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A far cry from Pretty Hate Machine, the Broken EP serves as a six-song assault that has a crossover between industrial music and heavy metal—lots of riffs based upon tri-tones. If nothing else, Trent’s MO boils down to ‘go for the throat.’ But the album also serves as a transition point between Pretty Hate Machine and The Downward Spiral—where impeccable production weaves elements from both its predecessors in an album that’s as abrasive as it is enthralling. One sterling example of production from Trent.
In terms of lyrical content, it’s already a big step up from Pretty Hate Machine. However, it’s not at the endlessly-allusive level of several of Trent’s greatest lyrics just yet. What these lyrics lack in quality are more than made up for in how well they mesh with the high-octane intensity of the Broken sound.
However, this EP also arrived at a critical point in NIN’s history: a push-and-pull struggle between Trent and TVT Records over artistic integrity. This stemmed from the latter pushing for the commercially-safe route (endless repeats of Pretty Hate Machine) while Trent’s always opted to march to the beat of his own drum. It got to the point where any guest appearances that Trent made on other artist’s songs had to be credited to a pseudonym since TVT wouldn’t authorize it. Had Jimmy Iovine from Interscope Records (a relationship that would later go sour after Iovine went to other projects) not bought out Trent’s contract, NIN would never have gained success and Pretty Hate Machine would be deemed as a ‘flash-in-the-pan.’ But the buyout happened and—even more tellingly—Trent had a surprise for Iovine: the fully-recorded Broken EP.
Which leads to the circumstances for how Trent had to record the Broken EP: in total secret. Since TVT had a stranglehold on Trent’s musical endeavors at the time, they would’ve known if Trent had entered the recording studio under his own name or under NIN. To maintain total artistic integrity, Trent and producer Flood recorded all the material for Broken under fake names. This way, TVT had no say in the music being produced—Trent called all the shots.
Unsurprisingly, this means that many of the lyrics are a product of Trent’s animosity towards his record label—and particularly towards the head of TVT Records, Steve Gottlieb. For instance, a bonus track on re-releases (that was definitely recorded during the same sessions) titled “Physical” (a cover of the Adam and the Ants song of the same name) has Trent audibly saying “Eat your heart out, Steve” at about 27 seconds in. Another instance comes in the album’s liner notes: although the album has a ‘thank you’ section dedicated to Jimmy Iovine and others that Trent appreciated, there’s also a note reading “No thanks, you know who you fucking are” followed by a massive middle-finger to Gottlieb that reads: “The slave thinks he is released from bondage only to find himself in a stronger set of chains.”
“Pinion/Wish” (4:48) [feat. Martin Atkins (Public Image Ltd) on drums]
Operating as a prelude (at the tempo of 113 BPM) to the whole record, “Pinion” maintains a steady build until a tri-tone based guitar riff marks a peak. While this riff plays for the entire track, the presence of a hi-pass filter (allowing only high frequencies to pass through) renders the riff fully-audible only when the filter’s removed at the end—an example of using the production boards in order to manipulate sound itself. But before the filter’s removal, most noticeable aspect of the song consists of a collage of atmospheric loops. One of which includes a sample from the ending of David Bowie’s “It’s No Game,” (from Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps)) hardly the last connection between the works of Nine Inch Nails and David Bowie present in in the works of either.
In regards to subject matter, the context of the feud between TVT Records and Trent as well as the definition of ‘pinion’ informs how one interprets the song—especially as a transition into “Wish.” As a verb, ‘pinion’ means binding someone’s hands and feet so that the victim can’t use them. In essence, that’s exactly what TVT did to Trent artistically, making “Wish” a supremely-defiant act against TVT.
“Wish”—a Grammy-winning (for “Best Metal Performance”) song at a tempo of 135 BPM that’s remained a mainstay of NIN’s live set and seen covers by bands such as Linkin Park, Behemoth, Silverstein, and the Dillinger Escape Plan—probably holds claim to the most influential song on the Broken EP. Right from the primary hook, it’s clear that metal has seeped into NIN’s sound the instant that the jagged-sounding guitar riff pierces the speakers. However, the call-and-response in the verses between Trent’s lyrics and the main guitar riff (which shares musical DNA with the likes of “Sin” and “Head Like a Hole”) acts as an extreme change in dynamics. Which indicates that Pretty Hate Machine wasn’t a total waste of musical ideas, but that those ideas needed to be redirected into new ones. Despite the verses consisting of two elements, the choruses feel more unified both in terms of all-out attack and melody. As for the song’s bridge (driven by either guitar or synths, depending on whether the song’s presented in the studio or in a live setting) presents a different chord progression prior to reintroducing the now-familiar verse guitar-riff, eventually transitioning into a final chorus before the verse guitar-riff forms the backbone of the coda. The coda ends up abruptly cutting off in favor of a slew of white noise that acts as the transition into “Last.”
The lyrics to “Wish” doubtlessly register as a slam against TVT Records in a spiteful fashion that’s a celebration of rage, but since there’s no direct subject stated, the song can just as easily read as a bitter tell-off of anyone or any group of people that have burned you. Notably, these lyrics function with greater unapologetic aggression than any line on Pretty Hate Machine on levels that are both superficial and substantive. On a superficial level, “Wish” has Trent yelling the word ‘fuck’ three times, once as part of the phrase ‘fist fuck.’ Substantively, it’s a reflection of genuine anger rather than the angst which marked much of Pretty Hate Machine. As a consequence, these lyrics are a reflection of lashing out instead of drawing in, but perhaps it’s preferable to lash out via music than through physical violence. That also points at “Wish” marking a shift in Trent’s lyrics—going from self-pitying to destructive, regardless of whether that’s towards himself or others. Unlike much of the other tracks on Broken, “Wish” manages to hint at a desire for something more instead of opting for the total oblivion of tracks like “Happiness in Slavery” or “Gave Up.”
As an amusing side-note, upon winning the Grammy for “Best Metal Performance,” Trent joked that he wanted the epitaph on his grave to read: “Said ‘fist fuck,’ won a Grammy.”
Once the ice-cold synth gives way to Trent’s voice, the opening verse leaves him to deliver these lines:
This is the first day of my last days.
I built it up, now I take it apart.
Climbed up real high, now fall down real far.
No need for me to stay.
The last thing left, I just threw it away.
