On a chilly, rainy morning in Belgium late last year, I was suffering from a bad hangover when a fellow diner in the hotel restaurant struck up a conversation with me.
“You’re a music journalist, right?” asked a portly, balding German man with a broad smile and a heavy accent. “Are you familiar with Maynard from Tool?” I mentioned that I knew of Maynard James Keenan but hadn’t met him. “Why do you want to know?” I inquired. “Because he’s the same age as me!” replied the German, still beaming.
Whenever Tool comes up in conversation, things tend to get a little strange. Since emerging from the smog-filled Los Angeles scene with their 1992 EP Opiate, the multiplatinum art-metal band has exuded an aura of “otherness.” The lineup includes vocalist Keenan, guitarist Adam Jones, bassist Justin Chancellor, and drummer Danny Carey, all of whom have kept the mainstream at bay while cultivating an enigmatic image. In doing so, they’ve attracted one of the most diverse and devoted fanbases in rock. You might not easily identify a Tool fan in a crowd, but they often appear to share obscure facts about the band (like my German friend) or intense theories about specific Tool songs, videos, or album artwork.
Like the massive ships in the 1990s sci-fi movie Independence Day, Tool has hovered over the music world for nearly 15 years, while those below speculate on the “meaning” of their enigmatic creations. Are they using music, as they’ve suggested, to tap into a higher spiritual consciousness? Or is it all an elaborate ruse, with lyrics and images offering cryptic “clues” that lead to nowhere? Or are they simply a modern evolution of the 1970s progressive-rock scene, complete with all its technical prowess and pretentiousness? Each new Tool release reignites these discussions.
Their latest album, *10,000 Days*, is bound to do the same. Filled with epic tracks (the 11 songs total nearly 80 minutes) based on intricately layered riffs and anguished vocals, it also features the band’s trademark obscure artwork. While *10,000 Days* doesn’t drastically depart from their previous work, it may be the densest and heaviest album they’ve released. On songs like “Jambi,” “Lipan Conjuring,” and “Intension,” the distinctions between guitars, bass, drums, and vocals blur under the weight of the sound.
“With us, it’s a concentrated ball of music,” Jones explains. “We allow each other to play each other’s parts,” Chancellor adds. “It’s never just ‘You’re the guitarist, you’re the drummer, I’m the bassist.’ Even Dan plays melodies sometimes. The idea is that you can do anything in this band.”
Though their intertwined melodies, telepathic rhythmic shifts, and sprawling arrangements often sound like a jam session from hell, Tool’s songs are actually carefully arranged before entering the studio, which is one reason they take so long between albums.
“We rarely write in the studio,” Carey notes. “Everything is completely arranged beforehand so we can focus on perfecting the recording.”
“Justin and I are always writing, and then Dan and Maynard bring in their ideas for how to approach it,” Jones explains their writing process. “Then we tear it apart and study it intensively. We explore all these different paths, and then we figure out which ones work and connect the dots. It’s a long process, but it works.”
As with past albums like 2001’s Lateralus and 1996’s Aenima, Keenan’s vocals on 10,000 Days often sit low in the mix, making it challenging to discern his words initially. This is completely intentional, as Jones explains, “Other bands ask us how we achieve our huge sound. Their vocals are usually front and center, making the band sound small. It’s a delicate balance; Maynard is an instrument, but you need to hear what he’s saying, too.”
“It’s definitely not a Backstreet Boys mix,” Keenan adds. “Lyrics can pull you out of the emotional experience of a song. That’s why we don’t print them—reading takes you out of feeling the music. If you focus on a specific storyline, you’re not fully immersed in the song itself. We’re not doing ‘Paradise by the Dashboard Light.’ We’re not that kind of band.”
That doesn’t mean Keenan doesn’t pour thought and emotion into his lyrics, nor that 10,000 Days lacks themes or meaning. “It’s all about my trips to 7-11,” he jokes. “We considered naming it I Smell Poo, but couldn’t agree on the spelling,” he chuckles. “Star Wars 7 was another idea; it would have made a good commercial tie-in.”
