pawky

After sharing the product of a somewhat last-minute decision to “smoke the second one” with our new befriendees in line, we were finally in. As I was being frisked, I realized how ridiculous and unintentionally homoerotic the process of frisking really is. The pot started kicking in shortly after this mind-altering realization. Fifteen minutes of stumbling around later, we were standing in front of the entrance to Balcony 1. I allowed myself a glimpse inside. It was really odd seeing mohawks, alex grey prints, tattoos, piercings and even a pair of fake tits here and there surrounded by frescos from the baroque period. The atmosphere in the theatre must have been as alien to the theatre itself as it was to me. Three and a half years is a long stretch of time. I see the old songs in a different light now, as my interpretation continues to evolve with each encounter. The new songs are still fresh and crisp. I can hear them clearly after long hours of familiarization, which begun just days ago. They are like juveniles running around in my head, full of energy, while the classics try to show them the way, settle them down in all the right spots. Baaaaaa. The yelping of the sheep snaps me out of the temporary philosophical euphoria and I go down like a ton of bricks. Yes, I have to share this experience with a bunch of dimwits. I recall the time when the entire united center was repeating after Maynard, “…don’t repeat what others say…”. This reminds me, I have to take a piss…

Finding my seat presented no major challenge, other than trying not to miss a step on the way down due to the never-ending stare game with the stage. The stage eventually won. After settling in, I started looking around, examining the audience. Why are these people here? What do they want? Will they be disappointed? When will they forget about all of this? Am I the only one asking these questions? Probably not. All I know is that we came here with similar intentions. The motivation, the path, the result and the process are unique to everyone present, but the intentions are the same. Uneasiness began to fade as a certain sense of unity was now slowly creeping in. The grudge against humanity/stupidity has been lifted and I am now ready to receive TOOL.

As anticipated, the opener was the electrifying Lost keys, Rosetta stoned. It overwhelmed, picked me up and threw me down, did all sorts of nasty things to my mind while my body couldn’t help but remain motionless. I was stunned and amazed. It almost brought me to tears. After the song came to an end, Maynard notified the audience that he has gotten sick. It showed, but I didn’t mind at all. I thought the sickness brought a very human-like vulnerability to the performance, while adding to the overall sensation of sadness of 10,000 days, the album. He followed that announcement up with a couple of jokes that I couldn’t hear over the chants, screams and various other noises coming from all directions. Honestly, the loudest audience I have ever seen.

The extended version of Stinkfist took me to that familiar place so I could get comfortable and prepare for what’s to come. God, it was like watching a nuclear weapon explode from just 50 feet away. Eventually, I gave up and let the music do whatever it pleased with me.

At the end of it all, I realized that such abstract ideas as “good” or “bad” need not apply when it comes to a TOOL show. Like anything else that grandiose, it is nothing more than just a ripple in space and time. However, I cannot help but feel privileged to be a witness to it all and feel its presence in my concept of reality.

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