November 30th, 2006
Maynard James Keenan fronts Tool, the only multi-platinum art-metal band whose members even its fans would have trouble picking out of a lineup. Since its 1990 debut, the Los Angeles quartet has intentionally shunned the media spotlight, preferring instead to let its dense, hyper-ambitious albums—including the recent 10,000 Days, whose brain-bending artwork features a built-in stereoscopic viewer—tell their own story. Understandably, the anti-image campaign has led to rumors, misinformation, and a biography that listeners have embraced as open-source code, and Keenan couldn't be happier about it. But there's more to the 42-year-old singer than his enigmatic stage presence: He's also a pundit, a father, a winemaker, a former Army cadet, and an underappreciated funnyman with a Mr. Show cameo under his jiu-jitsu belt. On the eve of Tool's fall European tour, Keenan let The A.V. Club see a little of each.
The A.V. Club: The last press campaign you did focused as much on your political views as on the music. Given how outspoken you are, why don't you do more interviews?
Maynard James Keenan: Because I'm not an educated man. I only know what I'm told, and I'm not told that much; I have no frame of reference for how to place things in history [that would let me] be a responsible leader. All I can do is be an artist, and basically waffle on about my feelings—which helps people, you know, get through a root canal, but it doesn't really help them deal with political stuff. All I can do is say I smell a rat. I don't know where it is or what kind of rat it is, but as an artist, I can express how [I feel about it]. But I couldn't responsibly stand up and tell people which way to go, because then I'm just as guilty as the people who are telling everybody else what to do and where to go.
AVC: Given how many records Tool sells, do you feel your message just gets diluted anyway?
MJK: Oh, it's going to get diluted. I tested the water with the political album A Perfect Circle did. [Until 2005, Keenan was pulling double-duty in A Perfect Circle; the political album was 2004's covers EP eMOTIVe. —ed.] I didn't even write those songs; I was just letting people hear what was said before me, the things that inspired me as a child, and things that were said during various turbulent times. And I was fucking crucified. If you go back and listen to that album and just forget that it's covers, it's a good album, but I was crucified because of its content, because there's an army of little fucking brats out there just going into every little chat room, talking shit and undermining anybody who has anything to say. It's like this insane, 1984/Big Brother infrastructure.
AVC: Do you purposely keep what you sing about in Tool more cryptic for that reason?
MJK: Yeah, because I think it's more important just to inspire people to wake up one day and pick up a book and start feeling it out for themselves. You can't tell them to read the book. You've just got to do this thing and emote in a certain way, and maybe bring up something now and then that they may get. It's just like being in a martial-arts class, where you're clipping along, you've been doing this damn thing for 10 years, and all of a sudden, one day, something clicks. And as soon as you get it, and you get that feeling in your body and that look on your face, you look over and your sensei is looking at you, nodding, going, "You got it right." You know, and then you move on. But until you get it yourself, you're just not going to get it.
AVC: On the tour behind 2001's Lateralus, you used the idea "Go get out there and do something positive, create something…" as a sort of onstage rallying cry. You don't seem quite so positive these days. Why the change?
MJK: Well, I think [the situation in America] is going to have to come to a head, because it's gone so far, and the people that have been duped are embarrassed, but they're not going to do anything about it. They're going to toe the line just to see if it pans out in their direction so they can say, "See, I was right." It really is imploding; it's getting nuts everywhere—and it's this crazy nationwide, if not global, push for this polarizing religious fanaticism that's just infecting everything. One of the Baldwin brothers is now preaching? Jesus fucking Christ.
AVC: And there's Kirk Cameron from Growing Pains, who runs a ministry.
MJK: That's what I mean. Whether they're serious or not, it's difficult to say—but it's the kind of thing that only ends in bloodshed. You know what I mean? It's so polarized that there is no gray area, and it comes down to a religious war.
AVC: So you're looking forward to getting out of the country on this next tour?
