so many of these tracks come across as overly-angsty break-up songs. Or in the case of “Down In It,” trying too hard to come across as ‘edgy.’ So apart from the two aforementioned songs, analyzing every lyrical crevice of these songs feels rather redundant since I’d probably end up regurgitating the actual lyrics. The rest of the songs will have a detailed look at what they sound like musically and be given a general idea regarding what the song’s about lyrically. One may cry foul at breaking from my usual practice, but if it appears like the artist isn’t giving a fuck, is there any reason why I should?
“Head Like a Hole” (5:00)
Right out the gate, “Head Like a Hole” serves as one of the most rock-influenced songs on Pretty Hate Machine since there’s crisp guitar riffs, vocals from Trent Reznor that range from crooning to shouting, a busy drum-loop, sample-based keyboards, and a meaty bassline. There’s little surprise that “Head Like a Hole” was picked as a single since it manages to sound familiar yet unlike anything else—especially at the time of the song’s initial release.
Regarding the subject matter, “Head Like a Hole” covers greed, artistic integrity, and free-will within the music industry. These ideas are something that Trent would soon be on the receiving end of since his record label (TVT Records) had an executive that Trent would have an antagonistic relationship with. Namely because the executive—a fella named Steve Gottlieb—attempted to constrain Trent’s ideas, creating such a tension that Trent had to have his contract severed. But that’s a topic for later albums (namely the Broken EP).
Trent’s opening lyrics to the song, album, and career outline these concerns nicely:
God money, I’ll do anything for you.
God money, just tell me what you want me to.
God money, nail me up against the wall.
God money don’t want everything, he wants me all.
Right out of the gate, “God money” implies that the record industry (a part of capitalist culture) values money with the fervor of religion, a detail further supported with the Jesus echoes of “nail me up against the wall.” What’s truly concerning about this comes from lines such as “I’ll do anything for you” and “just tell me what you want me to.” Both phrases reflect a surrender that was (in 1989, at least) a requirement to have any musical success. However, Trent was always uneasy regarding that, as reflected by his use of a phrase entailing that God money “don’t want everything, he wants me all.” So Trent knew going into any record label that there’s a side of the music industry that he can’t stand which he’ll have to deal with.
The verse pattern allows for Trent to bark out these lyrics in a pre-chorus:
No you can’t take it [x2].
No you can’t take that away from me.
Here, it’s essentially a defiant response to the contents of the verse. There’s absolutely no way that Trent will give up and kiss the music industry’s ass. Instead, he’ll follow the beat of his own drum—consequences be damned.
While in a raspy-yet-yelpy shout, Trent roars the following words for the full-volume chorus:
Head like a hole.
Black as your soul.
I’d rather die than give you control.
This titular line of “Head like a hole” has two meanings: that the control of the music industry leaves artists feeling like there’s a hole in their head or that the industry bigwigs are so stupid that their brains may as well resemble empty voids. Given that “Black as your soul” unambiguously refers to the music industry bigwigs, it coheres that “Head like a hole” refers to the same. Which leads into the line “I’d rather die than give you control,” a line that (despite the fact that it’s fueled by the lens of Trent himself) reflects the defiance of a trailblazing artist determined to remain true to himself/herself.
Once the instruments cool down for the post-chorus, an icy synth accompanies Trent’s singing of these lines:
Bow down before the one you serve.
You’re going to get what you deserve.
That icy synth’s an appropriate detail and a clue on how to read these lines: as a music industry bigwig’s retaliation against the defiance of the chorus. In fact, the icy synth imbues these lines with a pessimistic quality which suggests that (at this point in time) Trent didn’t think he’d ever be free from the grip of TVT Records. Additionally, a line like “You’re going to get what you deserve” links into a self-loathing state in that Trent wrote that line in a wording which appears to blame himself harshly over a perceived mistake—a notion that’ll become a common theme through a number of songs on Pretty Hate Machine.