I put my faith in God and my trust in you.
Now there’s nothing more fucked up I could do.
Right into the opening line (“This is the first day of my last days”) “Wish” makes a sentiment of discontent apparent—yet it’s also the least-aggressive line in the song. In essence, “first day” sets a time while also marking a new beginning—likely the result of Trent already having made up his mind about defying TVT Records. Which leads to “my last days,” a phrase signaling that Trent’s fully-willing to bring about the end of an era in order to achieve that new beginning.
Extending from the previous lines comes the next two: “I built it up, now I take it apart/Climbed up real high, now fall down real far.” First, “built it up” entails that Trent constructed the artistic aesthetic of Pretty Hate Machine by himself only for TVT to hold Trent and his art hostage. Next, the construction of “now” illustrates that this arrives at a crucial moment for Trent since now, he needs to make-or-break on his own terms. Fortunately, “take it apart” illustrates how the sound of Broken marks a clear and deliberate break from anything on Pretty Hate Machine and an even larger break from anything that TVT Records would accept. In that sense, any ‘failure’ from this falls squarely on Trent’s own shoulders. Placing the past/present relation in a different lens comes from “Climbed up real high,” where it reflects the mild success that Trent felt in the wake of Pretty Hate Machine. However, that’s placed in contrast via “fall down real far,” which denotes that that—due to the earlier success feeling disingenuous—Broken reflects Trent’s true feelings at the time with greater clarity than Pretty Hate Machine did.
Matters of art/business relationship are of note in the next two lines: “No need for me to stay/The last thing left, I just threw it away.” Beginning with “No need for me to stay,” Trent now considers it pointless to linger in a business relationship where his artistic integrity stays constrained. This suggests that the “last thing left” is Trent’s willingness to be controlled—an inverse to the conundrum presented in “Happiness in Slavery.” Therefore, “just threw it away” must register as Trent asserting himself via a deliberate act of defiance.
The lines which end the first verse (“I put my faith in God and my trust in you/Now there’s nothing more fucked up I could do”) serve to link the art/business relationship towards themes of previous songs. That’s apparent with “put my faith in God” serving as a partial callback to “Terrible Lie,” but that phrase also serves as a reflection of blind faith which the bitter reality has dispelled. Another callback comes in the form of “my trust in you” (the action of signing to TVT Records) and that phrase’s juxtaposition with “put my faith in God.” Such a juxtaposition recalls the phrasing of “God money” from “Head Like a Hole.” Where the previous matters take on a new layer is the phrase “nothing more fucked up I could do” That phrase doesn’t state what the action that’s being compared to is. However, the implication varies depending on the perspective of Trent or of authority. In Trent’s mind, the wrong thing would be to blindly authority while knowing it’s insincere to himself. In the mind of authority, it’s the defiance that’s the worst thing to do.
After a couple revolutions of the guitar riff, the jump into a melodic chorus manages to hit harder than jumping into something even more aggressive. As a consequence, Trent moves into this:
Wish there was something real.
Wish there was something true.
Wish there was something real
In this world full of you.
With the first two lines (“Wish there was something real/Wish there was something true”), Trent essentially provides a statement of purpose. For starters, “Wish” shows that the vague ideology here is one which no definite action can be taken—in a way, the action of wishing is comparable to the action of prayer. Continuing from the uncertainty, there’s “something real” and the implication that (due to “something” remaining indefinite) Trent’s now in a position where he doesn’t quite know how to succeed on his own. But what’s more important to Trent comes from “something true,” a condition which is impossible without Trent going behind the backs of the label—which implies that Pretty Hate Machine was recorded in a state that’s disingenuous to himself.
So therefore, a clear decision is made in the last two lines of the chorus: “Wish there was something real/In this world full of you.” Trent decides to repudiate “this world” (the music industry). After this, “full” connotes the greed-based corruption with the language of gluttony while “you” puts Steve Gottlieb in the guise of a common businessman—a symbol of everything in the way of Trent’s artistic integrity.
While the second verse follows the same formula as the first, the words that Trent utters in them leave some room for poring over:
I’m the one without a soul.
I’m the one with this big fucking hole.
No new tale to tell,
Twenty-six years, on my way to Hell.
Gotta listen to your big-time,
Hard line, bad luck, fist fuck.
Don’t think you’re having all the fun.
You know me, I hate everyone.
The fashion in which this verse begins (with “I’m the one without a soul/I’m the one with this big fucking hole”) boils down to a lingering guilt haunting Trent. Namely, “the one without of soul” connotes a state that’s a consequence of rendering “something true” a self-fulfilling prophecy for Trent—a denial of artistic integrity of Pretty Hate Machine. Afterwards, this prophecy extends to “this big fucking hole,” a symbol of guilt gnawing away at Trent.
All of that carries over to the lines “No new tale to tell,/Twenty-six years, on my way to Hell.” At this juncture, one should recall that “No new tale to tell” mirrors the detail that Trent—had he not defiantly struck out on his own—would’ve been a flash-in-the-pan with Pretty Hate Machine. Which brings to mind that Trent would’ve peaked early—“Twenty-six years” isn’t an inaccurate detail since between Trent’s birthdate (May 17, 1965) and the recording period of Broken (March-August 1992), there’s a gap of 26-27 years. Where this becomes a stretch is the phrase “on my way to Hell.” In this sense, Trent not being true to himself and his defiance of authority can (depending on one’s own point-of-view) come across as offenses worthy of damnation. Here, Trent doesn’t care what would ‘damn’ him, so he asserts himself as much as he can with the time he knows he has.
Because the alternative is mockingly presented in the two lines of “Gotta listen to your big-time,/Hard line, bad luck, fist fuck.” In this case, “Gotta listen” only remains valid so long as Trent stays within TVT’s iron fist, a fist belonging to “your” (Steve Gottlieb). Another two factual elements come from “big-time” (Gottlieb being the head of TVT) and “Hard line” (Gottlieb did have control over the contract, and (by-proxy) Trent). Where things become interesting appears in the form of “bad luck” and “fist fuck.” Via the former (“bad luck”), there’s the suggestion of either bad luck for Trent or Trent knowingly winking towards the ‘behind-the-back’ sabotage of how Broken was recorded. But it’s the latter (“fist fuck”) that has a problematic wording that reflects a sense of lingering immaturity in Trent more clearly than any other part of the song. Especially since this phrase uses fisting-rape as a metaphor for how the record label continuously screwed over Trent.
