For the sake of drudgery, but in also honoring the last decade’s most intriguing noise, I want to talk about a record I’ve never been able to truly understand. This record came out in 2006, right around my musical maturity and is one of the more cryptic records I have ever heard. Or at least that is what I could assume if I’m discussing Tool’s 10,000 Days.
I am not going to dig interpretation out of this record, because Maynard James-Keenan, chief songwriter and vocalist, is so clearly avoiding the straightforward that mind-altering drugs might be the only way to truly answer it. (Of course, that answer would probably be “wrong,” since Keenan also tends to look down on the idea of ridiculous interpretation into a puzzle.) However, it is still a massively fascinating record for the cult of personality of Keenan and the raging throng behind the band’s work.
To sum it up in a paragraph for the uninitiated: Tool’s uniqueness is in their mix of psychedelia and experimental metal. They have weird time signatures, which means everything for people really into music (well, the art of playing music) and absolutely nothing for anyone who are really into music but can’t touch an instrument (or myself). Moreover, the band’s work is appreciated most by a mix of metalheads and stoners (sometimes these counter-act).
I still remember that three stoned men once had a Rattler that blared “Rosetta Stoned” for like half the night at a pool hall I used to frequent. I think that’s an example of how strange it was to see me at a pool hall during high school regardless, though. Nonetheless, it showed me the strange disconnect between the fandom and the content, especially on 10,000 Days.
“Vicarious” is a savage attack on the constant stream of violence in the media, which versus the typical cliché of the metal fan, it almost seems a direct attack of the very fans that support Tool’s music. Moreover, “Wings for Marie” and “10,000 Days” are combined as a sprawling 17-minute tribute to Maynard’s departed mother Judith, and plays with literal ideas of spirituality. Maynard notes that Judith “might’ve told a lie, but never lived one” essentially noting the 10,000 day process of her coma which led to her eventual passing. Maynard refers to himself in referring to how Judith “saved a life,” which is a much deeper read than anything that normally is expected or cliched about stoned rock. This is literally a son eulogizing his mother and calling her the most valid reason for his existence.
So maybe it is interpretable after all. And maybe Keenan is more literal than I expected. Hmmm.
by Trey Irby

She wakes up early and reads the local paper. She sips her coffee and smiles as she passes the refrigerator doors that are filled with pictures of her grandchildren, Christmas cards, and decade old clippings of their favorite sayings and comics, Family Circus and Snoopy. There is no need to make more coffee, there is plenty for both of them.
Denny Dengler was not a peculiar young man. Ten fingers belonged to his hands, ten toes to his feet, and two eyes were placed neatly on his ordinary face. His coarse brown hair remained elegantly disheveled upon his unremarkable head and a typical pair of eyeglasses rested on his typical nose. The mysterious mystery of genetics and heredity had not dealt Denny an unfair hand -he was just plucked from the middle of the deck. He was not plagued by a horrible mutation; there were no extra limbs or digits to be found and no unruly hunch riding his back. If you pull out your high school yearbook, look amongst your classmates, and see that quiet, shy, coy, introverted, etc., kid that you had forgotten about over the years, well, that was Denny. He was no charmer. He once, when he was only six years old, tried to eagerly impress his childhood crush with a freshly learnt -but a not as nearly practiced as it should have been- magic trick, only to see her flee in horror as his, previously mentioned, elegantly disheveled crop burst into flames. Denny, then, no longer felt the need to impress the impressive opposite sex. He was described by those who knew him best as “tall, but not too tall” and, often times, “short, but not too short”. Denny Dengler was the type of person that fell between the cracks, and actually liked it down there. He thrived off of mediocrity, bran-flavored granola bars, and unsweetened tea, but -and this is one of those rather large “buts”- one night everything simply changed.
How many of us actually give a thought to the type of pen we use on a daily basis?
Of course, there are downsides to fountain pens, namely the fact that it doesn’t work on tissue-thin paper, and it doesn’t do well on glossy paper, but there are other pens made for that–we’re going for a writing experience here, not “I have to write this down so I’m going to do it with whatever.”
I don’t know if anyone has realized this yet, but I love music. I listen to a good mix of genres, and I like to think that I’m fairly well listened. But about two years ago I discovered something unlike anything I’ve ever heard before.
My goodness! Has the world forgotten about graphic novels?
Early this year, David Zane Mairowitz and Chantal Montellier revisited a Franz Kafka classic, The Trial, adapting the existentialist piece into a stunning graphic novel. Kafka’s tale focuses on Joseph K, a Peter Parker like personality who works as a bank clerk, lives an average life, and does nothing remarkable by any means. For Joseph’s thirtieth birthday, he is arrested without explanation. Upon questioning his accusers, he discovers that not even his bed ridden and otherwise useless defense attorney is able to explain to him the reasoning behind his arrest and trial. This dark tale explores the issues of freedom and individualism, and the work has become known as a strong literary classic. 





The crowd was packed tighter than a can of sardines, but once the first song started, which ironically was the title song from the show, several mosh pits erupted at once. It was just the start of the show, and I had lost one of my friends. The band was on stage. There were only a few lights behind them that allowed the crowd to see a silhouette of each member. The main viusal attraction were the 3 large screen above the band. Each screen played the music video that went along with the video. The music video were exceptionally crafted and held the audience captive, but still moving along with the music. By the end of the second song, my other friend had disappeared and I was sandwiched between a few large sweaty guys. Normally not my idea of a “ballin’-ass-time”, but this was just that, and the some.


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