Trent’s last set of non-repeated lyrics in the song read as follows:
God money’s not looking for the cure.
God money’s not concerned about the sick among the pure.
God money, let’s go dancing on the backs of the bruised.
God money’s not one to choose.
All these lines illustrate a paradox regarding art and money: that money’s required to make art sustainable, but money also damages artistic integrity. That notion links towards the phrase “not looking for the cure,” in which it’s made clear that a single-minded motivation on money ends up continuing cycles and facilitating stagnation—no such thing as innovation since risks are less profitable. The corruption of “God money” evidently knows no bounds since his lack of concern “about the sick among the pure” indicates another consequence of the narrow focus on the dollar—immorality in those which become famous. Which ends up being a concern that’s arguably more relevant than ever in the age of the #MeToo movement, but such a sickness already existed long before exposure. And speaking of abuse, the phrase “go dancing on the backs of the bruised” renders the abuse cyclical—albeit concerning different types. But in the pursuit of the almighty dollar, the phrase “not one to choose” implies that the innocent and the guilty are both held under an iron fist.
“Terrible Lie” (4:38)
As my personal favorite track from Pretty Hate Machine, “Terrible Lie” packs a lot within a rather simple musical structure. That simplicity’s best exemplified by the basic parts that guitar and bass have in the song: a two-chord riff which uses a quarter-note of each chord followed by a wide rest. And that’s all there is to the verses. The choruses offer a smorgasboard of synth layers which sere to accentuate the musical tension. All this leaves plenty of wide-open space for Trent’s vocals to appear as the focal point of the song. But even that focal point would fall apart if it weren’t for the repetitive, mechanical-sounding drum loop keeping a constant, steady rhythm while creating a similar effect to the machine-like sound of Pink Floyd’s “Welcome to the Machine.”
But while that Pink Floyd classic (one that Trent was definitely familiar) concerned a topic similar to “Head Like A Hole,” the ‘machine’ addressed in “Terrible Lie” is another matter entirely. At its core, “Terrible Lie” covers the topic of religion—namely Trent questioning his faith. And that faith didn’t emerge unscathed.
Such a questioning’s evident from Trent’s opening verse:
(Hey God) why are you doing this to me?
Am I not living up to what I’m supposed to be?
Why am I seething with this animosity?
(Hey God) I think you owe me a great big apology.
One minor note to address is that “Hey God” is rather buried in the mix. While goes in-sync to first use of the main chords, they’re nearly inaudible in the studio versions (hence the parenthesis). Live versions (such as the one found on the live album All That Could Have Been) are another story since those two words are shouted as backing vocals at the spots where I put the parenthesis.
As for the rest of the lyrics, the use of “Hey God” makes the topic-at-hand seemingly simple. I say ‘seemingly’ because matters of religion and questioning of faith end up becoming more complex than they appear. For instance, look at the first line’s phrase of “why are you doing this to me” and one notices that Trent’s laying the blame on God immediately. However, the tone of lyrics such as the pre-determinism of “Am I not living up to what I’m supposed to be” and the self-aggrandizement of “I think you owe me a great big apology” can make the act of blaming God in this song appear hypocritical. Almost as if the speaker’s blaming God because he can’t look at his own faults. But that claim’s subject to being countered by “Why am I seething with this animosity,” a line entailing that the speaker’s existence in the world has led him to question whether a just God can exist at all—succinctly suggesting that for a God to be all-powerful and all-good is impossible.
In marked contrast to the smoothly-sung verses, the choruses consist of Reznor yelling these words at a high-volume:
Terrible lie [x4].
Just what the “Terrible lie” is can already be ascertained: the religion that Trent/the speaker had been brought up to believe. Notice that there’s nothing in this song as of yet that directly negates the existence of God, but suggest that if He’s capable of all possibilities, He’s as equally-susceptible to shades of grey as mortal men are. In this regard, the “Terrible lie” isn’t the notion that God exists. Instead, it’s that God’s wholly just.
