Broken

During the time that Pretty Hate Machine was becoming an underground sensation, Trent Reznor became embroiled in legal difficulties with his label that prevented the release of any new Nine Inch Nails material. But the three-year wait actually helped -- most of NIN's fans were relatively recent converts, and they eagerly snapped up 1992's Broken, which afforded the already angst-ridden Reznor the opportunity to vent his ample frustration over the imbroglio. Where Pretty Hate Machine had a few moments of reflection and sardonic humour, Broken is a concentrated blast of caustic, naked rage. Given how draining it is, a full-length album in its style would unquestionably have been wearisome, even self-parodic. So, Broken is the rare EP that's conceptually focused and complete unto itself. Production-wise, it's also a step up from Pretty Hate Machine, and a showcase for Reznor's flowering studio acumen. While Pretty Hate Machine was primarily electronic, Broken is loaded with heavy, jagged guitars, processed through a veritable meat grinder of effects into a massive wall of distortion. Each song one-ups the viciousness of its predecessor; even the two relatively subdued instrumental interludes are full of abrasive textures. There are two hidden bonus cuts at the end of the CD (early pressings had them on a separate disc); they're neither as produced nor as intense, and thus separated conceptually as well as physically. The cover of Adam Ant's "(You're So) Physical" was something of a revelation; not just demonstrating Reznor's fondness for new wave, but serving as a touchstone for his self-conscious, glammed-up sense of style. That and his skills as a producer and arranger would reach their fullest realization on The Downward Spiral, but Broken's tight focus and frothing intensity make it a major work in its own right.

Halo I - IV

It's been 28 years since industrial titans Nine Inch Nails released their landmark debut album; Halo I-IV is a limited edition vinyl box set collecting the complete 1989 version of Pretty Hate Machine on 180 gram vinyl, as well as the domestic versions of all three 12" singles released from the album on 120 gram vinyl. The singles include some B-sides and alternate mixes, making this the perfect way to revisit Pretty Hate Machine in all its dark, catchy splendour. Although vinyl copies of the album aren't too hard to come by, this will be a must-have for Nine Inch Nails' followers, and it's got just the right balance of flashiness and functionality.

Virtually ignored upon its 1989 release, Pretty Hate Machine gradually became a word-of-mouth cult favourite; despite frequent critical bashings, its stature and historical importance only grew in hindsight. In addition to its stealthy rise to prominence, part of the album's legend was that budding auteur Trent Reznor took advantage of his low-level job at a Cleveland studio to begin recording it. Reznor had a background in synth-pop, and the vast majority of Pretty Hate Machine was electronic. Synths voiced all the main riffs, driven by pounding drum machines; distorted guitars were an important textural element, but not the primary focus. Pretty Hate Machine was something unique in industrial music -- certainly no one else was attempting the balladry of "Something I Can Never Have," but the crucial difference was even simpler. Instead of numbing the listener with mechanical repetition, Pretty Hate Machine's bleak electronics were subordinate to catchy riffs and verse-chorus song structures, which was why it built such a rabid following with so little publicity. That innovation was the most important step in bringing industrial music to a wide audience, as proven by the frequency with which late-'90s alternative metal bands copied NIN's interwoven guitar/synth textures. It was a new soundtrack for adolescent angst -- noisily aggressive and coldly detached, tied together by a dominant personality. Reznor's tortured confusion and self-obsession gave industrial music a human voice, a point of connection. His lyrics were filled with betrayal, whether by lovers, society, or God; it was essentially the sound of childhood illusions shattering, and Reznor was not taking it lying down. Plus, the absolute dichotomies in his world (there was either purity and perfection, or depravity and worthlessness) made for smashing melodrama. Perhaps the greatest achievement of Pretty Hate Machine was that it brought emotional extravagance to a genre whose main theme had nearly always been dehumanization.