When Incubus performs at 7:30 p.m. at Darien Lake Performing Arts Center this Sunday, it will be exactly one year and a day after the toughest concert of their career. Unlike almost every other band that canceled their shows after the terrorist attacks, Incubus decided that a moment of silence was not the suitable response.
"Three of us were actually in Soho when the towers went down," DJ Chris Kilmore explains. "But we felt that we were not going to let anyone stop us from what we're doing. So we played that Friday. We had to go to New Hampshire, and just to get out of the city was almost impossible."
For Kilmore, the initial awkwardness was nearly insurmountable. It was a matter of connecting with an audience that wasn't sure if it was even appropriate to have a good time.
"It was so emotional, you can't even imagine. You just had to let the music take over. After that Friday, we were like, 'Wow, this is why we play music.' 'The Warmth' was probably the deepest song, because Brandon (lead singer Brandon Boyd) refers to high rises and towers. So it was pretty traumatic."
But it's not difficult to see why Incubus had no trouble striking the right emotional chords. Although the modern rock outfit is often unfairly grouped with acts like Korn, their former tour mates, Incubus bears very little resemblance to their loud brethren. After all, the multi-platinum popularity of the Los Angeles-based band is fueled by slower, pensive numbers like "Stellar," "Drive" and "Wish You Were Here."
The video for the latter song, which also premiered immediately after the attacks, was actually altered by MTV demand (the original is currently available for download from the band's official Web site, www.enjoyincubus.com).
According to Kilmore, "The original had us jumping off the bridge and dummies falling into the water. MTV was like, 'There's no way we're going to play this.' And we thought it was funny, because it's not graphic at all."
Incubus produced a second version that subbed in home video footage of the band. But the subdued nature of "Wish You Were Here" is a stark contrast to their current video for the fourth single, "Are You In?" which is also off of their current album, "Morning View." Despite the band's low-key, prudish reputation, the video features the members at a swinger's party that, as Kilmore describes, is rife with "a lot of sexy chicks." Individuals inclined to racy imagery shouldn't keep their hopes up; the video will only be released in America via a special DVD.
But cheap theatrics never easily conformed to the ethos of the band. For example, take Kilmore. Although most rock groups that have DJs depend on turntables to artificially energize their sound, this is far from the case for Incubus. Kilmore is much more of a turntablist. His mixing and scratching actually enhance the band's ballad-like tracks, as opposed to the usual assortment of loud songs.
Except on the rare, acoustic tracks, it's never an option for Kilmore to be missing on an Incubus number. The band actually hired him as a new recruit in 1997 after he received attention while playing in Jedi Knights, an underground Los Angeles turntablist crew.
Of course, the real origins of Kilmore's career as a professional DJ are based in Dillsburg, Penn., which is what he calls a "super, super, small town." He received an early introduction to music; his dad took him to see a Pink Floyd concert, while his mother accompanied him to Michael Jackson's 1984 Victory Tour.
Not drifting too far from typical DJ biographies, Kilmore's interest in vinyl was spurred by hip-hop in the eighties.
"I saw DJ Jazzy Jeff, and I was like, 'What the hell is that kid doing?'" Kilmore said. "It was the coolest thing I've ever seen. I just saved up some money one summer, and I asked my dad for some turntables. He was like, 'What do you need $600 turntables for and why do you need two of them?'"
He even got a job at McDonald's to fund his expensive purchases. Needless to say, a summer of flipping burgers netted a profit for the DJ; Kilmore has drifted far from his early days playing house parties and small clubs while living in Foggy Bottom at George Washington University. Although spinning vinyl wasn't his intended major, he doesn't have reservations about sacrificing an ordinary existence.
"I think (people that bemoan their fame) are kind of retarded. We get to make music for a living and travel the world doing it. And I'll put up with anything that's negative."
