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The damp air of Biddinghuizen clings to the backstage, thick with the scent of wet grass, cheap beer, and forty thousand screaming fans packed into the Lowlands Festival grounds. On stage, the energy is pure, unadulterated chaos. System of a Down is midway through their set, cutting deep into "Suggestions." Daron Malakian is in his element, a frantic wire of kinetic energy. His fingers fly across the fretboard of his Iceman, leaning heavy into the jarring, angular rhythms. Beside him, Serj Tankian paces the stage like a restless poet, his vocals weaving seamlessly between operatic surges and guttural barks.
Their connection on stage is effortless, an unspoken conversation built over seven years of shared beds, late-night songwriting in cramped apartments, and a quiet, fierce devotion that grounds the storm of their rising fame.
Then, mid-riff, the guitar audio drops out completely.
The roaring wall of distortion collapses into sudden, naked emptiness. Daron hits the strings again, his brow furrowing, but nothing comes out of his amplifier—just a faint, pathetic hum. He doesn't panic, but a flash of sharp frustration flickers across his dark eyes. Muttering a silent curse, he unstraps his body from the center stage spotlight and trots over to the stage-left wings where his guitar tech is already frantically checking cables, pedalboards, and wireless receivers. Serj doesn't skip a beat. Without pausing his vocal delivery, he tilts his head, trailing Daron with dark, watchful eyes.
The song's rhythm section is still pumping behind them, and instead of staying out front to play the traditional frontman, Serj simply follows his boyfriend to the edge of the stage. He stalks over with long, deliberate strides, holding the microphone close to his lips as he continues chanting the track's hypnotic lyrics. As Daron bends over the tech’s rig, sweating and tugging at his guitar strap, Serj leans in close. He pulls the microphone just an inch away from his mouth, dropping his voice into a warm, low register that is only barely picked up by the PA system.
"What's wrong, baby?" Serj asks softly, the affectionate term laced with intimate, grounded calm amidst the noise.
Daron glares down at the instrument strapped to his chest and taps the pickups, letting out an annoyed breath. He tilts the body of the silent guitar toward Serj, gesturing to the dead output. Serj blinks, looking from the helpless guitar up to Daron’s tense shoulders. A glint of playful absurdity lights up his eyes. Without hesitation, Serj re-adjusts his grip on the microphone, brings it right back up to his lips, and sharply kicks the tip of his boot against the bottom curve of Daron’s guitar body.
"Bad guitar! Bad guitar!" Serj scolds loudly into the microphone, his voice booming out over the entire festival grounds in a hilarious, scolding tone usually reserved for a misbehaving puppy.
The crowd erupts into a massive wave of laughter and cheers. Daron bursts out laughing, the sudden spike of stage frustration completely melting away. He shakes his head, an affectionate grin breaking across his face. Leaning up on his tiptoes while the tech quickly hands him a fresh replacement guitar, Daron leans into the side of Serj’s neck.
He presses a soft, lingering kiss right against the shell of Serj’s ear and whispers a quick, warm, "Thank you, silly."
Serj’s eye twitches with delight, and a rich, deep blush blooms rapidly across his cheekbones and down his neck, visible even under the harsh stage lights. He huffs out a quiet laugh, his chest swelling with fondness as he steps back to give Daron room. Instead of letting the momentary gear failure kill the momentum, the rest of the band leans into the bump with practiced ease. Shavo Odadjian digs deep into his bass, cranking the low end to fill the sonic vacuum, while John Dolmayan locks into a heavy, relentless groove on the drums, keeping the heartbeat of "Suggestions" driving forward without losing a single bpm.
Serj pivots back toward the crowd, grabbing the mic with both hands. He begins improvising, stretching out pure, soaring vocal melodies and rhythmic scatting over Shavo and John’s continuous loop, keeping forty thousand people completely captivated in the palm of his hand. Daron slings the new guitar over his shoulder, clicks the standby switch on, and feels the amp hum back to life with a satisfying surge of power. Striking a massive, distorted chord that cuts straight through the air, he leaps from the wings back into the center stage light, seamlessly dropping back into the song without missing a single beat.