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Sofia
There couldn’t be a worse place to be than at the front row of anIndustrial Novemberconcert. Hell would be cooler. I made the mistake of not looking into the band’s live shows before showing up at the concert.
The arena is packed to the brim with screaming fans, and apparently, the lead singer, Brenner Reindhart, has a thing for pyrotechnics. Much like thePink Floydlaser show,Industrial Novemberalso attacks their audience with a light show, only they use real fire. I will be surprised if those of us at the front leave with our eyebrows and eyelashes intact.
Fire erupts from below, from the sides, and even outward over the audience’s heads—at a safe distance, but still close enough for the scorching heatwave to graze our skin. Midway through the concert, their microphone stands light on fire. At one point in the show, when they play “Metal Red Day”—their most popular single and the song I am most familiar with—the singer places a thick helmet over his head that sprouts a massive mohawk made of fire. I have to admit it now—I’m impressed.
This is the concert that turns me into a fan. Experiencing their music live is an entirely different experience than hearing it over my headset. Though the same is true for probably any rock band, there is a spectacular visual element toIndustrial Novemberthat elevates their show to a form of performance art.
They don’t rely on the visuals, though. The music is just as powerful as their studio albums produced with sound engineers. I can see how it would be easy to slack on the musicality when fans are clearly here for the spectacle, but they do both, and they do it well.
I do feel a bit out of place. Everyone all around me knows the lyrics to every single song. If only they sang in their native language—German—I’d probably be in better company. But as is my luck tonight, every single song is performed in English.
All four members of the band are exceedingly handsome—tall, muscular specimens. Brenner is the tallest, though perhaps the least attractive of the four men on stage. His face isn’t classically handsome, but more a type of beastly sort of ugly-handsome with a strong jaw and slightly wide nose. His straight, black hair falls to his forehead with every head-bang, and he pulls it back with one hand, slicking it into place with his sweat. He is drenched with sweat after the first three songs and exudes the type of virile sexiness that I’ve always been attracted to in men. He moves on stage like a brute, with powerful thighs, firm steps, and one of the broadest sets of shoulders I’ve ever seen.
Midway through the concert, when Brenner takes off his shirt, revealing chiseled abs below a barrel chest, I am done for. To put it plainly, the heat emanating from the concert isn’t only coming from the fire.
As the audience’s energy winds down after an impressive four-hours, and the band turns to their slower songs, Mandy rests her head on my shoulder. She’s tired from all the jumping, screaming, and singing of the night. As she leans on me, Mandy sways to a rock ballad she informs me is called “Bed of Eyelashes.”
That’s the moment when Brenner sweeps me away. His deep voice carries a power in the hard metal songs, but I never expected he would be able to carry that over and actually sing. His voice in the rock ballad borders on operatic. It flows like authentic Mexican hot chocolate, silky smooth and hot with a hint of spicy. I know then that I’ll go home and listen to all their albums, hoping I’ll find more ballads there.
Then it happens. I can’t believe it when he does, but midway through the ballad, Brenner Reindhart, the one and only, lead singer ofIndustrial November, locks eyes with me. I’m not singing along like everyone around me, and he shakes his head lightly as he smirks between lines of the chorus. He locks his gaze on me for the entirety of the ballad after that, effectively serenading me.
I look around and behind me, wondering if I’m imagining it, and he’s actually looking at someone near me, but when my gaze lands back on him, he shakes his head and points, nodding, almost as if to say,Yes, you, stupid.
“Holly, hell,” Mandy says when the song is over. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?”
“I didn’t just imagine that?” I ask her.
Mandy grins, turning me by the shoulders to face her. “No. You didn’t.”
I’ve been to my fair share of rock concerts, and not once have I seen anything close to whatIndustrial Novemberdoes when the show is over. They exit the stage, and the crowd stomps their feet until they return for the encore. All four men come back out, line up in a straight line, grab hands, and take a bow. The concert is heavy metal, performance art, and theater all rolled into one. It’s pure art.
“Ready to go backstage?” Mandy asks.
When we get backstage, Mandy and I are escorted to a room packed with other fans and groupies. I find a spot on a couch and take a seat to check my phone, which I now realize I haven’t done all night. I frown. I got so lost in the music, in the magic of the singer. Brenner Reindhart actually made me forget aboutLa Oficinafor four hours.
Three missed text messages from Joe await me.
Joe:Tracy was a no-show. We are short-staffed.
Joe:Never mind. Don’t worry. I was able to get Ileana to come in. Enjoy the concert.
Joe:Did you not get change for the register?
I rub my temples. Joe’s never had any issues like this before. He is probably nervous and, I’m sure, figuring things out on his own. Not that it eases my nerves any.
The door opens, and all the women in the room, including Mandy, jump to their feet, if they aren’t already standing, as the bass player walks in, followed by the guitarist. Two security guards flank them.
“Hello, ladies,” the guitarist says with a wide smile. He has the look of a golden, blond god as he opens his arms wide for two women to fall under his wings and fawn over him.
“That’s Karl,” Mandy says. “And that one over there, the brooding, muscular one with the beard, the bass player, his name is Fritz. We should go over and say hi.”
“Why don’t you go ahead? Get their autographs or take a selfie or whatever you want. I have to deal with Joe.”
“Everything okay?” Mandy asks.
“Yeah. Go on. Enjoy what time you can with them. When I’m done with Joe, I’ll join you.”
