Spectreview: TOOL – Fear Inoculum

-DEEP PINK-

For a guide to the review color rating system, click here.

“Drifting through this boundlessness
This madness of our own making”

(Normally I abstain from using the first person in reviews for the sake of professionalism, but TOOL is a band that inexplicably draws the personal out of its discussers, so apologies in advance!)

I can’t decide whether my life has suffered from being chronically unfamiliar with TOOL. I’ve admittedly never listened to a TOOL record in its entirety, and last weekend I found myself diving headfirst into their catalog in preparation for this review. Had I been lucky enough to discover them in my formative years though, I’m sure I would’ve fallen as head over heels as each of my rock-loving peers. Tool made the rounds as an extraordinarily influential band back when metal was in vogue, but for people like me -white and male-identifying- this band must have been like catnip: conceptually ambitious “art metal” with albums built on technically astounding performances, enigmatic architecture and vocals that positively drip contempt for the world at large. “Contempt,” that’s the key word here: a latent hatred that need not be accompanied by understanding, is perhaps strengthened considerably by a lack of it. Does the world at large deserve contempt? Quite frankly, it’s a compelling assertion, especially if you’re a hormone-filled adolescent freshly witness to the rotted parts of society. But that uniquely masculine angst fell rapidly out of fashion as the indie movement surged in mid 2000’s, and for good reason: it’s something you’re meant to naturally grow out of. Musically, arbitrarily, we have a lot to appreciate about TOOL’s landmark records and how they refined high-concept construction in metal (similarly to how bands like Metallica introduced classical composition), but its the way Maynard James Keenan spoke to your inner critic that resonated with so many people beyond metal fans. Keenan was a cynic that inspired cynics, a disillusioned victim of childhood abuse that extolled the virtues of truth-seeking through drug-assisted introspection, and it’s his devotion to this platform, along with with the creative power of the band’s music, that keeps fans devoted to this band despite being able to count their LPs on one hand.

Yet if Tool’s music runs on the churning power of disillusionment, 2019 may be the perfect time for another entry, and Fear Inoculum’s focus on media-driven propaganda and xenophobia should hopefully appeal to its listeners’ current sense of logos. In fact, certain members of that aforementioned demographic might be best served by Keenan’s didactics, even if it’s unlikely they’ll stick. Like you and I, Keenan understands the predominance of fear and hate in contemporary America, and it’s fitting that a frontman once known for being preoccupied with these emotions takes the album’s runtime to speak about where it’s coming from – and where it’s all heading. Barring one expected entry into the “I’m a once-relevant metal artist still making metal music in his mid-50s” (“Invincible”), most of Keenan’s thoughts are driven to the plagues of the day: on “Culling Voices,” it’s the unceasing cacophony of social media; on “Descending” it’s the impeding climate apocalypse; on the opening title track its the constant barrage of vitriolic untruths from the head honcho. It’s all classic Keenan, and it’s heartening to find him working within the confines of his maturity, but there is a strange vagueness across the record that’s unfamiliar to his usual “concrete” abstractness. We understand the fear, but what is the so-called “inoculum” to all this? Is it mind-altering psychedelics, as alluded to on “Pneuma” and “Chocolate Chip Trip”? Is it the simple power of introspection, or the relinquishing of dependence on technology? Or is it, god forbid, this album? The answer is unsurprisingly left ambiguous, but it feels borne less from Keenan’s usual conceptual tightness than from a place of genuine uncertainty, something that’s not terribly reassuring as the album progresses. It’s not expected that he should hold all the answers for our current existential crisis, and indeed his lyrical ambiguity is what keeps albums like Ænima and Lateralus in the throes of eternal roundtables, but there are times when Fear Inoculum threatens no answer key at all, and that’s a little disappointing.

That being said, no one hoping for another “TOOL-sounding” album could conceivably be disappointed here. All the hallmarks are present: extended ruminations that ebb and flow with uroboric riffs, ultra-tight prog performances, a careful balance between rough, gray gloom and murky melodics. Much of what’s here hearkens back to the band’s most straightforward rock moments, like Ænima’s “Stinkfist” or Lateralus’s “Triad,” or perhaps anything off 10,000 Days. Guitarist Adam Jones seems to be the driving presence here, pulling the record toward this focus and laying down the kinds of riffs that draws these links to the band early works. “7empest,” arguably the finest song here, is built from a riff that gestated from the Ænima sessions, and the whole song works as a wonderful climax, housing the record’s hardest-hitting moments. Outside of that though, the album is essentially a mixture of accomplished playing mixed with compositional staidness, the kind of music you’ve probably heard Tool play since they started, and while it’s undeniably a good thing that the middle-aged men now comprising TOOL refuse to indulge in those moments of angsty edginess that defined the band’s classics, there’s resultantly not a ton that rises above the din. Think “metal-ambient”: seas of continuous, well-done prog riffage punctuated by a healthy dose of instrumental experimentation (“Mockingbeat” does do its job well as a haunting nightcap). Alternately, that means Fear Inoculum’s best quality is its consistency, and its ability to stay far above sea level throughout its 80-minute runtime, combined with the usual top-notch chops and a reinforced dedication to a signature sound, definitely makes it a success, albeit a success that’s understandably lessened by the passage of time.

Recommended for everyone, I guess.