Escaping the Undertow: Tool's "Lateralus"

Discussion and review of Tool’s 2001 album Lateralus

I discovered this album during the summer vacation that inspired this post

I consider this to be 2001’s Album of the Year

Flashback to the Oughts: 2001

As I started to wade into the possibility of curating “best-of” playlists retroactively an even more dangerous idea came into my head: should I commit to posting a series on the project?

I have done a couple of series on the blog, and in retrospect they have been a mixed bag.  I completed a good series on Rush’s studio catalog leading up to the release of Clockwork Angels, but I also have a series on Jellyfish’s ties to other power pop groups that, unfortunately, remains unfinished to this day (although I do have an idea as to how it ends). More recently, The Superhero Theme Project documented my efforts to convince my eldest daughter P that a set of carefully selected orchestral pieces were actually superhero themes.  That was a very satisfying run that stretched out over a couple of years, but due to the nature of the project/experiment it had no clear conclusion and fizzled out towards the end.

In retrospect, a deciding factor for the success of a series is clear boundaries, which Flashback to the Oughts will have: ten posts each with ten outstanding selections to represent every year between 2000 and ending in 2011, the year that the blog began.  Like my annual “best-of” lists, selections will be made primarily based on the albums relevance to my experiences that year, rather than release date.  This provides continuity with the parameters that already exist on the blog.

It also makes things significantly more difficult to reconstruct because experiences don’t necessarily line up with the calendar year.  In 2001 I had a home situation that was to get worse before it got better, causing a move under duress that make my memory episodes particularly disjunct.  The list that follows, however, lines up well with both my recollections and what little actual documentation exists from that year.

10. Gorillaz - Gorillaz:  I admit that this entry is problematic because I did not (and still do not) think that it holds together well as a cohesive album.  Clint Eastwood, however, became so ubiquitous in 2001 that I cannot think about that year without it coming to mind.

9. Yes - Magnification: This album’s grandiose orchestral approach promised an interesting direction for the group, and at times it captures the best aspects of Yes.  It was not without its flaws, however, and would also sadly be the last time that Jon Anderson would record with the group.

8. Arena - The Visitor:  I am wary of melodramatic progressive rock vocals, but Arena’s rumination on a near-death experience is “more Marillion than Marillion." I tried to follow them after singer Paul Wrightson left, but none of them resonated with me like The Visitor did.

7. Chomsky - Onward Quirky Soldiers: Chomsky’s follow-up to A Few Possible Selections to the Soundtrack of Your Life had many outstanding songs and performances.  It also seemed a little forced at times, as the band was furiously paddling out to catch the last wave of big record label support before the music industry ran still.

6. Ours - Distorted Lullabies: Bandleader Jimmy Gnecco positioned himself to fill the void left by Jeff Buckley with this release, and he was pretty convincing in the role.  I had a particularly memorable moment wandering in a German forest in 2001 with Distorted Lullabies on a Discman.

5. Transatlantic - Bridge Across Forever:  Although it did not reach the same heights as its predecessor, Transatlantic’s sophomore release was noticeably more consistent.  The band’s members seemed to have developed a better rapport both in terms of collaboration and performance.

4. Anekdoten - From Within:  With a dark gothic approach that used King Crimson’s Red as a starting point, Anekdoten had a thunderous take on progressive rock that stood apart from the clean symphonic work that I was into around this time.

3. Weezer - Weezer [green]: While many fans criticized Weezer [green] as a sellout after the relatively adventurous Pinkerton, its direct, streamlined songwriting seemed to speak directly to my inner teenager.  That insecure part of me probably needed some attention at the time due to the circumstances surrounding that year.

2. Jon Brion - Meaningless: Again, due to my fascination with the Jellyfish Family Tree, this was probably one of my most highly anticipated albums of the year, and I went to great lengths to procure a copy as soon as it was available.  It did not disappoint me in the least - it remains a unique power pop classic in my collection.

Album of the Year 2001

1. Tool - Lateralus:  I had checked out Tool in the early 90s when they released Undertow and although I liked it well enough, I did not follow them after that.  At the suggestion of a student, I gave Lateralus a shot and was blown away, and to this day I am still unraveling the complexities of the album.  

The Gorillaz, Germany, and an Awkward Swim

In the summer of 2001, I took a trip to Germany with my family. I had it in my mind that I wanted to represent the better parts of American culture during my upcoming travels around Europe, but on our first night there, in Frankfurt, I still could not quite get over the fact that I had shared my hotel swimming pool with a pair of skinny-dipping strangers. After a quick (but thorough) shower, I sat down on the bed and turned on the TV, and predictably, most of it was incomprehensible. Of course, MTV Europe ended up being a source of entertainment, and I found myself particularly mesmerized by this:

The animated deadpan delivery of that irresistible chorus by 2D (as voiced by Damon Albarn) immediately hooked me. Its dry, restrained intellect seemed to unapologetically announce that I was definitely not in Kansas. Clint Eastwood was climbing the charts throughout Europe at the time, but it wouldn’t get any airplay in the US for several months. Before I left Europe, I had a copy of their first self-titled album in hand.

The album was, unfortunately, disappointing as a whole experience. It had a few pretty good songs, none of which were nearly as engaging as Clint Eastwood, and several rambling instrumentals. Many of the Gorillaz’s fans praise the album’s eclectic nature, but I think that there is a difference between an album that can’t decide what it wants to be and another when it fights with itself over its identity. For several years, I lost my copy of Gorillaz, but eventually I replaced it with an inexpensive used copy that I keep around for nostalgic purposes.