Trent’s second verse carries weight to what the song entails:
(Hey God) I really don’t know what you mean.
Seems like salvation comes only in our dreams.
I feel my hatred grow all the more extreme.
(Hey God) Can this world really be as sad as it seems?
Another layer of complication rears its head with the line “I really don’t know what you mean,” which suggests that human beings are fundamentally incapable of understanding God because of the limitations of a mortal man. Therefore, the line “Seems like salvation comes only in our dreams” carries additional resonance—one’s dreams appear limitless and therefore the only way one can truly understand God. But notice the word “Seems” that Trent place in the lyrics. That one word implies that one’s senses/feelings doesn’t match the objective reality. Said implication leaves a listener to come to the conclusion that Trent/the speaker has either stopped believing in God or rejected God to follow his own path. Once can use the use of “seems” in the line “Can this world really be as sad as it seems” to entail that Trent/the speaker would be happier to stop believing in God or reject God in order to follow his own path.
Despite the simplicity of the lyrics in the bridge, Trent packs a bit of meaning here in where it’s positioned in the song:
Don’t take it/turn away from me.
I need you/someone to hold on to. [both x6]
Don’t turn [x4], don’t.
After such a questioning set of lines like those in the second verse, having a set of lines which come across as a desperate plea creates the effect of a build-up. Albeit a build-up which mirrors a point of crisis. This rings particularly true with the line variants of “I need you to hold on to” or “I need someone to hold on to.” In this first variant, the speaker fears losing the foundation of his life up to this point (that foundation being belief in a just God). The second variant reflects that foundation having already been lost and the speaker searching for something else to base his life upon. Additionally, the lines amounting to “Don’t take” or “Don’t turn” make it appear as though it’s God’s fault that the speaker turned away from Him—something that doesn’t quite cohere and probably why I thought (upon first hearing the studio version on the radio) that “Terrible Lie” was an extremely-bitter break-up song.
It’s probably little surprise that these lyrics from Trent in the third verse reflect the development made in the bridge:
(Hey God) There’s nothing left for me to hide.
I lost my ignorance, security, and pride.
I’m all alone in a world you must despise.
(Hey God) I believed your promises, your promises and lies.
Such a development’s indicative from the line “There’s nothing left for me to hide,” which implies a jump in time from the last verse. The results of that jump are indeed the loss of the speaker’s/Trent’s “ignorance, security, and pride,” all qualities which bear picking apart. By “ignorance,” that’s an unquestioning belief in God—something which would’ve been fostered by the Catholic upbringing that Trent’s grandma (who primarily raised him) put him through. As for “security,” to give up God/a particular idea of God involves surrendering what had previously been the foundation of his life—a foundation that (as suggested by “pride”) inflated the speaker’s/Trent’s positive feelings by believing that everything will be okay.
That’s definitely in contrast to the disparate ideas at play in the line “I’m all alone in a word you must despise.” Here, the disparity between the ways of God and the ways of humans are made explicit. In a way, God is both all-powerful and powerless as well as both all-loving and cruel. It’s in this regard that one interprets the line “I believed your promises, your promises and lies.” Such “promises and lies” are only made “lies” due to the contradictory nature of God Himself. For instance, if God can be all things, He can be two things that directly contradict each other. So He’ll never truly mean anything to humans since He’s on another wavelength—if He exists at all.
Towards the end of the song, there’s an extended set of lines which Trent sings in an agonized fashion over the rhythmic pattern of the chorus:
You made me throw it all away.
My morals left to decay.
How many you betray?
You’ve taken everything.
My head is filled with disease.
My skin is begging you, please.
I’m on my hands and knees.
I want so much to believe.