Now that the extent of the record label’s control has been presented, the lines “Don’t think you’re having all the fun/You know me, I hate everyone” function as a repudiation. It begins with “Don’t think” serving as a defiant tell-off since “Don’t think” also hints at a dark them that later appears in “Happiness in Slavery.” The pronoun of “you’re” doubtlessly refers to Steve Gottlieb. Then, “having all the fun” results in the assumption that it’s good to be in charge—Trent projecting his opinions on how Steve feels doing his job. At the same time, Trent doesn’t seem to discount that there’s hard work involved with being in charge at any profession. Finally, “I hate everyone” hints at the forms of self-loathing found most-vividly on The Downward Spiral.
The song’s outro section contains some audible whispers from Trent:
I want to, but I can’t turn back.
But I want to.
With only two lines (“I want to, but I can’t turn back/But I want to”), two ideas are presented that counter each other. First, “I want to” hints at a theme present in “Happiness in Slavery” since it suggests that it’s easier to live passively under the control of higher-ups than to strike out on one’s own. However, Trent’s last new word of “I can’t turn back” proves telling via a rather meta comment: by the act of recording Broken in secret, Trent’s already on his own path.
“Last” (4:44)
Operating at a tempo of 90 BPM, “Last” begins with a thick guitar-riff that’s played in both the same scale and the same key as “Wish,” forming the spine of the verses that Trent lays down abrasive vocals on top of. Once the chorus kicks in, the guitars are traded for synthesizers while Trent switches abrasive vocals with a more melodic style of singing—a musical contrast repeated in later songs such as “Head Down” (from The Slip). As far as the structure of “Last” is able to be perceived (three sections interspersed with two guitar-only breaks), there’s now a forerunner for songs such as “Reptile (from The Downward Spiral) which appear on later albums. The matter of the ending of “Last” concerns a buildup formed by the now-familiar verse-riff and a single phrase before giving way to the guitar line of “Help Me I Am in Hell.”
But that outro also offers an example of Trent’s production wizardry since that section’s vocals comprise of two takes simultaneously. There’s the first take wherein Trent screams the vocals on the left channel. Then, there’s the second take consisting of Trent whispering them on the right channel. How production factors into the mix is that mid-way through the outro, the two takes end up switching back-and-forth between the speakers. This leaves listeners in a state of bewilderment that “Help Me I Am in Hell” acts as a cool-down from.
If “Wish” didn’t offer clear evidence of NIN adopting elements of metal, than “Last” takes two musical elements from Metallica. First, there’s the key change into the chorus—using a similar scale, but move two notes higher—that functions similarly to the way that Metallic plays the chorus to “Enter Sandman.” Additionally, the third verse of “Last” contains an extra riff on rhythm guitar—a riff which (although played in a slower tempo) contains a rhythmic resemblance to one found early on in Metallica’s “Master of Puppets.” In neither case am I saying that Trent ‘ripped off’ Metallica since there are more than enough differences between “Last” and “Enter Sandman”/“Master of Puppets” to indicate that Trent seized upon one musical idea found in another source and utilized that idea in order to create something original. It’s also a good opportunity for Trent to show his metal credentials—since Metallica had just released their 1991 self-titled album (also known as The Black Album) one year prior to Broken, they were the biggest band in metal at the time. If Trent were to draw inspiration from a metal act, who better to draw from than the leader of the pack?
Lyrically speaking, “Last” concerns a lack of self-worth in the speaker. But it gets more specific than that considering one can read a failing relationship in a few of these lyrics. In fact, a couple lines sting of the twisted sexual undertones that also pervade “Closer” (from The Downward Spiral).
Such self-loathing becomes evident in the song as quickly as Trent’s first verse:
Gave up trying to figure it out,
But my head got lost along the way.
Worn out from giving it up.
My soul, I pissed it all away.
Still stings these shattered nerves.
Pigs, we get what pigs deserve.
I’m going all the way down.
I’m leaving today.
Negativity abounds via the lines “Gave up trying to figure it out,/But my head got lost along the way.” Beginning with “Gave up,” the passive action of a surrender becomes painted as if it were an active choice—while carrying a similar wording to one found in the song “Gave Up.” Then, the phrase “trying to figure it out” reflects a jaded quality in its suggestion that the speaker attempted to find meaning in this relationship, but got burned by his own failings. That notion extends into “my head got lost,” in which the speaker ended up permanently altered for the worse by this difficult, unstable relationship—a relationship that “along the way” implies has lasted for a period of time.
The aftereffects of this relationship rear their ugly head in the next lines: “Worn out from giving it up/My soul, I pissed it all away.” First, “Worn out” reflects that the speaker expected something out of this relationship, but that something never came. Instead, there’s (from the phrase “from giving it up) a dark, abusive quality akin to the unhealthy, sex-based surrender and emotional abuse depicted in Steven Wilson’s “Song of I” (from 2017’s To The Bone). In fact, further clarity of the song’s sexual overtones are ascertainable from the action of “pissed it all away” being applied to the speaker’s soul. That action indicates that it’s similar of Trent’s song “Closer” since the sexual overtones of “Last” entail that the speaker loses more of himself in a negative way while in the act of sex.
New details are presented within Trent’s next two lines: “Still stings these shattered nerves/Pigs, we get what pigs deserve.” On the detail of “Still stings these shattered nerves,” that’s a phrase that (while a vivid image) contains a grammatical ambiguity—either the stinging of the nerves render the nerves still or the nerves continue to sting. But the main event of these lines appears in the imagery of “Pigs.” In the context of this song, “Pigs” acts as the opposite of how that animal’s presented in George Orwell’s Animal Farm in that here, the animal’s depicted as fundamentally ruined to the foundation—an instance of symbolism to remember for later NIN releases (especially The Downward Spiral). Furthermore, that “we” remains synonymous with the “Pigs” are synonymous with the mob-like mentality which “March of the Pigs” will later present the animal. Additionally, the last phrase—“get what pigs deserve”—reinforce the envisioning of “pigs” as something negative.