I re-listened to Gorillaz this weekend on the road, and overall, I can’t say as my opinion has changed dramatically. Aside from the genius that is Clint Eastwood, several of the songs are quite a bit better than I remember, but I think that the album would do extremely well with some editing and a shorter run time. It shows flashes of brilliance, but it doesn’t sustain them. This larger dynamic can be seen on a smaller scale on the track M1A1.



I absolutely love the isolated feeling of the opening, especially as that call is subtly detuned to match the steadily building chords. When 2D enters with his dispassionate whining, however, it sinks the potential of all the tension built throughout the entire track. The song just doesn’t quite deliver on its initial promise, which is how I feel about the whole album.

There has been a recent release of a Gorillaz Greatest Hits album, which is what reignited my interest in the band. I am rarely a proponent of these compilations, but in the case of the Gorillaz, I might be willing to make an exception. On this first album, the Gorillaz have some amazing moments, but its inconsistency, whether intentional or accidental, made me lose interest in following them in the long-term.

As an aside, there was another big hit in Germany at the time that I clearly remember from that first evening with MTV Europe.



This song did not make it internationally for obvious reasons, so I’m not sure what happened to Seeed. Still, its slippery groove and raspy vocals pay an interesting tribute to the dancehall styles that were all the rage in the late 90s and early 00s.  

I Remember 9-11: Oysterhead and Marillion

I was walking out of first period after a pretty good jazz band rehearsal when one of my students approached me and said “New York is on fire.”  Now, it’s not unusual to hear weird things like that in the halls of a 7-12 grade campus, so I was a little incredulous.  This kid was a senior who played lead trumpet in my jazz group, though, so I found it difficult to believe that he would spread exaggerated and unfounded rumors.

Judging from the buzz in second period, it was apparent that something was, indeed, going on.  In 2001, however, my campus was not equipped with a TV in every room, and certainly not in the band hall.  I had no way to confirm or refute what was happening.  I would glance in the library every period when I took the roll sheets to the office, but I couldn’t connect these brief glimpses of billowing smoke and chaotic streets into a cohesive narrative.

As teachers, we were instructed to continue with regular classes unless explicitly told otherwise.  As a result, I experienced 9-11 mostly through the students’ eyes as they struggled to make sense of the fractured images and soundbites of the day.  By 7th period, I certainly believed the gravity of the situation, but remained skeptical of the details.  I rushed home at 4:00 and, on my dial-up internet, I downloaded footage (and probably a few viruses) of the two towers going down using Kazaa.  Mortified, I repeated them endlessly.  I finally tore myself away and turned the TV to anything my antenna could pick up (I still don’t believe in cable, by the way) and remained glued to the set for the remainder of the evening.  While I struggled to comprehend the events and reactions on 9-11, I numbly began to work on a painting of Thelonius Monk that I never finished.

 While the American world was changing, I was coming to terms with another change that seemed important at the time, but receded in light of the events of the day. Primus, one of my favorite bands, announced a “permanent hiatus” earlier that year.  Although I was increasingly ambivalent about the band’s output, I certainly did not want to see them break up.  Later in the year, however, bassist Les Claypool formed the “supergroup” Oysterhead with Police drummer Stewart Copeland and Phish guitarist Trey Anastasio.  If any band were to be a home for Claypool outside of Primus, it would have been Oysterhead.

I was fascinated by the chemistry between these three very distinctive musicians as it played itself out on their singular release The Grand Pecking Order.  I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Copeland redeem himself on the drum throne after his stint with 90s yawn-rock outfit Animal Logic.  The material on the album was a little slapdash, but since the band billed itself as a “jam-band” outfit, the band’s fans considered it a loose frame of reference for Oysterhead’s mission statement. 

Connecting with the fans through newly emerging virtual conduits was becoming more common in 2001, and the other album that was rolling when the towers fell owed a lot to these new connections.  Marillion’s Anoraknophobia was funded entirely by fan donations through the band’s website, which was a pretty innovative approach for the time.  Distribution of the album was still patchy in the US, but, merely months before flying changed forever, I picked up a copy in a UK record store during a summer trip in Europe.  I was carefully considering the the ways in which the band's hard-fought financial independence gave them the opportunity to make an album relatively free of executive expectations. 

After original vocalist Fish left Marillion in the late 80s, the band’s track record had been spotty at best.  Singer Steve Hogarth took over in 1990, and since then they made a couple of great albums, a few bad ones, and very little in between.  In 2001, Anoraknophobia made a good impression on me, and even today I think that it is more poignant than cliché.  Still, it doesn’t represent the pinnacle of Marillion's work, especially with Hogarth at the helm.  It's pretty good, but not the best.

I once alluded to music’s capacity to provide a space away from the everyday, and I think that my memories of these albums are whitewashed with this escapist potential.  Both The Grand Pecking Order and Anoraknophobia seem to float oddly aloof from my emotional effort to come to grips with 9-11 and its aftermath, even though I remember listening to them.  They seem to remind me of the life I had surrounding 9-11 rather than the catastrophe itself.  The images of New York and my concern for the friends I had living there seem starkly silent in my mind as I look back today, ten years later.