Misery Signals - NEW JERSEY BLOG

In 2024, Morgan embarked on a personal passion project to document the final European performance of metalcore pioneers Misery Signals. What he captured quickly evolved into a full documentary, ultimately taking him to Edmonton, Canada, to complete the film.

The documentary was released exactly one year after Misery Signals’ final show, earning critical acclaim. Fans rallied behind the project, with social engagement reaching into the millions and documentary views climbing into the tens of thousands. This momentum led to a public screening of the film in Rutherford, New Jersey, followed by a Q&A with both Kyle Johnson of Misery Signals and Morgan from The Alternative.

That screening took place 3,500 miles from home. What follows is Morgan’s account of the trip.

Isn’t it odd how dates in the diary that seem so very far away suddenly speed toward you when you aren’t paying attention? I blinked and November was here. It had packed my bag, stuffed my passport in my front jacket pocket, then checked it was still there three or four times en route to the airport, then another few times at the gate.

I feel like I saw the first autumn leaf fall, blinked before it hit the ground, then opened my eyes on a flight to Newark Airport. I had dozed off while watching 1917 and, in true war-film fashion, it fired a gunshot at me after a prolonged moment of silence.

The gentle vibration of the armrest, the hum of impossible machines doing their impossible work, and the shallow darkness at the back of the flight (next to the toilets, which is both a blessing and a curse).

The taxi driver pops the boot (the trunk) and I’m set free onto Washington Street, Hoboken. A motion blur of people, cars, dogs, and a frantically waving Angel standing across the street. Relief that I’m in the right place, and the desire to inhale a beer, or a coffee, or both, washes over me.

The coffee happened first, then the beer. The Irish bar showed sports I didn’t understand, poured beers I’d only ever seen in Waitrose back home, and had that familiar bar smell. Slightly stale beer. That sticky smell.

Confused by public transport and unwilling to spend any real time figuring it out, we three tourists caught an Uber into New York City.

Car sick. I always get so damn car sick when I’m a passenger, and in NYC it plagued me.

NYC was what I remembered: loud, like a brass band where the instruments are people’s faces, broken car parts, bricks and splintered wood, and the players are steel girders slowly defying their own rigid form to create a sort of terrifying symphony. I’m sure it becomes background noise to New Yorkers eventually, but to me, it did not.

Badly painted Teslas in Taxi cab yellow, souvenirs, tourists, the desperation to not look like a tourist, the pulse, the dirt, the car horns. We could see it all from the top.

For a small moment I locked onto the sky of lit windows in front of me, a galaxy of stars down here on the ground. I am grateful that I’m able to experience these things, but when my mind is so set on what is coming tomorrow, I must log this moment away for later. Big tasks take up too much of my brain. I can’t focus on anything else until it’s done.

The canvas of lit windows, reaching concrete and ants… would have to wait.

A bloody massive sleep happened here. You don’t really need to know much else, unless we start dissecting my dreams? Didn’t think so.

Rutherford was a beautiful and welcoming part of New Jersey. The coffee was great, the streets were clean, and the people were welcoming. The venue for the screening sits on an unassuming corner. The outside, far more modern than the beautiful, ornate theatre sitting in the stomach of the building. Red velvet curtain, faded gold carving as its frame, and a screen much larger than I thought it would be.

I caught up with Kyle behind the venue. It had been just over a year since I last saw him, so much had happened since then. The tension of what was coming eased as we spoke. Knowing he’d be up there with me relaxed my self-critical brain. You’ll do just fine.

I’d ran out to grab a coffee pretty much three minutes before the doors opened to let the fans in. I had scarpered off to caffeinate my jet-lag-soaked brain. Walking back over, I had to look twice, then hastily walk toward, and tightly hug my good friend Patrizio.

Another wave of “It’s all good” washes over me and I literally try to squeeze him to death. I apologised to his wife, we caught up as much as we could, then inside for the show.

Sitting and watching my own work isn’t something I do often, especially in a theatre with a huge screen in a different country, 3,400 miles away from home. I sat in the dark, away from the audience and my friends, haunting the screening from the back of the room like some kind of nervous ghost.

The audience cried out with the lyrics, threw their fists into the air, and fell into the groove of witnessing the final Misery Signals performance on the big screen. The energy was infectious. I broke my spectre-like demure to throw both fists up for the breakdown in Luminary. It was beautiful, and a testament to the band and their incredibly loyal fans.

The live film ends, and the introductory text for the documentary appears on screen.

I felt it surge up from my stomach, into my head and out of my eyes. When Worlds and Dreams crept out of the darkness, and Kyle’s opening monologue began, the tears fell. I’m not sure if it was pride, or if that particular part just hits me in exactly the right place (which it has done each time I’ve watched it before), or whether I was just super tired and emotional (like a big toddler), but I cried a few large salty tears as the documentary truly began.

The audience sat silently, no more screaming along to the lyrics or throwing their hands up like they were on a rollercoaster. They sat and watched. Silently. I didn’t see a single phone come out, just the images, dancing reflections in their eyes.

As the credits rolled, there was applause. At least I think there was. I was already behind the stage, walking up a creaky wooden set of steps to get ready for the Q&A.

The audience were kind. Questions about the legacy of Misery Signals, what’s next for the band members, and for myself, and how the film has been received and travelled across the world the way it has.

Kind words from devoted fans. This film was made WITH Misery Signals, FOR the fans, so to have their support meant everything. The final question scratched an itch. I got to say some stuff I had pre-planned in my head. Not a waste of worry after all.

Handshakes, hugs, more kind words set to the tune of the opening band tuning up for tonight’s show. Goodbyes, goodbye-for-nows, and a deep sense of gratitude, accomplishment, and a feeling that this was a moment where my real voice was louder than the self-critical one. It doesn’t happen often. I hear it a lot from creatives. But tonight I kicked it down just far enough to enjoy the moment.

The rest of our time was a blur of bodies, noise, old and new friends, White Claws, being constantly desperate for a piss in confined spaces, loud and welcome sounds, then sleep.

I left the day after the screening. The flight home sucked: late, busy, humans. I didn’t think too much about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, closing my eyes long enough to steal a millisecond of sleep, figuring out how to switch off my nostrils on the plane, and just getting home to my wife and son.

It has taken me almost a week to truly unpack this experience. It was life-affirming, career-affirming, but most importantly it was choice-affirming. I made this film for no money. It was a passion project from start to finish, a choice I made to give my time to something that could mean something to someone, or hopefully to a lot of people.

Being a creative, of any discipline, means balancing the paid with the passion. The bills must be paid but the show must go on. Creating something on our own terms will always bring reward, but you get out what you put in. Your time is precious and your most valuable currency. When you pour a lot of it into a project, you always hope to reap a return on your investment.

With this project, it has paid me in ways I never knew existed, even now at 37 years old i am still surprised by where just having fun can take you. I am proud of this film, the story of how it was made, and now how it was released and supported by a global audience.

You never know where having fun will take you.

Thank you for reading.