ALICE IN CHAINS
HAMMERSTEIN BALLROOM, NEW YORK
Grunge statesmen reopen the treasure chest
HEADLINING TWO NIGHTS
in a row at the same venue might prove a copy-and-paste job for most bands, but Alice In Chains are not like most bands. Early into their epic trek across the States, the grunge icons are playing two sold-out nights at the 2,500-capacity Hammerstein Ballroom, and the air is buzzing with weed-stained anticipation. Dressed in black, the Seattle(ish) icons enter to a hero’s welcome, an audible grin plastered across those on and offstage, before launching into Love, Hate, Love
– already a diversion from the previous night’s setlist. As Mike Inez hurls himself back and forth in a bassline trance, and Sean Kinney batters his skins like they owe him money, it’s William DuVall who stands front and centre, looking cooler than a frozen cucumber in his shades with bona fide guitar hero Jerry Cantrell flanking him on the right, peering into the crowd with an almost visible aura surrounding him as the elder statesman of grunge.
While AIC aren’t packing a stageshow to worry the likes of Kiss, their floodlights-cum-projection boxes add an extra level to this all-encompassing experience; when you’re at an Alice In Chains show, you’re physically a part of the show. Everywhere you look, strangers are arm in arm, bellowing out choruses they’ve known for 30 years, horns raised, passing joints around and becoming one with the music that soundtracked their youth. And sure, later material like Hollow and Check My Brain fits seamlessly into the AIC arsenal, but it’s the likes of Dam That River and a blistering Man In A Box that send New York into raptures. That said, newie The One You Know sounds right at home in the set, with its crunching opening riff and vocal harmonies. There’s something big around the corner from these veterans.
Aside from Jerry’s introductions, there’s very little chatter from the band. Instead the Ballroom is doing the talking. A life-affirming Down In A Hole swells inside the room, like if NY sings loud enough then Layne will hear them, while Nutshell sends hundreds of lighters into the air.
The closing double-whammy of Would? and Rooster cannot be fucked with. Most bands would struggle to find a one-two that hits so hard on so many levels, with the crowd belting out a deafening closing refrain to the former like their lives depended on it. As moshpits open throughout, surrounded by stoned onlookers, it’s the perfect representation of what Alice In Chains are: the metalheads’ grunge band
– one of the few who can appeal to anyone looking for something beautifully dark. It’s a spiritual connection between band and fan, a bond that’s existed since the 90s, and a fire that will never burn out.