Chicago! Fall to your knees in supplication to the almighty Tool! Fear not the meatheaded-ness of the lurking, Tool-shirt adorned creatures and come hither...for this is hour of the massive, the epic, the illimitable.
Yeah, listening to Tool results in language like the above, and a distorted sense of one's own might. It's similar to the way people felt coming out of the theater after seeing Fight Club, already pitying the poor sap who tried to mess with them. The beer tent had started serving its suds in plastic cups according to one leery worker, "Becuase, you know...because of Tool fans," and no one who steered clear of the southern end of Grant Park can really be blamed. Musically speaking, though, they missed some boss metal.
Much like Mastodon's conquering of the stage at Pitchfork in 2007, Tool's headlining set took on the role of a kind of re-calibration mechanism for ears that had been inundated with hours of pop, punk, roots and rock. It's not for everyone, but even the naysayers have to admit that the visuals, from videos of nightmarish humanoids to the striated, Ent-like busts towering above the band, and Adam Jones's otherworldly and monstrous guitar tone, are impressive.
The L.A. band undoubtedly benefited from the unfortunate absence of the Beastie Boys, and the crowd was shoulder-to-tattooed-shoulder as far back as the third and final row of speakers. Opening with the mixed-meter "Jambi," singer Maynard Keenan undulated between poses, a menacing black silhouette against a sea of digital red lava flows. "I smell marijuana..." he said with a smirk as the foursome launched into the headbang-inducing stomp of "Stinkfist," drawing throaty cheers from the Saturday night masses. With a festival comprised mainly of 3-minute numbers, it was fantastic to see an audience so engaged with the 7-8 minute behemoths Tool is famous for.
This music requires a live setting, and in truth, I've never been able to make it front to back through a Tool album. But live, Danny Carey's masterfully precise work on the skins, Justin Chancellor's ownership of the fretboard, Jones's devastatingly gargantuan riffage, and Keenan's unapologetic vocals are worth braving any hairy elbows thrown your way.
- Doyle Armbrust
published in the Time Out Chicago Audio File Blog on August 10th, 2009