Joking aside, Keenan explains that the album reflects his growing disillusionment after George W. Bush’s re-election and his frustration with an American public that seems reluctant to act, despite numerous scandals and failures, to oust Bush and his allies.
“On our last few albums, we had more of a metaphysical approach, trying to help people expand their consciousness and wake up to their reality,” he shares. “But I’ve either aged or become the grumpy guy who keeps your ball when it bounces into his yard. I’ve lost some faith while watching politics unfold.
“Looking back, I was just a kid in Ohio when students were shot on campus for speaking out,” he recalls, referencing the Kent State massacre of 1970. “Today, people think signing an online petition or sending an email is enough, which I find a bit disheartening. So this album carries a sense of sadness. We joke about it, but it’s like our blues album. There’s still hope and positivity, but the theme is more like, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. I’ve seen this firsthand, and now you’re on your own.’”
“If you spent time with us four,” Jones says while eating pasta salad during a recent photo shoot, “you’d see we all listen to different music, have different influences, and varying political views. But we meet in the center and explore that space— that’s what works, and we’re happy with it.” The band comprises four distinct personalities. Jones is articulate and self-deprecating, with a mischievous spark; Chancellor, the sole Englishman, appears intense and quiet; Carey has a boisterous laugh and straightforward manner reflecting his Kansas roots; and then there’s Maynard James Keenan…
While die-hard Tool fans recognize that the band’s musical chemistry comes from their four-part dynamic, the media often focuses on Keenan. Despite his small stature, Keenan casts a large shadow with his bold interviews and captivating stage presence, not to mention his affinity for unusual wigs, costumes, and the occasional pair of prosthetic breasts. Over the past six years, he has also gained critical acclaim as the frontman of A Perfect Circle, a project he initiated with guitarist-songwriter Billy Howerdel. For Keenan, the idea of downtime seems nonexistent. Following the Lateralus tour, while the rest of Tool rested, he was recording and touring with APC. “It’s like he jumped right from our bus into that one,” Carey laughs. “He hasn’t had a break in years.”
“The conversations I have with those musicians differ greatly from those I have with Tool, so it’s not difficult,” Keenan explains about balancing his time between APC and Tool. “If you’re creative, you realize that energy is abundant; you just have to tap into it. It’s an infinite pool of creativity.”
Even though his commitments to A Perfect Circle kept Keenan away from Tool’s rehearsal space for much of 10,000 Days*’s writing, Jones asserts that his absence didn’t hinder the band at all. “About half the songs were coming together while Maynard was on tour, and that was fine,” Jones recalls. “During writing, Maynard often asks, ‘Okay… what are you doing with this?’ It’s good to have him there, but it can be tedious while we’re still working things out. To use a painting analogy, Maynard can finish something in a day or a week. I need to paint, then repaint, and then ask myself if I like it. We drive each other a little crazy that way. So his touring gave us both space to approach our work effectively.”
Still, Keenan admits that juggling both bands has finally taken its toll. “I’ve been switching back and forth between Tool and A Perfect Circle for a while,” he says. “But Billy will be pursuing his own thing now, and I’ll focus mainly on Tool.” He explains that while making music was easy, managing the associated industry pressures was draining. “Dealing with two sets of lawyers and record companies takes too much energy,” he says. “Trying to explain who you are to a new set of record executives who weren’t around last time and are fearful of losing their jobs is exhausting. They don’t know what I do.”
“Nobody knows what I do,” he continues, his frustration growing. “I tell them, ‘I have a winery,’ and they respond, ‘You do? What the hell do you do? How are you making money?’ Just look me up online to find out! There’s so much happening in my life that you’d think a publicist would see an opportunity to share it, especially since the record label’s survival depends on our album sales. I can tour and earn money just by performing. Even if I never sell another record, I can still make a living. But the record company needs to know what I’m doing, and when they don’t, it blows my mind!”