A return to the speaker’s failings comes full-force in the last two lines of the verse: “I’m going all the way down/I’m leaving today.” Depending on one’s interpretation, “going all the way down” refers to the speaker getting down to the bottom of things or to the speaker’s descent into what he considers the lowest point of depravity. Regardless, there’s no denying that “leaving today” reflects negativity and the effects of the descent. But “leaving today” remains ambiguous: it connotes the end of the relationship, a threat of suicide, or the speaker’s earlier self having left him. That last detail indicates that the relationship has fundamentally changed the speaker—with the present moment marking the warping of the last vestige of his original self.
If one wasn’t convinced of “Last” containing sexual undertones, look no further than what Trent offers for the chorus:
Come come, come on, you’ve gotta fill/fix me up.
Come come, gotta let me inside of you.
Sexually-charged details pervade the entirety of the lines “Come come, come on, you’ve gotta fill/fix me up.” First, there’s the detail of the verb “Come” being utilized both to mark the sex itself and to beckon the other person for sex. Second, “fill me up” inserts imagery of male homosexuality within the lyrics—unless this phrase acts as a metaphor for filling a void in the speaker’s life. The most-telling detail comes from the last phrase of “fix me up,” one indicating that this relationship started with the speaker in a not-so-good state-of-mind.
However, sexually-charged notions morph into something else entirely via the line “Come come, gotta let me inside of you.” This is due to the construction of the phrase “let me get inside of you” rendering it questionable whether or not consent is involved. Namely due to “let” suggesting that the speaker’s coercing the other person. Or that the other person has been resisting the advances of the speaker—in which case this would boil down to rape.
Trent’s second verse contains new layers to add to previously-established information:
Still feel it all slipping away,
But it doesn’t matter anymore.
Everybody’s still chipping away,
But it doesn’t matter anymore.
Look through these blackened eyes.
You’ll see ten thousand lies.
My lips may promise,
But my heart is a whore.
On the level of phrasal construction, the lines “Still feel it all slipping away/But it doesn’t matter anymore” points towards escalation. And that’s little surprise since “Still”—a word which conveys that the state of decay has been ongoing for the speaker—entails that there’s been ample time to allow for that escalation to occur. But part of that escalation remains indebted to perception since “feel” denotes sensation—a quality which doesn’t always 1:1 match the events. As for that perception, “all” has led the speaker to believe that his entire life’s collapsing due to the effects of a relationship which he probably wasn’t ready for to begin with. The collapse itself (“slipping away”) is distinguished with a passive action, a detail implying that there’s no way for the speaker to reverse the damage that’s already been inflicted. However, the contraction of “but” seems to suggest that everything in the previous lines matters less than the information contained in “doesn’t matter anymore.” That phrase conveys that the speaker’s grown complacent of his decaying self-worth, a notion further supporting his own surrender.
Surrender itself becomes the main topic in the next two lines: “Everybody’s still chipping away/But it doesn’t matter anymore.” That’s ascertainable as early as “Everybody’s,” a word imbued with such a sense of no one having the speaker’s back that it’s utterly hopeless to fight back—rendering it that surrender’s the only option on the speaker’s mind. That fight becomes further quantified by “still,” one word which outlines such a long-term assault that the speaker likely can’t take anymore. One shouldn’t forget that “chipping away” denotes that surrender would only hasten the speaker’s decay—presented in visceral terms that equates the speaker with an object.
In the next two lines (“Look through these blackened eyes/You’ll see ten thousand lies”), that decay morphs into corruption. That much is evident from “Look through” being used instead of “look at,” a substitution which entails that the degrading self-worth has infected the essence of the speaker’s being. Such a degraded self-worth is imbued with a new image via “these blackened eyes,” in which a corrupted self is conveyed as a diseased ‘windows to the soul.’ Meanwhile, “You’ll” acts as a direct address to the other person and places a guarantee further elaborated upon with “see ten thousand lies.” That phrase indicates that the speaker instinctively (maybe unconsciously) knows that he can’t be trusted and that any attempted deceit will be made easily detectable.
Such notions of deceit and guarantees are played with in the verse’s final two lines: “My lips may promise/But my heart is a whore.” Here, “lips may promise” carries a single word (“may”) which renders a “promise” something that isn’t a guarantee—while also showing that words matter less than the context in which those words are spoken and/or written. This also extends to an internal conflicted illustrated by the phrase “heart is a whore.” In this example, the “is” seems to suggest that something’s certain, but the notion that the speaker’s “heart” acts unfaithfully to itself places the push-and-pull of the speaker’s slipping identity under the lens of William Faulkner’s “the human heart in conflict with itself.”[1]
These words—presented within the same sexual context of the previous chorus—point towards another notion entirely:
Come come, gotta let me get through to you.
To illustrate the implications of the line “Come come, gotta let me get through to you,” one should recall the notion of questionable consent from “let me get inside of you,” which this line substitutes. Instead of questionable consent, “let me get through to you” carries a different meaning: the disintegration of trust within this relationship. Thematically appropriate given the contents of the previous verse.
Another section that carves right at the heart of the speaker comes from the bridge:
This isn’t meant to last.
This is for right now.
The two lines which comprise the bridge (“This isn’t meant to last/This is for right now”) illustrate a folly at how the relationship began. In the instance of “isn’t meant to last,” basing a relationship around sex ends up dooming the relationship to a short-term—a self-destructive short-sightedness. Especially with that phrase being followed by “for right now,” another short-sighted boast from the speaker since—because today’s “right now” isn’t tomorrow’s “right now”—the state of “right now” always moves. Additionally, a focus on sex without emotional development isn’t for everyone and it can serve to fly in the face of bonding hormones (namely oxytocin) that flow in the body during sex.
But Trent’s third verse registers as the sort of violent self-hatred that The Downward Spiral calls home:
I know it’s all getting away
And it comes to me as no surprise.
I know what’s coming to me
Is never going to arrive.
Fresh blood through tired skin.
New sweat to drown me in.
Dress up this rotten carcass
Just to make it look alive.