The fashion that inaugurates this cluster of lines—with the line of “You made me throw it all away”—appears to imply a lack of volition (namely “made me”), but it really entails that there was no way for the speaker/Trent to remain true to himself and blindly follow the “promises and lies” anymore. One such “lie” relates to the line “My morals left to decay” since that implies the continued presence of the Catholic sense of guilt in the speaker/Trent—especially in relation to a morality-centered religion such as Christianity, where any deviation from doctrine feels like a moral weakness. Regarding “How many you betray,” that’s an interrogation which assumes that God deliberately misleads others into religion—even if these others can’t truly find it in themselves to believe in the religion itself. Which leads into “You’ve taken everything,” where the speaker/Trent blames God for making him force his hand—the contradictory nature of God Himself drove the speaker/Trent to question the faith he was raised under.
In regards to the lines “My head is filled with disease/My skin is begging you, please,” there’s quite a bit to dig into. First off, it’s appropriate that it’s the “head” that’s considered problematic since the mind—as a method of processing the world around him—enabled the questioning to happen. This progresses to state that the head’s “filled with disease,” a phrase which relates to the connotations behind “My morals left to decay” and how the strict enforcement of religion condemns any deviation from dogmatically-supported norms. Moving onto “skin,” there’s the sense that one part of the speaker’s/Trent’s mortal body (the skin) becomes locked in conflict with the doubting mind. Such a desperate circumstance leads to the state of “begging,” in which the speaker/Trent resorts to a state of prayer despite knowing that it’ll fall on deaf ears since any argument regarding God remains an unresolvable conundrum.
Going off of that with “I’m on my hands and knees,” it’s ironic that the religious imagery associated with a prayer appears in a song thoroughly concerned with questioning religion. It’s almost as if this question constitutes a prayer in-and-of-itself. That a song involving questioning God has the line “I want to believe” as its final prominent line isn’t insignificant since it carries the idea that the speaker/Trent wishes he could see the glory of God, but finds too much in the world and in his life to accept it.
An outro section has these lyrics buried in the backing vocals while Trent’s lead vocals repeat the lyrics from the bridge:
I give you everything.
My sweet everything.
One way of reading these lines involves viewing them as a lament. Namely a lament wondering why the speaker/Trent didn’t see things sooner. Almost as if either believes that they’ve wasted a good chunk of their life following something they’d later reject.
“Down in It” (3:46)
If one wants the definition of ‘cringe’ in musical form, look no further than “Down In It,” the song which Trent decided to release as NIN’s first-ever single. That Trent also openly admitted to this song being “a total rip-off of “Dig It” by Skinny Puppy” tells me two things. One, that it’s quite possibly the laziest song Trent’s ever written. Two, that I should stay far away from Skinny Puppy because this song is not good—especially since “Head Like a Hole” and “Terrible Lie” already prove that Trent can do so much better.
While Skinny Puppy’s a rough contemporary of Trent’s, it’s another contemporary which I think sounds the most like “Down In It.” That contemporary being rap music from this point of the 80’s—particularly Run DMC and LL Cool J. And now that I’ve brought it up, no one will be able to unhear it from the song’s prominent, booming drum patterns. But while both Run DMC and LL Cool J remain pioneers in what’s known as the Golden Age of Hip-Hop, Trent proves here that he’s a chump when it comes to rap. In fact, the delivery of the lyrics appears like Trent decided to dabble in the rap game without taking the time to learn the rules—possibly whilst trying too hard to be ‘edgy’ or hip.
And it’s such a shame that “Down In It” ends up being such a cringe-worthy song since one can read the song as touching upon a rather serious topic. That topic being mood swings and their relation towards depression and suicidal thoughts. This—in addition to having support from the music video that often got censored for featuring a man jumping off a building—becomes reinforced by the high-and-lows of the chorus: “I was up above it/Now I’m down in it.” Unfortunately, the embarrassing method of delivery plus the so-bad-it’s-good quality of the lyrics almost nullify what could’ve been a very powerful song. Something that’s especially glaring considering how Trent would later make some moving music based on similar subjects in both The Downward Spiral and The Fragile.
