Call this the “You’re Getting Old” show.
In Season 15, Episode 7 of South Park, Stan turns 10, and suddenly views the world through cynical eyes. Everything that used to give him joy – television shows, new music, etc. – is now just “shit.” At the end of the episode, Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” plays over a montage of Stan’s parents growing apart and eventually getting divorced.
My experience with concerts over the past 5 years or so has been somewhere between those two extremes. Once upon a time I used to get really excited to see bands that I loved or to see one I had just discovered. Now everything is just sort of blah. This isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy those shows, because I did. But the anticipation is all but gone. The soaring highs of screaming along in unison with 2 or 20 thousand fellow believers is gone, replaced with a middling contentment. Tool’s sold-out show at Fiserv Forum on Wednesday night was no different.
Before the show, my best friend and concert-going buddy of the past 25+ years confided in me that he had an anxiety attack on his way to my house. This is just what happens now. Instead of getting fucked up on cheap beer and Jagermeister and letting the night take us where it will, we now tamp down our alcohol consumption and watch our heart rates.
The show kicked off with “Fear Inoculum,” and for the moment all that other stuff faded away. “Jambi” was absolutely punishing, even more so than on record. “The Pot” was next, which is where Maynard James Keenan got in on my own personal theme for the night: his voice cracked during the first line of the song. He was getting older too. (Of course, he recovered to deliver a vocal performance with more clarity and force than the album version, so joke’s on me for even noticing that minor flub.)
All of the hallmarks of a Tool show were present, from the snarling noise of “Rosetta Stoned” to the hypnotic grooves of “Pneuma.” Trippy visuals played on the screen and a laser show shot out from the stage during the middle third of the set. The band played with both a stunning brutality and breathtaking precision, all while Maynard James Keenan stalked and swayed in the background.
This may be the first and only time Tool and “Weird Al” Yankovic are compared, and perhaps it’s a stretch, but I’m going to do it anyways. For both acts, the concept of a concert as a living, breathing thing designed to be experienced in the moment is exchanged for something with a more precise execution. It’s almost as if the soul of a live show is choreographed out of existence. “Weird Al” has already delivered on a more concert-like experience; I will continue to wonder what it would be like if Tool loosened up even just a little bit.
It was at this point that my friend tapped me on the shoulder and said he had to leave; the anxiety had been too much to overcome.*
Apropos, I guess, because Tool’s music – particularly on the latest album – has a creeping sense of dread and unease that you just can’t shake. So there I sat, both consumed by the crowd full of righteous headbangers and fist-pumpers and all alone with my thoughts.
Maybe in my younger days I would’ve doubled down on long swigs of whiskey-and-Cokes, attempting to parse Keenan’s dense lyrics; instead I just let the noise wash over me while wondering if my friend was going to be all right or if my son went to bed without much fussing for my wife.
The set was largely bereft of Tool’s biggest radio hits, which sounds like a dream come true until the deep cuts played weren’t my absolute favorite deep cuts. (That’s a me problem, not a Tool one) Whatever the case, they played “Forty Six & 2” last. It seemed like it got the biggest reaction of the night, and rightfully so. It managed to drag me out of the reality in my own head and into the show that was taking place in front of me. My hands suddenly wanted to play a bit of air guitar, my voice wanted to sing along. For six minutes, it was bliss.
Despite all the bummery nonsense written above, it was a good show. I’ve seen Tool four times now, and they have yet to disappoint.
Whether it’s on record or live, Tool’s music is a grueling exercise in persistence. You gut it out and make it through to the other side. It is also a lot like life in that there’s no reward at the end; the act itself is its own reward (or not, if you choose to make it unrewarding).
I chose not to take part in the chaos of an Uber line, so I walked alone in the cold to the bus stop. I had to wake up early to take my son to school; I was to receive an infusion of new medication later that day. It was like the lyrics of a song they didn’t play: “keep going, spiral out…”
*I made sure he got home safely. I confessed that I felt horrible for not leaving with him in solidarity; he said he would’ve felt horrible if I had left and missed the show. This is how grown men exchange feelings – well, that and depression memes.
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