Notions of suppression, ambiguity, helplessness, and perspective run abound in the lines “I know it’s all getting away/And it comes to me as no surprise.” First, “know” reflects that the state of the speaker (due to habit) feels instinctual, but those instincts can be fooled—especially if one suppresses them through emotionless sex. While the subject of “it’s” remains ambiguous, it can refer to the relationship, the speaker’s sanity, and the speaker’s self-worth. Yes, I say “and,” not ‘or’ because “all” confirms that “it’s” isn’t an either/or proposition regarding the subject. Next, “getting away” may function as an active verb, but since it’s applied to the traits which are abandoning the speaker, one can ascertain that the speaker’s still passive because he feels helpless. From “it comes to me,” one can read that while the thought-process is active, the speaker’s mind is passive. However, “to me” entails that it’s all a matter of perspective and therefore subjective. Subjectivity affects the phrase “as no surprise” because it means that while the speaker remains unsurprised, other people’s unawareness of the speaker’s state-of-mind results in them being blindsided by the truth.
A blindsided perspective creates bias in the next two lines: “I know what’s coming to me/Is never going to arrive.” Such bias affects “know” since it’s otherwise questionable how the speaker knows this for sure. Especially since “what’s coming to me” connotes a sense of self-loathing as well as a feeling that the speaker (as a male) is entitled to something yet knows he won’t get it. That denial’s reinforced by “never,” an absolute which denies any degree of nuance.
Meanwhile, the next two lines (“Fresh blood through tired skin/New sweat to drown me in”) ties all these prior notions into the speaker’s sexual appetites. Such connotations are apparent as immediately as “Fresh blood through tired skin,” which serves both as a possible reference to the speaker’s erection and to a Phillip Roth-esque idea where sexuality reflects vitality[2] (in the speaker). However, that vitality can’t dispel the total collapse nor the fact that the speaker can’t ignore said collapse. Further evidence of vitality appears via “New sweat,” an indication that the sex is of a vigorous nature. That Rothian notion of male sexuality from “Fresh blood through tired skin” ends up becoming upended in the phrase “to drown me in.” Here, sex only serves to hasten the speaker’s decline.
The ultimate effect of every aspect of the song are elucidated via the last two lines of this verse: “Dress up this rotten carcass/Just to make it look alive.” Beginning with “Dress up,” there’s the thematic motif of placing a mask on in order to make things seem better, but at the cost of erasing one’s own identity. That’s a notion which the speaker deems necessary with “this rotten carcass,” where the self-worth of the speaker leads him to view himself as corrupt to the point of irredeemability. One can ascertain from “Just” that the speaker considers this a simple process—a consideration indebted to the speaker self-deluding himself into thinking it’s easy. Finally, there’s the laundry list of connotations one can divine from “make it look alive”—with “make” entailing artificiality, “it” indicating that the speaker considers himself subhuman, and “look alive” suggesting that the speaker latches onto superficial elements since anything of substance remains beyond his reach.
After the song’s last chorus, Trent’s repeating words that function as an outro cap off the song on a dark note:
I wish I could put the blame on you.
I want you to make me.
I want you to take me.
I want you to break me.
Then, I want you to throw me away.
Kicking off the outro with “I wish I could put the blame on you,” there’s notions of blind-hope and self-loathing. From “wish,” there’s a similar meaning to how that word’s used as how it’s used in the chorus to “Wish”—a hollow prayer that the speaker can only hope comes true. That hopelessness turns to desperation via “put the blame on you,” where the speaker (due to knowing he’s corrupt) can’t even find it in him to deflect blame on the other person.
These lines of self-loathing are tied to sexual overtones during the next two lines: “I want you to make me/I want you to take me.” First, there’s “want you” tying the sexual overtones into masochistic ones while also entailing that the speaker’s passivity is so pervasive that he can’t do any of this himself. And sexual overtones are tied to the masochistic ones through “make me,” a phrase with the additional meaning of formation. Then, there’s “take me” and its request from the speaker for the other person to deprive him of any room to screw up further.
Lyrically, the final statement of the song (the lines “I want you to break me/Then, I want you to throw me away”) conveys hatred. Namely, the phrase “break me” and its inherent suggestion of self-loathing. Additionally, there’s a desire for masochistic punishment prior to the discarding of “throw me away.”
“Help Me I Am in Hell/Happiness in Slavery” (7:17)
Dropping down to a tempo of 74 BPM, “Help Me I Am in Hell” serves as a minimalistic interlude before “Happiness in Slavery” resumes bludgeoning the listener’s senses. But while the song remains simple and repetitive, there’s a couple of striking elements in regards to music. First is the presence of the myxolydian scale—like a major scale except that the last note is one note lower). Sure, that’s a scale which can commonly be found in blues, but this isn’t blues music. A second curious facet regarding tone and theory concerns the main musical riff played on guitar—consisting of one rising phrase followed by one descending phrase. The curious facet comes from the fact that this melody sounds rather beautiful despite both phrases ending with a tri-tone—a musical motif commonly found in metal riffs (and in every other song on Broken) which the church forbade medieval classical musicians from playing since they feared it could summon the Devil (the origin of the term diablos in musica).
That hidden beauty—in conjunction with the subject matter of “Happiness in Slavery”—gives us a clue of what the song and title truly mean. In this case, “Help Me I Am in Hell” posits blissful ignorance/Trent’s record contract (depending on how one reads “Happiness in Slavery”) as a Faustian bargain. The unusually-blissful sound of the tri-tones in “Help Me I Am in Hell” point towards the enticing elements of a Satan-esque temptation while the loop of thunder that ends up leading to “Happiness in Slavery” points towards the reality of the situation.
“Happiness in Slavery”—another Grammy winner (this time for the live version played at Woodstock ‘94)—has several notable elements. First of all, it veers between extremely-abrasive verses, cleaner-and-dancier pre-choruses, and choruses that act as an in-between route sonically (almost as if to represent the disparity inherent to the phrase ‘happiness in slavery’). Second, there’s a bridge constructed entirely from samples of percussion patterns, synthesized machine sounds, and Trent’s distorted voice. Thirdly, there’s the same form of key change as that of “Last,” but now utilized for the pre-chorus. Next, there’s the notion that “Happiness in Slavery”—despite its abrasiveness—serves as the most danceable song on the album, akin to “Sin” on Pretty Hate Machine. Lastly, there’s the song’s sudden ending that cuts off Trent mid-whisper.