MJK: No, because it's probably going to be worse for me over there. I don't know what the solution is, other than just hoping that we can weather the storm, and then looking to places like Europe, post-World War I and II, where the communities that survived are the ones that were already surviving: They had their own little localized economy and farmers and trade, just to get through the winter. They're the ones that survived, and have survived, and will survive. So that's kind of the positive. [Laughs.] That's my silver lining in the cloud: starting a wine community in Arizona, hoping that the United States [will go] through an entire saturation of winemaking, and then level out to where it ends up being a cottage industry and people are just surviving locally, no matter what happens with the clowns running things.
AVC: You have a reputation for being reclusive and elliptical, even to people who are close to you. Do you think you're difficult to work with?
MJK: No, not at all. We just don't suffer fools lightly. You know, we're artists, and we really work hard at what we do, and we just assume that when we go to talk to a journalist, they're as passionate about their art as we are about ours. And then you end up talking to this buffoon who has no business managing a Starbucks. [Laughs.] So we just got into this funk right away, doing interviews—we were like, "You know what? Fuck this. I'm not doing this shit." We'd just go out and do what we do, and the people would come one by one and then tell a friend, and they'd tell a friend, and they'd start coming out and seeing what we're about. Eventually, that may catch up to where we have people showing up knowing what we're about, and knowing that this is a conversation between two humans who are passionate about what they do. When that happens, then I'm willing to talk to the guy.
AVC: Do you feel out of touch with your audience?
MJK: For the most part, I have no idea who those people are—especially when we're traveling through Europe. And it's not all our fault; it's a whole series of events. [You play] heavy music, and your record company, which has never owned an album anything like what you're doing, immediately markets you to the obvious stinky kid with the dreadlocks and the B.O. and the urine on his shoes because he's been sleeping in his own filth in a festival in the middle of the rain. They basically market right to that guy. And then you realize the only people showing up to your shows are those primates—these weird, cretin people… Then, let's say you're at a coffee shop, and you've got a friend sitting next to you, and you've been reading some Noam Chomsky, or you're reading The Onion, and you look over and see a bunch of kids [who] look like they could be made of cheese, because there are flies everywhere. And you go, "Hey, you want to go where they're going?" and everybody goes, "Fuck no." And they're wearing Tool shirts. Why would you want to go there? Why would anybody other than those kids wanna go see Tool if that's our representative in that area? So it ends up being a no-win situation. Of course, that's a completely extreme example.
AVC: Well, it is, but Tool exploded into the mainstream during the nü-metal era. Unlike Korn and Limp Bizkit, though, you're still vital. Why do you think that is?
MJK: We've stayed vital among people who got it. But in the areas of the world that weren't exposed to it, it's kind of weird to go back to those places.
AVC: It's still a feat to have a record that debuts at No. 1, in spite of its really long, difficult, challenging songs.
MJK: Oh yeah, absolutely. Believe me, I'm absolutely delighted; I'm absolutely surprised and grateful that there's a lot of people out there that get what's going on. But you know, I'm the negative-Nancy, curmudgeon, glass-half-empty-with-a-leak-in-it guy—which is basically the fuel that fires me up anyway. Without that, we wouldn't have me.
AVC: Is Tool still challenging for you?
MJK: Absolutely, because the challenge for us has always been to find that space where we all meet in the middle. When you're in a rehearsal space, like the one we've been in since day one, in 1990, [you think], "Okay, yeah, I want—I'd love to go this way…" But you can't even let that enter your mind; you've just got to listen to what's happening and then react to what's happening from everybody. And whatever that result is, that's what ends up making it on the album. And in that way, since we're all four completely different individuals who are also growing in completely different ways [and] experiencing different things, that middle spot is going to be moving every time we get together. So in theory, the results should be different every time.
AVC: Looking back, Tool has gone out with Tomahawk, Meshuggah, Isis, Mastodon—that's a pretty forward-thinking lineup of opening acts over the years. Do you think you've had a hand in expanding people's consciousness in that way, as well?
