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So I went to a rock show last night, for the first time in at least 3 or 4 years. It turned out to be one of the best rock shows I’ve ever had the pleasure of going to; the headlining act, that wonderful J-rock band The Pillows, were superb. They were even better live than they are in the studio, and the admission price was worth every penny. Except for one black mark on the evening, about which you are now going to hear in excruciating detail.

There were 3 opening acts yesterday, two of which we caught. The first was another J-rock band whose name I didn’t catch, but who were—while not bad—not great, either. Before the second band came out, one of my friends showed me one of the promotional postcards that littered the floor and the tables. It was advertising the shows of two groups, with an introductory blurb for each. The blurb for one, a band called Secretsecret, happened to be some of the most pretentious drivel I had ever had the misfortune to come across. It was so ridiculous, in fact (it included phrases like “soidisant furore”, whatever the hell that means), that I thought it was supposed to be a joke. Secretsecret claimed to be a band whose aim it was to return synth-pop to “the dark roots from which it was spawned”. No, I am not making this up.

I was distracted from my slack-jawed amazement at the skill of the postcard’s copywriter by the arrival of the next and last opening band—wait for it—Secretsecret. Oh, boy, I thought. But, resolved to be optimistic, I hoped that despite the unbelievable pretentiousness of their ad copy, they might have some musical merit. Perhaps they’d try a revival of goth/industrial/synth-pop à la KMFDM’s Juke-Joint Jezebel.

But I took one look at the band and knew, just knew, that all my hopes were for naught. There were three people in the band. One woman (who admittedly had really cool hair) who had all the animation of a statue, and whom I would have thought was one, except that I saw her move her hands on occasion to play her synth, one of the nihilists from The Big Lebowski, and the pièce de résistance, a Marilyn-Manson-in-full-glam-queen-mode look-alike. One who had, if it is possible, negative stage presence, and even more unfortunately, a vocal range of approximately 3 notes. To top it all off, to add the cherry to that particular musical sundae, the music itself was uninspired, the lyrics positively abysmal; they were of the overwrought and hackneyed variety that angsty, pimply, greasy-haired teenagers who feel themselves tragically misunderstood spout into their diaries late at night.

Halfway into the third song—notable lyrics of which were “in the darkness” and “come to my sanctuary”—I leaned over to my friend Jieun and said: “I do not exaggerate when I say that this is possibly the worst band I have ever heard.” She looked at me for a minute and replied: “You know, you just may be right.”

I am willing to entertain the possibility that Secretsecret is some kind of elaborate joke. A subtle prod at pretentious, arty music-types. But if it was, it was so subtle as to feel unfortunately, utterly real.

That said, this record-breakingly bad musical performance was followed by one of the best rock performances I’ve ever seen, so I still count the evening as an overwhelming success.

In other news, I will continue to be inburrito for the next few weeks at least. If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, I’ve been extremely busy preparing for my upcoming change of residence. See you all later.