“Sanctified” (5:48)
Probably the strongest track which I’m not analyzing the lyrics, “Sanctified” carries a dim and uneasy mood while remaining infectiously catchy. Part of that catchiness lies in the song’s opening bassline, which utilizes a smoothly-delivered slap-bass playing (in the only NIN song with that playing technique). But another aspect of that comes from the recognizable electronic drum beat centered around the toms. Such catchiness doesn’t come at the cost of creativity since the song’s bridge features samples of a Gregorian chant and of dialogue from the movie Midnight Express (the latter being removed from the 2010 remaster).
“Sanctified” undoubtedly oozes sex. But it’s not a type of sex that’s worth celebrating. Instead, the sex depicted in this song reflect a drug-like dependence on the other person and a disassociation from the self. And in that sense, “Sanctified” carries rather sinister subtext underneath its wordplay that blends the sexual with the religious. My description of the dependence as ‘drug-like’ isn’t hyperbole—it’s reflected by a comment of Trent’s stating that “Sanctified” is about a “relationship with a crack pipe.” Just about the only thing sinking that theory is the lack of specific drug references and the sexual overtones of the lyrics.
“Something I Can Never Have” (5:55) [feat. Richard Patrick (Filter) on ‘drone guitar at end’]
Apart from “Terrible Lie,” there’s no song on Pretty Hate Machine that sounds as cold as “Something I Can Never Have,” a rather low-key piano ballad which ended Side 1 on the vinyl version. That coldness becomes further supported by the sounds of steam-pistons and other machinery in the background, which remains an instance where a cliché of industrial music retains an impact because it adds to the hopelessness of the piano melody. And apart from the ‘drone guitar at end,’ the stripped-back instrumentation allows Trent’s vocals to stand out front-and-center as the solitary sign of life in the song.
In terms of lyrical content, “Something I Can Never Have” takes on the tired old chestnut of unrequitedly yearning for someone as a lover. Despite taking on tired-and-true territory with one of the oldest clichés in the book, Trent transcends the sub-par lyrics for once. Namely through the detail of his vocals growing in both volume and emotion as the song progresses.
“Kinda I Want To” (4:34)
It’s often stated that “Kinda I Want To” registers as the lowest point of the album—something reinforced by Trent himself lambasting the song as the worst he’s ever written. And I’m inclined to agree with that both lyrically and musically. Musically, it’s just the mixture of clichéd calypso drums, the reused beat (guitar work and vocals) in the bridge that’s blatantly sampled from “Down In It,” the gauche overuse of samples and loops (something Trent would utilize to superior effect in Year Zero), and the most dated-sounding synths in the entire NIN discography which render “Kinda I Want To” an utterly ugly-sounding song that has stopped many full-album listens because it’s so terrible. As for the blatantly-sexual lyrics, that the title can’t even bother with correct grammar should give a clear indication as to the piss-poor lyrics—quite possibly the worst that Trent will ever write.
Three words: fuck this song! If I were to ever meet Trent Reznor, part of me would ask him what the fuck was he thinking when he wrote this. But the better part of me thinks he’s already suffered this shit-biscuit enough for one lifetime. Besides, I probably already know the answer to the question of “What were you thinking?”—not a damn thing.
“Sin” (4:05)
“Sin” appears notable compared to all the tracks covered so far insofar as it’s the clearest example yet of Trent delving back into his roots (synth-pop) while remaining as heavy as a more aggressive song such as “Head Like a Hole.” The element of synth-pop which Trent utilizes on “Sin” comes from the track’s dancability (probably the most danceable track on Pretty Hate Machine) and from the song’s usage of non-musical sounds for musical functions. However, the song also carries tissue from other songs on the album since it utilizes the same chord-progression as the bridge of “Terrible Lie.” This song also marks the first use of a musical tactic that’ll become a NIN hallmark: an extreme, sudden change in the dynamics of the song. In the case of “Sin,” it’s how the song’s instrumental bridge (one of the heaviest sections on Pretty Hate Machine) gives way to the song’s quietest moment.
