So this guy shows up at an insane asylum. No name. Won’t talk to anyone.
Then a doctor with a soothing voice asks just right. The man tells his story. He was a normal American dude who got abducted by aliens.
And after calming me down with some orange slices and some fetal spooning,
E.T. revealed to me his singular purpose.
He said “You are the Chosen One,
The one who will deliver the message,
A message of hope for those who choose to hear it,
And a warning, for those who do not.”
Me? The Chosen One?
They chose me!
And I didn’t even graduate from f*ckin’ high school.
Our narrator was born to hear and bring to all the details of our ending. The alien tells him how the world will end, and it’s his job to tell everyone here on earth.
Problem is, the man has been medicated to the point of crapping himself, so he can’t remember what was said by this space monster “with somniferous almond eyes.” D’oh.
“Rosetta Stoned” is my favorite Tool song, and Tool is my favorite band. Why? I’ve been asked that before, and I actually know the answer: If you think music is art, Tool is my kind of art.
The songs are loud and angry and mean and hard as stone and ice, even when they’re supposed to be funny. They’re about the next step in human evolution (“Forty Six and 2”) or a hooker with a penis (“Hooker with a Penis”).
“Wings for Marie” is about lead singer Maynard James Keenan’s mother Judith Marie, who suffered a stroke and was paralyzed for 27 years (about 10,000 days) until she died.
Ten thousand days in the fire is long enough,
You’re going home.
You’re the only one who can hold your head up high,
Shake your fist at the gates saying
“I’ve come home now!
Fetch me the spirit, the son and the father.
Tell them their pillar of faith has ascended.
It’s time now!
My time now!
Give me my give me my wings!”
Maynard’s last thoughts for his dead mother in the song: Look your maker in the eyes and say “I never lived a lie, never took a life, but surely saved one. Hallelujah, it’s time for you to bring me home.”
This is heavy stuff, yet lyrically interesting and musically fast-paced and dynamic enough to hold our ears prisoner, almost like pop. Maynard’s lyrics and voice (he can sound so many different ways) is just the tip of it. Adam Jones was No. 75 on Rolling Stone’s “Greatest Guitarists” list (“In Tool, he combines the tuned-down chug of death metal with ominous atmospherics influenced by Rush and King Crimson.”) and Danny Carey’s drum sets look like this:
Incidentally, when Carey finished his set at Red Rocks 11 years ago (Jesus, I’m old), he threw his sticks into the crowd and I managed to fight off a horde and grab one of them. I cherish that thing.
So tonight’s show at Tingley should be incredible, because Tool is incredible. I don’t think they’ll play “Rosetta Stoned,” but they always play Ænema.
Some say the end is near.
Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this bullsh*t three-ring circus sideshow of freaks.
Here in this hopeless f*cking hole we call LA,
The only way to fix it is to flush it all away.
Any f*ckin’ time. Any f*ckin’ day.
Learn to swim. I’ll see you down in
Fret for your figure and fret for your latte and fret for your lawsuit and fret for your hairpiece and fret for your Prozac and fret for your contract and fret for your car.
This is what I looked like the day after the last Tool concert at Tingley:
Learn to swim.