Dream Theater, High Vis, and Finding Balance
2024 seems destined to go down as the year I evolved from appreciating music to FEELING music more deeply.
With a musician father, I grew up immersed in the heady appreciation of musicianship—the kind that musicians craft for other musicians. For years, my admiration was grounded in technical skill, the precision of time signatures, and the intricate layers only a practiced ear might fully grasp. At 15, I reveled in the cerebral joy of dissecting Dream Theater’s complexity, marveling at the genius of prodigious players like Mike Portnoy and John Petrucci. Music was an intellectual pursuit, a puzzle to be solved and admired.
But this year, at 35, something shifted. A (let’s not write about it) patch of life introduced me to a different side of music: the raw, unrestrained catharsis of letting go. High Vis’ live show, to me, isn’t about admiration—it’s about release. Their hardcore punk show isn’t for the mind but for the gut, the soul. Where Dream Theater offered supremacy through control and mastery, High Vis demanded surrender to chaos and emotion.
This isn’t just about contrasting styles; it’s about a journey. I feel a shift as I move from intellectually dissecting music to embracing its visceral, communal power. From analyzing every note to losing myself in the moment. And somewhere between Dream Theater’s technical wizardry and High Vis’ fiery energy, I found a balance I didn’t know I needed.
Dream Theater: Mastery and the Intellectual Experience
Dream Theater’s live performance is an exercise for the mind—a test of your ability to keep up with shifting time signatures, intricate compositions, and seamless transitions. Watching them, I marveled at the unity of their sound. My buddy, a prodigious pianist, joined me, drawn to the genius of Jordan Rudess. Jordan’s turning, twisting keyboard setup was one of the highlights on stage, a visual and auditory embodiment of the band’s technical flair.
During “Stream of Consciousness” and “The Mirror,” the psychedelic visuals paired with the music’s trance-like progressions to create a layered experience. I wrote before about how Dream Theater is a band of virtuosos. As I watched, I couldn’t help but compare them to Rush—Dream Theater’s early influence—and Tool, their contemporaries. Where Tool leans into metallic darkness and rhythmic dominance, Dream Theater feels theatrical, almost operatic. It’s a style rooted in their ’80s beginnings, a heavier evolution of hair metal with staggering technical chops. While Rush’s prog rock ethos feels firmly rooted in the 1970s and Tool’s success speaks to the grungy, industrial-tinged spirit of the 1990s, Dream Theater’s virtuosity feels timeless for those who seek it.
Their performance of “Under a Glass Moon” was a personal highlight. It’s a track I tried (and failed) to emulate as a teenager, but standing there now, I was struck by how every lick, every beat was still seared into my memory. At the end of the show, Mike Portnoy, dressed in a black and grey smoking jacket, commanded the stage—a rock star among rock stars. For a band 40 years into their career, they haven’t missed a step. Their show was intellectual ecstasy, a perfect reminder of why then and now, I obsess over every detail.
High Vis: Raw Emotion and the Catharsis of Chaos
High Vis offered something entirely different. While Dream Theater appeals to the mind, High Vis grips the heart and gut. Graham Sayle’s scathing interludes between songs—like his critique of UK welfare policies in “Mob DLA”—spark thought, but the real power comes when the crowd channels that frustration into collective release.
When I saw them in Stuttgart, the venue had a barricade, which initially disappointed me, because I’d looked forward to the videos I’d seen of crowd, stage, and band blurring into oneness. But it didn’t matter. I was front and center, absorbing all their energy. High Vis’ sound—post-punk reverb paired with hardcore intensity—is captivating. Tracks like “Walking Wires” evoke Siouxsie and the Banshees with their tone, but Graham’s guttural, emotive delivery makes them uniquely themselves. And the song that stuck with me the MOST guttural delivery from both shows? “Altitude.”
Their set wasn’t just a performance; it was a communal purge. As Graham descended from the stage, pulling the crowd into his orbit, I couldn’t help but smile. Despite his intense stage presence, I felt elated, part of something bigger. Each time I’ve seen them, “Trauma Bonds” has taken the experience to another level. Graham has said the song was inspired by friends lost to suicide, but the beauty lies in how universally it resonates. Watching the crowd—arms raised, crowd-surfing bodies lifted and supported, chaos underpinned by care—I understood what makes hardcore shows so transformative. It’s not about rage for its own sake; it’s about channeling that rage into connection.
Catharsis and Control: Why It Matters Now
I still love Dream Theater. Seeing technical mastery live is deeply satisfying, and their show brought the happiness I’d sought when I bought tickets months ago. But right now, the vulnerability of a High Vis show is what I need most.
I’m writing this from Europe, where support for a sovereign nation under invasion feels like it’s fading, and genocidal acts across the Mediterranean are met with silence. Back home, 2016 was a shock, but by 2024, I’m not shocked anymore. Donald Trump’s re-election? Not surprising. Despite the insurrection. Despite the rhetoric. Despite everything.
That shit can feel hopeless, y’all! And at the same time, I’m learning some tough lessons about what you think you want in life, where you think it’s heading, and how life can force a reassessment you didn’t choose. It’s absurd—and from the philosophical absurdists, one way of looking at it is that the universe has no inherent meaning—only the joy we create in fleeting moments of bliss.
So where do I find that? On the goddamn floor at a High Vis show. At venues in Germany plastered with “fuck Nazis” stickers. With people who might elbow me in the ribs while we thrash but who’d help me up the second I fell. The bleakness isn’t overwhelming if you find connection in the chaos. It’s defiant. It’s a reminder that hopelessness doesn’t win unless we let it.
At High Vis’ shows in Stuttgart and Wiesbaden, I wasn’t overthinking anything. I wasn’t weighed down by intellectualism or dread. I just felt present. Alive. Happy.
We all need those moments—the ones that bring us joy, make us feel alive, and renew our spirits. It’s different for everyone, but we have to lean into those spaces, those experiences that remind us why it’s worth fighting for a better world.
Whatever it is for you, find it. Lean in. Let it renew you. And then roll up your sleeves and join me in making this shit better. Because it won’t fix itself, but together, we might just stand a chance.
