A PERFECT CIRCLE: THIRTEENTH STEP 2003-2004
AMES, IA [STEPHANS AUDITORIUM]
12.2.03
By Hangyul Kim
Maynard James Keenan, legendary frontman of Tool, casually takes a swig of water in between songs. “Hey, Iowa,” he says nonchalantly and the crowd in front of him, speckled throughout the floors and balconies of Stephens Auditorium, erupts into cheers, whistles, massive applause. “Are you sure?” he taunts, and the audience responds with more explosive versions of the former cheers and calls to not Keenan of Tool, but to Keenan of A Perfect Circle.
A Perfect Circle, nicknamed APC, the side project of Keenan, swung by Ames, December 2nd, on their Fall 2003 Tour. Opening for them was Abandoned Pool, during which the audience remained cooperative and seated. After a few songs, someone in the seventh row yells, “Who are you?” but the remark is lost as applause and a request from the front row drowns out all other sounds. After their performance, Abandoned Pool gave a small commercial. “We have one CD at Best Buy. Best Buy is about 1 o’clock thataway,” directs the bassist, pointing to his right.
APC tested the patience of the audience by taking several minutes to set up the stage for their performance, during at which time, shouts for Keenan emerge out of the anticipating audience. A chant for “APC! APC!” begins in the back rows and worms its way down the audience. One man sitting in the front row even takes the pains to stand up, face the audience, and direct howls and cheers, like some reincarnated Indian chief. “That’s just the way I like it!” he remarks after one successful interval of howling and baying. And with that, even he gives up momentarily as he reassumes his seat. The stage is pitch dark, and it is impossible to see activity on it, but when an eerie, mantra-like melody finds the ears of the listeners, the audience breaks out into cheers and rises to its feet, knowing who it must be.
Ironically, APC starts with the rhythmic, haunting “Vanishing,” and for the beginning phrase, keep the pitch-dark atmosphere. It is not until they repeat the first phrase that the lights start flashing dramatically to the rhythm of the song, exposing the players to the audience. Keenan, for the remainder of “Vanishing,” sings from behind a white curtain with a purplish, spiraling light shining on it, illuminating his shadow only. After “Vanishing,” the stage collapses into the darkness for a split second, then the lights are resurrected once again. APC, without so much as a pause, segued into the gargantuan “Pet,” whereupon the audience, seeing the curtain hiding Keenan was discarded during the black interval, erupts into applause. Lead guitarist and mastermind behind the creation of APC, Billy Howerdel, and bassist Jeordie White (previously Twiggy Ramirez of Marilyn Manson) proved to be a solid team of backup vocalists to Keenan’s amazing performance. White dominated the left half of the stage, hair tied back in a messy ponytail (which only served to heighten his very strong sex appeal ^__~), roaming the stage freely, walking towards fellow bandmates Howerdel and backup guitarist James Iha (previously with the ex-Smashing Pumpkins). Frequently, he began songs by standing centerstage with Howerdel in order to match rhythms. He proved to be a very dexterous bass player, whether it be sitting down for “Gravity,” or playing with his bass down to his ankles for the ending seconds of the dramatic, closing piece, “Judith,” but he also played very seductively in the musical sense, drawing heavy notes out of his bass almost effortlessly, but with resonance and beauty. Once playing and composing alongside Marilyn Manson, he joined APC for musical and artistic growth, stating that Manson focused heavily on images and attitude, making it a lifestyle that he did not believe was best for him. After his astonishing performance, he proved that his musicality has dramatically grown to a towering height.
Veteran drummer Josh Freese (the Vandals), likewise gave an awesome performance, giving a show that many a good musician would envy. He even literally beat his drums into pieces, so that the stagehands had to come out several times to fix his drums. His technique was simply impeccable and solid, and he easily became a favorite of the crowd.
Howerdel furnished many of the guitar solos and staked out his territory right of the stage, while Freese drummed above him on a platform. Keenan sported a long-haired wig and often used the lights as instruments to blind the audience from seeing his face too closely, and at other times, he kept to the shadows. Iha followed Keenan’s lead. Confined to a left corner of the stage, playing above bass-brandishing White, Iha was covered in the darkness, his body movements barely detectable in the chaos and activity of the lights, shadows, and smoke. But occasionally, courtesy of the glare of the flashing lights, the crowd can either see Iha immersed in the music, stomping his feet and tossing his head back, or facing the left wall, playing in solitude. It was truly a very touching experience to see Iha perform in a band once again, after his struggle with the despotism of the Smashing Pumpkins.