Lyrically, “Happiness in Slavery” operates as the vaguest song on the album. One can read this song as about Stockholm Syndrome in a general sense. But the context of Trent’s struggle with TVT Records allows one to interpret the song via an autobiographical lens. Additionally, the infamously-NSFW music video (banned for depicting graphic scenes of torture) offers a disturbingly-literal way to perceive the song. But the source of the title—the preface of a bondage novel titled The Story of O—permits another layer of meaning towards the song. The bottom line being that “Happiness in Slavery” is one song where differing contexts can drastically alter the song’s meaning—so the meaning that I’ve latched onto doesn’t necessarily act as a one-size-fits-all.
Such ambiguity rears its ugly head as immediately as Trent’s opening verse:
Slave screams he thinks he knows what he wants.
Slave screams he thinks he has something to say.
Slave screams he hears, but doesn’t want to listen.
Slave screams he’s being beat into submission.
Gaslighting and abuse are apparent from the first two lines: “Slave screams he thinks he knows what he wants/Slave screams he thinks he has something to say.” First, “Slave screams” suggests (from the perspective of the oppressor) that anything the slave says boils down to idle chat since the oppressor won’t listen. Second, the usage of “he thinks he knows what he wants” conveys that the oppressor has manipulated the slave so much that he’s now uncertain whether his desires are genuine. Last, the “something” in “has something to say” reinforces the notion that the oppressor pays no mind to anything that a slave has to say.
Other forms of abuse besides psychological are depicted via the next two lines: “Slave screams he hears, but doesn’t want to listen/Slave screams he’s being beat into submission.” Starting with “hears,” there’s the idea that the abuse sustained by the “Slave” isn’t severe enough to deprive him of his senses—which supports the notion that the song’s a metaphor for the music industry or capitalism/wage slavery. However, it’s telling that “doesn’t want to listen” indicates that the slave’s capable of rebellion. Especially considering that “being beat into submission” connotes that the slave is more aware of the mechanics fueling the oppression than his own oppressors.
Any interpretation of the song should center on perspective and some context can be derived from the pre-chorus:
Don’t open your eyes, you won’t like what you see.
The devils of truth steal the souls of the free.
Don’t open your eyes, take it from me.
Political implications of subservience are abound in the line “Don’t open your eyes, you won’t like what you see.” Here, “Don’t open your eyes” functions as an outright encouragement to remain blissfully ignorant. And for good reason since “you won’t like what you see” conveys that the truth of the matter isn’t a pretty one. This also leave open the implication that the oppressor knows this from experience since he may have been a former slave.
That nature of the oppressor carries over into the lines “The devils of truth steal the souls of the free/Don’t open your eyes, take it from me.” Beginning with “devils of truth,” the system’s been painted as ‘the devil you know.’ This carries further relevance through “steal the souls of the free,” a phrase suggesting that this corrupt system’s reach is so widespread that the public believes they’re “free” even if they’re enslaved. However, the end of the line (“take it from me”) reinforces the concept that the speaker is a slave-turned-oppressor.
Trent’s smooth-sounding chorus carries two layers of meaning both sonically and lyrically:
I have found.
You can find.
Happiness in slavery.
The master/slave dynamic is further illuminated via the lines which comprise the chorus: “I have found/You can find/Happiness in slavery.” First, “I” demonstrates that the speaker exists as an oppressor in the present state. Then, “have found” indicates that the speaker was a slave once, but he bought into the system since he couldn’t take the burden of abuse any further. Where that perspective shifts to folly comes from the speaker’s words of “you can find.” Those three words convey an ignorance in the oppressor since they suggest that the speaker believe that anyone can reach his status—a lie because if everyone were the 1%, the system can’t sustain itself. That is unless—as entailed by “Happiness in slavery”—the oppressors are also slaves to the system. This would mean that no one has any power over another since capitalism acts as a demon towards everyone. The phrase of “Happiness in slavery” also points towards surrender being preferable since resistance will be met with greater violence borne from the reactionary fears of the powers-that-be.
The out-right intensity of the stakes escalates with the connotations of Trent’s second verse:
Slave screams he spends his life learning conformity.
Slave screams he claims he has his own identity.
Slave screams he’s going to cause the system to fall.
Slave screams, but he’s glad to be chained to that wall.
A perversion of nature becomes apparent through the first two lines: “Slave screams he spends his life learning conformity/Slave screams he claims he has his own identity.” But first, there’s the irony of “spends his life” and the detail that the oppressed acts with a facet of the oppressor’s (capitalism) character. What the meat of analysis in these lines centers on is an extension of the phrase “learning conformity.” Those two words indicate that a lack of freedom isn’t natural, but also imply that some can adapt to that state better than others. This gets followed up by “claims,” another instance where the speaker undermines the slave’s words—a form of gaslighting. Finally, “has his own identity”—in conjunction with the gaslighting of “claims”—demonstrates that the net effect of conformity is to erase identity via smoothing out the rough edges.
Rebellion and futility rear their ugly heads via the next two lines: “Slave screams he’s going to cause the system to fall/Slave screams, but he’s glad to be chained to that wall.” That much proves clear with “going to cause” and the phrase’s threat of active defiance, but that defiance proves unrealistic because it’s only one person against a mass. All that undermines the feasibility of the slave’s to “cause the system to fall,” demolishing his ambitions. Further undermining matter is “glad to be chained,” a phrase depicting the duality of “Happiness in slavery” as a masochistic one. Especially with the suggestion behind “that wall”: that everyone’s part of that system regardless of whether they rebel against it or not.
But there’s a new, socio-political layer to these lyrics that comes about through one altered line in the second pre-chorus:
The blind have been blessed with security.
One can ascertain from the line “The blind have been blessed with security” that “blind” refers to anyone who embraces “Happiness in slavery.” That’s a notion proven true by the contrast of the enlightened bearing the full extent of the oppressors’ wrath. Therefore, the strength-in-numbers ensured via conformity functions as a blessing “with security.”
One striking detail about the outro comes from the notion that the perspective shifts from the oppressor to that of the slave himself:
I don’t know what I am, I don’t know where I’ve been.
Human junk, just words and so much skin.
Stick my hands through the cage of this endless routine.
Just some flesh caught in this big, broken machine.
That shift of perspective in these first two lines (“I don’t know what I am, I don’t know where I’ve been/Human junk, just words and so much skin”) serves to demonstrate the effects of this master/slave dynamic on the common people. That’s partly due to the phrase “don’t know what I am” signaling that, since the slave was born into the system, he was never able to discover his identity. Furthermore, “don’t know where I’ve been” indicates that the system itself negates any value of setting. Both notions apply to “Human junk,” where the inability to express self without punishment renders being human useless. Just as useless as “just words” are—since the fact that the speaker’s in the right doesn’t matter when the corrupt are in-charge. All of those traits are embodied in the last phrase of “so much skin,” where humans—when stripped of all value—may as well be just a hunk of meat.
