Well, for one, the closest I've ever been to seeing Tool was in the form a of tribute act.
Maynard James Keenan wasn't there. Neither was Adam Jones, Danny Carey or Justin Chancellor. It was simply four musicians in love with Keenan's most popular creation, putting it out there on the stage.
The lead singer was dressed in a karate outfit and had a spiked mohawk that increased his height by about a foot and a half. There was no mistaking that I was listening to four guys rip off one of the greatest rock bands of the 1990s, but the crowd didn't seem to notice. The audience moved to the front of the stage, banged their heads and shouted when asked. They were listening to the musical equivalent of comfort food, and they were shoveling their faces full of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
Of the bands that were on the bill that evening, these emulators of '90s alternative progressive rock music overwhelmingly held the most attention from the audience. The other bands on the lineup were just as good, if not better, than this quartet who were simply Xeroxing their favorite songs from Undertow and Lateralus. They offered nothing new. They didn't do anything different to the songs. They were essentially making money by imitating the music they obviously loved.
Say what you will about lack of originality, one thing could not be denied: These musicians put in a lot of time, effort and practice to recreate the experience of seeing Keenan and company. They didn't add any flair to the music because they knew what the crowd wanted to hear. No angry outcry took place. After the set was over, the lead singer was glad-handing the fans, receiving pats on the backs and posing for pictures like a politician running for office.
And that's something to keep in mind: Those playing in these bands are musicians. They want to make sure that they nail the guitar licks on "Schism" or get the drum part right during "Parabola." Obviously there is no recreating the charisma of the actual Maynard James Keenan onstage, but it doesn't mean the lead singer shouldn't at least make the attempt by practicing the moves, by spending an hour backstage making sure that two-foot coif won't collapse under the heat of the stage lights. He knows what he's getting himself into by imitating Keenan. He doesn't want to make it worse by looking like a fool.
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A tribute show's audience is just as dedicated to the original bands as the ones on stage are, and will spot an imitator's lack of effort in a heartbeat. Just because they aren't bringing anything new to the table doesn't mean they aren't working hard to pay respect to the source material. There is a reason why that mohawked lead singer was given hearty handshakes by the appreciative audience. He must have gotten something right.
On the flip side, there are many musicians who get the band they are covering wrong. Pay a visit to Las Vegas and listen to a lounge singer muck up an old standard. For every Tool tribute band that takes the stage in dive bars across the country, there is a Tony Clifton in a pink puffy shirt butchering Tony Orlando and wondering why the crowd isn't responding, or four guys playing the least complicated songs from the Z107.7 playlist. These imitators, the cover bands that phone it in -- those are the musicians that tick off everyone. Original musicians despise them for stealing the audience. Hard-working tribute musicians loathe them because they're out there making them look bad. No one likes a glorified karaoke singer.
The participants in a tribute show love their subjects so much they want to show their love as best as they can. They're doing their best to recreate an experience for those who love a band as much as they do, or in my case, help give the uninitiated a chance to experience what they think makes the band so great in the first place.
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