MJK: In a way, yeah. Over the years, we've taken out people that we liked, and as time goes on, of course, all of our musical tastes have gone in different directions. Now we've kind of got it down to where as long as two guys vote for it, we'll take that one. [Laughs.] Don't get me wrong: I like Isis and Mastodon, but I would much prefer to take out Peaches or Autolux or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs; just something that's out of the ordinary, but it's not heavier or darker than Tool. But that's the beauty of our band: We're all such diverse thinkers. So now I get to tour with Mastodon and Isis, and I would have never made that decision. It's great for me, 'cause now I've been exposed to music that I wouldn't have otherwise been exposed to.
AVC: You cited Meshuggah as an inspiration for 10,000 Days—it's definitely there in the sort of rhythmically dense, deceptively complex, almost modal nature of the songs.
MJK: I'm a Meshuggah fan, but I'm not that much of a Meshuggah fan. You know, I grew up listening to Joni Mitchell. The melody is what I gravitate to—and it's my job to listen to what's happening when those guys go down these staccato, rhythmic, insane mathematical paths. It's my job to soften it and bring it back to the center, so you can listen to it without having an eye-ache. [Laughs.]
AVC: You're the human element.
MJK: Not the human element—I'm more the unpredictable, irrational, emotional element.
AVC: Do you ever jump online to read fans' interpretations of your songs?
MJK: Oh, God, no.
AVC: It's amazing, the depth that people go into. The general idea seems to be that you're gradually revealing clues with each new album.
MJK: Isn't that great? They're playing it backwards, and they're like, "You've got to get a Slurpee, but only half-full, and when you're drinking the Slurpee, right at that last slurp, the rhythm of the slurp coincides with…" My God. Are you kidding me?
AVC: Some people think there are three tracks on 10,000 Days that supposedly form one hidden track that's the key to the whole album. It's as if people want to believe there's going to be some ultimate aesthetic payoff.
MJK: [Laughs.] We can barely decide whether we're going to do a baseball cap or a beanie. You know what I mean? Now, granted, if you subscribe to the whole spiritual, energetic level, when you get into that weird, meditative state… I'm trying to think of the word… Sufis? I don't remember—the whirling dervishes. When you get into that weird state, at some point, your body clicks out, and you have a weird out-of-body experience, and so you can tap into those things unconsciously. So if people are reading into those kind of things that basically had nothing to do with us, that are just us clicking in a moment and being true to that whirling-dervish process of emoting with each other, some of that stuff just might naturally, accidentally come out. But it's not in any way a product of our design.
AVC: You were what, 25 when this band started?
MJK: Good God. Yeah, I think it was: 25, 26.
AVC: At that age, it'd be hard to believe that you or anyone would have this grand scheme you're planning to reveal all these albums later.
MJK: [Laughs.] Not at all.
AVC: Where the press is concerned, you're known for being controlling of your public image. Does it bother you when fans do weird things with the band's identity?
MJK: I'm sure we're still victims of our own initial concepts, but initially, because we knew that we were going to be emerging in the wake of Nirvana and getting lost in the shuffle, we wanted to make sure that whatever that first impression [people had] of us was a lasting one. So we whispered instead of yelled; we said no instead of yes—and that worked for us in the beginning. And I think that initial impression was good for us, because you ended up seeing the things we wanted you to see, not something somebody else wanted you to see about us. Of course, the downside is that you have an equal amount of people that called themselves journalists who were denied access and are still bitching about it, saying that we're difficult and hard to reach. [In reality], they didn't do their homework, and we basically shut them down.
AVC: You don't print lyrics, but you make them available online. Why not simply make them part of the package, like your artwork?
MJK: Reading is more of a left-brain process, and listening to music is a right-brain function. And the right-brain function is far more emotional and has softer edges, so when you first hear the album, you should hear it and feel it. When you start "reading" it, then you're thinking it, and you rob yourself of that initial impression of how the sounds affect you. [Laughs.] I'm going to burn some sage right now—I'm about to burn some incense for this conversation. But seriously, I believe that when you go into a gallery or a museum, the most powerful pieces are the ones that don't have the words in the corner that distract you from the larger piece. You know, if the Mona Lisa had "Eat At Joe's" in the corner, that's all you would remember.
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