A plethora of sound - seething, saturating, corroding the thin alloy of reality surrounding the cortices until time and space drip down in rivulets to a pool of ultimate plausibility.

In other words, Tool bringing an entire arena to aural climax. From Opiate to Fear Inoculum this band has quite a story, but arguably the most fascinating part of that tale is the incredibly natural and complex metamorphosis their sound has gone through. A fluid transformation such as the tides ebb and flow. An aggressive, primal infancy, followed by a confusing adolescence that would make Carlin blush, and of course, to Fear Inoculum, prog-metal maturity encased in jazz-jam intricacy. All of this a gorgeous result of lyrics fracked from multiple layers of emotion and a tremendously creative, purposeful prose of notes and rapids of rhythms. The only exception being the new album, which is an entirely different groove in the wax.

Saturday night’s condensed journey was nebulous and poignant, yet carefully crafted. “46 & 2” and “Vicarious” were fist-flinging ferocities and “Descending” and “Pneuma” were intense but heady jams. That being said, every single song was near perfectly executed as always despite a couple moments of nasty distortion in the arena's sound. However, there may very well have been a glimpse of a coming revolution.  The entire band, even Maynard James Keenan seemed to be a bit more comfortable changing up pitches, tones and riffs at times, especially in the more classic tracks like "Stinkfist." This pattern seems to be a reflection of the more jammy and spontaneous nature of Fear Inoculum. I have seen the band live three times so I enjoyed the meandering, but I could see someone new to live Tool being slightly preturbed. Either way, these men have more than earned their many rows of clefs and bars from over the years, and can largely do whatever they please. A sentiment perfectly represented by Maynard sitting on the edge of his platform swaying his legs side to side like a kindergartener awaiting storytime. 

Intermission began with lasers projecting 12:00 very sharply on a giant sheet of single threads draped in front of the stage, which proceeded to countdown igniting a papable, immediate giddiness. After a resounding eight second countdown, the crew returned to their posts amidst bombastic hoots, yells and yips of joy. Shortly after, drummer Danny Carey hypnotized the crowd with a psychedelic, metallic squall on a massive gong.  Three songs later, Mr. Keenan slunk off the stage after the final note like a mohawked Old Gregg. Meanwhile, the other boys took in a little limelight, bowing, waving, even hugging it out a bit. It was a warm, refreshing moment to bookend an amazing night. The whole band was incredible, but Mr. Carey in his full Pacers jersey stole the show..

As a sidenote, for my money, this band has the best lightshow in the business. Zero hyperbole. It is an acid trip without the L.S.D. Oh yeah, and — new nickname for Mr. Carey. He is now Danny "Won't Stop, Can't Stop" Carey.  - Nick Durcholz

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