‘That’s Trent Reznor’s studio,’ he told me. Wow! I’d never met Trent, but Nine Inch Nails were my favourite of the whole new wave of techno-industrial-metal artists. The studio was an imposing former funeral home (well, of course it was!); I gazed at it, reverentially. Chuck intercepted my gaze. ‘You should go in and say “hi”,’ he suggested. ‘No!’ I shook my head. I’ve never bought into all that schmoozing-with-the-stars crap. It can all feel false, and a bit daft. ‘I don’t do stuff like that!’