Control proves ambiguous in these last two lines: “Stick my hands through the cage of this endless routine/Just some flesh caught in this big, broken machine.” First of all, the action of “Stick my hands” implies that the slave isn’t completely passive. However, that seems to contradict “through the cage of this endless routine,” a phrase suggesting that the holding patterns of the slave serve to perpetuate the cycle of abuse. Then, “Just” marks that this is all the slave is worth—valueless as what the slave can do as a person, but valued as “some flesh.” The tragic thing is that “caught” indicates that the slave merely had the unfortunate luck to be born in a predatory system. That system—the “big, broken machine”—acts as an analogue for capitalistic society as a whole.
But perhaps it’s the songs final words which register as the most powerful due to the implications:
Happiness/It controls you.
The powerful implications of the lines “Happiness/It controls you” turns the tables. First, there’s the use of “It” which serves to depersonalize any oppressor. Instead, happiness itself is the oppressor. As for how it “controls you,” the way that humans aim to satisfy one’s own personal happiness ends up motivating people to such an extent that what appears like free-will isn’t.
“Gave Up” (4:08) [feat. Chris Vrenna (part of NIN’s live band at the time) on drums]
Clocking in at a blistering 144 BPM, “Gave Up” is the fastest song on the album and wastes no time showing it off—kicking off the song with the drum-machine playing a running rhythm on the double-bass pedal. Once Trent’s vocals begin, listeners will detect that (in the verses and choruses) they’re heavily-filtered. Although it’s hard to know for sure how Trent achieved this effect, it sounds as though Trent sings this song through a ring modulator. A ring modulator’s a device that ends up distorting both the volume and the frequency of a sound—one famous example of a ring modulator comes from how Doctor Who utilized it to create the voices of the Daleks. Eventually, the Chris Vrenna’s live drums come into a low-pitched rhythm centered on the toms before a cymbal crash inaugurates the chorus, where abrasive guitar and bass patterns join in. Here, some higher-pitched vocal layering also enters the fray.
Following the first chorus, a synthesizer solo appears that’s dependent on the tri-tone—almost as if it’s a deliberate attempt to make the synth as flawed as the guitars surrounding it. This synth solo leads into another verse/pre-chorus/chorus construction before seguing towards the bridge. Here, almost every layer of instrumentation is peeled back—leaving just one percussion loop, sparse guitar chords, and Trent’s lyric of “I tried, but I gave up” as the sole remnants in the dust. At least until another loud synthesizer solo appears only to give way to two repeats of the chorus. But then, there’s the song’s finale: a sonic descent into total anarchy where all the musical components fall out-of-sync with each other and slowly disintegrate into nothing—leaving a highly-distorted clip of Trent yelling “Throw it all away” as the final note of the album while the instruments do just that.
In regards to the lyrics, “Gave Up”—on a surface level—comes across as a song where the speaker laments being treated like dirt. The element that adds ambiguity towards the song is that it never specifies who treated the speaker this way. Going off of the TVT-Reznor feud, one can interpret “Gave Up” as the reflections of a newfound bitterness regarding Trent’s views of the music industry. However, the song can also be personalized as a bitter breakup song. Either way, the lyrics evoke a jaded and disillusioned quality towards the subject that the speaker’s so concerned about.
That jadedness emits from the song as soon as Trent opens his mouth for the first verse:
Perfect little dream, the kind that hurts the most.
Forgot how it feels, well almost.
No one to blame, always the same.
Open my eyes, wake up in flames.
In these first two lines (“Perfect little dream, the kind that hurts the most/Forgot how it feels, well almost”) concepts of wrath and overambition run amok. Beginning with “Perfect little dream,” there’s a mocking sentiment that’s unable to be realized—a mythic status of perfection regarding an idealized music industry. This unrealistic expectation factors into “kind that hurt the most” since it marks the pain of an overambitious yearning that results in permanent unrealization. Instead, the phrase “Forgot how it feels” conveys that reality’s tainted how Trent considers the relationship between music and business—the sneering tone of “well almost” says it all.
Details regarding Trent and Steve Gottlieb’s conflict are further outlined in the next two lines: “No one to blame, always the same/Open my eyes, wake up in flames.” First of all, “No one to blame” shows that Trent’s aware of the fact that Steve Gottlieb isn’t the cause of the music industry’s problems, but a symptom of those problems. Those problems are pervasive since “always the same” indicates that any executive would’ve balked at Trent’s musical ideas—something that’d prove true again when things went sour between Trent and Interscope around 2007. However, it’s clear that the experience with TVT (the rude awakening referred to by “wake up in flames”) necessitated Trent to readjust his game-plan.
The ideas at play in the song so far also factor into Trent’s lyrics to the pre-chorus:
It took you to make me realize [x3].
It took you to make me see the light.
One can read the lines “It took you to make me realize/It took you to make me see the light” as a turn-around in terms of Trent’s outlook on the situation. Namely via “took you to make me realize” and the implication that, without Steve Gottlieb’s interference, Trent would’ve remained unaware of how fucked-up the music industry can be. That much is reinforced by “make me see the light,” a phrase which connotes that Trent had an epiphany of sorts.
But where the song makes the violent, self-loathing, and nilhistic undertones of the album explicit comes from Trent’s chorus:
Smashed up my sanity.
Smashed up integrity.
Smashed up what I believed in.
Smashed up what’s left of me.
Smashed up my everything.
Smashed up all that was true.
Gonna smash myself to pieces.
I don’t know what else to do.
Subjectivity and artistry prove crucial in interpreting the language behind the lines “Smashed up my sanity/Smashed up integrity”—far moreso than “Smashed up” conveying the language of a violent dismantling. Subjectivity comes into play via “my sanity,” since Trent’s music likely appeared insane to Steve Gottlieb, who—because he only cared about commercial potential—heard the finished takes of Pretty Hate Machine and claimed that Trent ruined perfectly-fine demos. This ties to artistry since the smashing of “integrity” points to that act being the moment that Trent knew that he could never whole-heartedly trust an executive.
