anu

The Fox Theatre—like Detroit—was full of irony and contradiction. At first, I just wanted to bask in how laid back, luminescent, and luxurious it all was. It seemed that the opulent, temple-like pleasure palace was itself a profound statement of symbolism and symmetry—like Tool.

But then, there were some problems. Like security everywhere. Like binoculars confiscated and checked at the front. Like the uniformed Detroit cop that stood beside me for “Right in Two,” looking lost and bewildered. (Of course, if we as a people ‘got it’—the message of that song that is—we wouldn’t need cops and security and metal detectors.) The strict, ‘no-dancing-in-the-aisles’ vibes, and at first, the jovial yet giant people in front of us, making it hard for my wife to see, all kept me from getting relaxed and comfortable.

But cops and big buff beer drinkers would have been no worry—if it weren’t for one thing. One thing would have made it all. And it wasn’t the cost of the tickets or the travel or the sightline or too short setlist (we moved up about 10 rows, thank the goddess).

One thing made the difference between feeling it and not, between riding the wave and getting stuck with a mouth full of sand instead of sound, between perfect and ‘what the fuck?’

Sound. Before Maynard adds to the vineyard, give some hard-working Tool fans a robust bottom and a muscular middle, a stellar sound system that I can feel in my heart and testes—
not some muddy, garbled mess to test my patience.

If this is the art metal of redemptive anger, agit-prog blues, and psych-core ‘spiral out’—and not just another corporate charade of sham—then give the children what they want and need, and that’s the noise and the depth, the sonic truth. Now, I imagine from what I’ve read that some places in the venue had that—but why should it be so spotty?

Why not the back balcony? Where’s the justice in letting the poor fucks in the nosebleed section wonder why they can’t feel the blistering bass? At a few passing points, I finally could make out what Maynard said or sang for a moment, or I could feel Danny’s drums drive a stick into my heart. But other times, I was holding my ears. Praying for tidal waves of sound that did not come.

I would love to hear how others experienced the sound system. As the band builds for a return tour in arenas, I hope some integral person of integrity in the Tool organization will guarantee that people in the upper elevations aren’t dreaming about putting on the headphones when they get home. (While I write, I’m listening to the setlist with my headphones.)

As I type these reflections, I wish I could honestly say I’d seen a better show than my first Tool adventure in Nashville. But that just isn’t the case. My first Lateralus show in 2001 is still the standard by which their future shows will be judged. Having heard some really decent mixes at rock shows in larger venues, I know it’s possible to be popular and committed to a kind of quality control when it comes time to take action, to administer acoustically astonishing soundgasms that will reverberate for days.

Maynard is a risky and dangerous and powerful magician. He said he was from Akron and rooting for the Cavs against the Pistons; then, he argued that he didn’t care about it at all. Then, a song break later, he said ‘go Pistons.’ But his original, ‘I am going to fuck with these people about the game’ gesture was actually the most pure and sincere. And of course, Cleveland won tonight’s game by two points.

But on a more serious and sobering note (“Sober,” by the way, was great), his introduction to “Ænema” touched on something we should all pause and consider. He talked about the weather, insinuating with clarity, that he knew how damning and prophetic the last song would be. It was like, and I paraphrase, “If the continent isn’t covered by water by then, we’ll be back in August.” He’s obviously paying attention. Are we?

Essentially, the magic of “I’m praying for rain” is coming true. Mom is flushing it all away. From Asian tsumani to American hurricane to this week’s floods, the times spoken of as myth and prophecy in the lyrics of that song are upon us. “Some say we will see armageddon soon. I certainly hope we will.” As we stepped from the crowded lobby of the Fox into the open air of Woodward Avenue, a gentle rain baptized us, and then, a torrent pounded us. Learn to swim, learn to walk to your car in a Detroit downpour.

I’m sure the band played hard, their hearts out on the line, and I hope I have the chance to see them when they come back. I hope my seats and the sound system are better. But I really care that we listen. We can decide if it’s “Intension” or “Right in Two,” whether it’s an endless death rattle that will make “Vicarious” real or a real reality shift that will realize the consciousness implied by “Jambi” and “Lateralus.”

Props to the person from Kalamazoo I met in our original Gallery B seats before moving. Props to all the parents I saw out partying with their kids. Props to all the lovers who made Monday into a maddeningly psychedelic date night.