Billy Howerdel also exhibited the “Iha-position rotation” quality, sometimes facing away from the audience, but more often than not facing the crowd while dishing out riffs and solos. Although nowhere as nomadic on stage as White or as energetically moving as Iha, he did portray his own sense of style, and to top it all off, he was a very solid and confident player; after all, he was the man who “gave life” to almost all of the songs. His own incredible story of transforming from a roadie to the maker of one of the finest bands of today leaves a lot to be admired, not to mention the fact that he is not sore at all to Keenan absorbing more of the fan worship. He really should be respected and commended, along with his musicality, on his modest attitude.
Keenan hurriedly introduces his bandmates to the listeners. “First things first,” he sighs, the stage once again resolved to its beginning black. “Jeordie White, show your head.” A white light pools down on White and the audience explodes into applause. Iha, a familiar face with the crowd, received most of the bulk of the cheers. And after Howerdel and Freese, too, are well-received, Keenan and his crew slam out another song.
A more few songs in, Keenan once again acknowledges the crowd.
“Hey Iowa.” Cheers, catcalls from the crowd stretched before him. Keenan paces on his platform, gripping the mike as his eyes hurriedly scan his audience. “It’s hard to tell if you’re enjoying yourselves; these seated venues don’t allow much room to shake your booty.” Suddenly, he spots several people sitting down. Ignoring the applause and worshipful calls for the moment, Keenan does not fail to point out the seated peoples to the rest of the crowd. “They probably got their tickets for free,” he scoffs, as the crowd starts to boo. “You can’t be past your 40s,” he addresses the seated individuals. “If I can stand for an hour and a half, so can you. Tell you what,” he suddenly exclaims, “if you stand, I’ll let Iha sing you a song.”
Iha takes the mike, seemingly surprised and perturbed at the massive cheers resurrected to greet him. “Ummmm…” he says almost unsurely, only fueling the cheers. “Ummmm…hey. I only know two songs…by Dave Wilkins Band and Backstreet Boys.” He begins by singing “Watching the World,” yowling at the line “I’m so sexual!” then sings straightaway to “I Want it That Way,” which is received by Keenan waving his hands in the air and the crowd booing. Suddenly, in the middle, as the boos dramatically crescendo, he quits. “Know what?” he shouts. “Fuck you, man, if you don’t appreciate that shit.” The crowd bursts into applause and cheers, quick to forgive.
Keenan remembers the rest of his audience and turning to them, reassures them. “You’re all fine…until you turn…what? 32?” he retorts to the chair-stationed group. The band picks up a tune as Keenan announces, “This is a song about sitting on your fat ass.”
APC exhausted their newest sophomore album’s repetoire (titled Thirteenth Step) with the exception of the song “A Stranger” (most likely because the song does not feature a bass or drum player). In particular, “The Nurse Who Loved Me,” a cover of one of the songs of the band Failure, was met with warm reception as the crowd sang along with Keenan. The band also played several pieces from their first album, Mer De Noms, such as “The Hollow,” and “Magdalena,” but it was the song “3 Libras” in particular that seized the gold. During the performance, it was the height of all the artistic and beautiful merits. Keenan produced his finest vocal performance with this song, and the rest of the band faithfully accompanied him just as hauntingly, producing and promoting gorgeousness in the ethereal. It was truly nothing short of a stirring and moving masterpiece, with the evocative chorus line of, “You don’t see me, you don’t see me at all,” sung melodically and copiously by Keenan, who offered his audience the truth in those lines.
The chemistry in the group (very cliché phrase, but it will do) was simply amazing. APC is truly the boundary-pusher for the evolution of music to come, in categories of expression and musicality. To have them perform in Ames, IA was nothing short of a tremendous honor.
And sadly, as all things must end, so does the performance. “Thank you, Iowa. See you next time,” states Keenan, as the lights go off, then aggressively flare on again, as the band performs the hostile masterwork “Judith.” The crowd screams the famous and furious “Fuck your god” line along with Keenan, as he stomped in a circle on his grounds. Jeordie White executed the same act the same on his floor with his bass lowered all the way down to his ankles, marching and turning in sync with Keenan. And when the last chord is plucked and forced out into the hall, the crowd explodes with excitement as Howerdel pitches out random objects to the lucky few. Hands raise high in the hopes that Keenan, who was in the process of throwing his remaining water bottles to the audience, would not fail to toss a bottle to them. Jeordie seizes the microphone, mumbling something indistinct (sorry folks. I really wish I heard what he said but the uproar was too loud) as Iha joins him, hurling an additional YAAAAAAAAH! into the mike, as the two made their way backstage together. Outside, the long snowfall begins, as many of the audience members start igniting the wish of the continuing performance of the group that sparked what is beautiful, complete, and absolutely perfect in their works.