The consequences of that loss of integrity are illuminated in the lines “Smashed up what I believed in/Smashed up what’s left of me.” With “what I believed in,” the former belief of everything being okay regarding music as is cannot exist unscathed anymore. And “what’s left of me” points to the idea that, as a musician, this smashing of “what I believed in” affects Trent’s livelihood. Doubly so considering how early in Trent’s career that this occurred.
One must consider the next two lines (“Smashed up my everything/Smashed up all that was true”) as a reflection of the viewpoint Trent lost. Although “my everything” posits a similar mindset to “what’s left of me,” it also indicates that music was the thing that Trent held of highest value. But more dangerously is “all that was true,” a phrase entailing that Trent’s belief was so hard-wired into him that it was seen as objective truth. That’s certainly not true anymore.
But the final note of the chorus (“Gonna smash myself to pieces/I don’t know what else to do”) is ultimately one of defiance. That much becomes clear with “Gonna,” a fiery and determined word-choice indicating that Trent’s already made his decision to defy the contract. One should consider from “smash myself to pieces” that in defying the contract, Trent pulled a risky move that (had Interscope not intervened) could’ve ended in disaster. However, “don’t know what else to you” spells it out: the TVT situation left Trent in such dire straits that he felt that he had no other option.
Once the second verse comes about, it’s clear that the situation is irreparable:
Covered up in hope and Vaseline.
Still cannot fix this broken machine.
Watching the hole it used to be mine.
Just watching it burn in my steady systematic decline
Of the trust I will betray.
Give it to me, I throw it away.
After everything I’ve done,
I hate myself for what I’ve become.
There’s a striking use of imagery detailed in the lines “Covered up in hope and Vaseline/Still cannot fix this broken machine.” First, “Covered” suggest something like a shroud concealing something undesirable. Then, “in hope” posits a positive mindset despite everything appearing to fall apart. A metaphor of “Vaseline” entails that anything utilized for beneficial effect doesn’t work anymore. Finally, the corrupt state of the music industry (emblematized by “cannot fix this broken machine”) is presented as one that’s utterly beyond repair.
Corrupt and beyond repair are conditions with after-effects that are presented via the next two lines: “Watching the hole it used to be mine/Just watching it burn in my steady systematic decline.” Looking at “Watching the hole,” one should consider that the state which TVT had deadlocked Trent into meant that (unless Trent recorded in secret) he couldn’t produce the music he wanted to make—something that’d eat him alive. That hole gains further characteristics through the phrase “it used to be mine.” That phrase points towards the nature of Trent’s contract with TVT: that by owning Trent’s music, TVT owned Trent by-proxy. There’s a powerlessness to that scenario entailed by “Just.” That powerlessness also presents the possibility of a ‘what if’ situation where Trent didn’t record the Broken EP in secret and merely languished. That languishment (the “steady systematic decline”) is denoted by “watching it burn” as a ‘what could have been’—one that the present-day Trent that recorded the Broken EP would’ve been overjoyed that it wasn’t his fate.
That ‘what if’ situation stands in contrast to the next lines: “Of the trust I will betray/Give it to me, I throw it away.” First, there’s “the trust I will betray” and its reference to Trent knowingly violating the contract by recording the Broken EP in secret. Then, there’s “Give it,” a phrase which registers as a taunt aimed at Steve which belittles him as a dummy for trusting Trent in the first place since any trust will be tossed aside.
There is a self-loathing note buried within the lapse into ‘what if’ of the last lines: “After everything I’ve done,/I hate myself for what I’ve become.” After all, one should recollect that “everything I’ve done” was (at this point in Trent’s career) consisted of only Pretty Hate Machine. In this regard “hate myself” refers to the ‘what if’ scenario since this hatred “for what I’ve become” marks a waste of talent. After all, any fan of NIN would want to live in a world where Trent was unable to create The Downward Spiral, The Fragile, With Teeth, Year Zero, or the EP Trilogy.
As the song’s bridge marks a brief respite of intensity, Trent’s voice is loud and clear as the most straightforward line in the song comes about:
I tried, but I gave up
Within the single line of “I tried, but I gave up,” two things are presented. First, “tried” entails that—for a time—Trent willingly played along with Steve Gottlieb. However, “gave up” denotes that when Steve showed his true colors, Trent wouldn’t have any of it.
An unparalleled musical violence accompanies the final scream of Trent in this album:
Throw it away
There’s hardly any way to read the line “Throw it away” besides Trent’s final repudiation of anything relating to Steve Gottlieb and TVT Records.
Final Thoughts:
Overall, the Broken EP marks an improvement over Pretty Hate Machine in almost every respect. Production, strong songs, lyrical quality, and instrumentation included. That Trent opted for sounds found in heavy metal happens to serve as a bonus, but the resulting abrasive sound can turn some off from the album. Without the Broken EP, it’s hard to imagine that The Downward Spiral would’ve been possible for Trent.
For all intents and purposes, this is real start of Nine Inch Nails.
Footnotes:
[1] The human heart in conflict with itself: An oft-quoted phrase found in William Faulkner’s Nobel Prize speech that’s sometimes used to describe the primary theme of Faulkner’s corpus; William Faulkner: American author (1897-1962) noted for The Sound and the Fury, As I Lay Dying, Absalom, Absalom!, Light In August, and several other novels set in the fictional American South county of Yoknapatawpha.
[2] Phillip Roth: American author (1933-2018) noted for novels such as Portnoy’s Complaint, American Pastoral, and The Ghost Writer, among others; idea…vitality: applicable to several of Roth’s male protagonists, but none moreso than the misanthropic Mickey Sabbath from Sabbath’s Theater (1993).
Next Up To Bat:
Steven Wilson - "Hand. Cannot. Erase." (2015)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - "You're Gonna Get It!" (1978)
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers - "Damn the Torpedoes" (1980)
Steven Wilson - "To The Bone" (2017)
Storm Corrosion - "Storm Corrosion" (2012)
After the To The Bone review is completed, I'm basically on a free-ball until January. I just hope to get the rest of Steven's side-projects done in-tandem with the Tom Petty discography. As for NIN, I want to time it so that I can intersect that discography with one that I aim to begin in January: David Bowie. Mostly because Trent Reznor did grow to be close friends with David Bowie.