In terms of lyrical content, “Sin” marks one of the first instances of Trent writing songs about screwed-up, emotionally-draining sex. Given the title, there’s the definite sense of giving into a temptation—not brought on by the woman in question, but by the speaker’s own mind. This subject reaches an arguable zenith in their 1994 hit “Closer,” but “Sin” (since it’s not attached to a concept album) has more opportunity to stand alone.
“That’s What I Get” (4:30)
From a musical perspective, there’s a distinct opening hook in “That’s What I Get” which grabs the listener’s attention: the pulsating hammer-esque synth sound that functions as the song’s bassline. However, the rest of the song registers as minimal due to its reliance on atmospheric keyboard parts to act as the harmony to Trent’s lead vocal melodies. At least until the synth voice from “Down In It” (because that song was such a gem, right) crops up during the second half of the song. Additionally, a quiet loop of percussion acts in lieu of a drum beat until the song reaches the second half, which renders the bassline crucial to the song’s first half.
The lyrics to “That’s What I Get” may serve as the only ones on the album (and the NIN discography) with lyrics written by anyone besides Trent Reznor, but they don’t feel much different from the break-up clichés of the rest of Pretty Hate Machine. In general, the song concerns a sense of self-loathing after the end of a relationship. The song also recognizes that such a feeling isn’t healthy, but since it’s preferable to taking such negative feelings out on other people or other women, there’s a situation created without an easy answer. That situation boils down to “How does one deal with the problem in a way that’s healthy, comfortable to the self, and doesn’t harm others?”—and the song’s biggest fault is implying the question yet leaving no breadcrumbs to have listeners make their own answers.
“The Only Time” (4:46)
Musically, “The Only Time” registers as the most funk-inspired track on Pretty Hate Machine. Part of that’s due to the bassline recalling classic 70’s funk bands. Another bigger part of that’s indebted to the chorus giving off echoes of various white musicians from the 80’s incorporating aspects of funk into their sound—most notably Talking Heads and So-era Peter Gabriel (think “Sledgehammer”). Especially with the mid-paced and bombastic drum groove and the tone of the guitar chords in the chorus.
As for lyrical content, the song’s yet another one centered upon sex and/or a one-night stand. More than likely with the abandonment of any pretense of ‘sin’ whilst in the heat of the moment. But that’s a topic that both “Sin” and “Sanctified” address with better music and lyrics. After all, neither of those two songs contain the infamous line of “And the devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car,” which comes across as the one lyric on Pretty Hate Machine that warrants unintentional laughter from me. In terms of Trent Reznor lyrics, that one line is the Plan 9 from Outer Space of NIN lyrics.
And although the 2010 remaster includes “Ringfinger,” the original version of the album (as it appears on Spotify) ends the album with “The Only Time.” A pretty lackluster ending if you ask me.
Final Thoughts:
Overall, Pretty Hate Machine contains definite growing pains. That much remains evident from the fact that a good chunk of the songs reek of then-contemporary late-80’s trends seeping into Trent’s sound—something that suggests that Trent Reznor had yet to fully find his voice at this point of his career. And that’s not even going into the sub-par lyrics of the songs I refused to provide a lyrical analysis for.
When I end up ranking the albums in the NIN discography at the end of this retrospective series, Pretty Hate Machine doubtlessly occupies the lower half of the ranking. Depending on how I end up enjoying Ghosts I-IV, The Slip, and Hesitation Marks (the only NIN albums I haven’t listened to yet), it could end up being my least-favorite NIN album. It simply lacks the consistency of The Downward Spiral, The Fragile, the EP Trilogy, Year Zero, or even With Teeth (the last of which remains an excellent starting point for newcomers).
But when Pretty Hate Machine fires on all-cylinders, it can provide songs that rank up-there with the best NIN tracks. That includes “Head Like a Hole,” “Terrible Lie” and “Sin.” It’s predominately these three tracks which have endured the test of time the strongest and lay out a rough template of where Trent would take NIN in the future.