MORE FROM ATLAN TA (clockwise from top left): Brent’s back; Sanders has trouble getting a signal; after-show hugs; Kelliher meets the fans

 

vets Neurosis, who have long been close with the band. Kelly connected with Dailor’s story immediately—he’d experienced similar losses—and corresponded with Dailor’s father, Bill, in order to further personalize his contributions.

“Bill sent me a lot of photos and stuff like that,” says Kelly. “If I was going to try to express this very specific event and honor this person, I wanted to know as much about her as I could.”

As a whole, Crack the Skye is easily the most accessible music Mastodon have ever made—if a sci-fi-themed concept album of prog-metal epics can be considered accessible. The vocals are surprisingly tuneful, and within the maelstrom of unhinged guitar, spacey keyboards, and punishing drumming, songs like “Divinations” and “The Last Baron” offer choruses you could almost sing along to. Some of this is obviously the result of working with O’Brien, whom they’d met through E Street Band drummer Max Weinberg (whose son is a huge Mastodon fan). While the band resists the idea that O’Brien was brought on to

80 MAY 2009 / SPIN.COM IS IN LUV WIT’ A STRIPPER

make them more palatable, the producer’s natural inclination certainly leaned in that direction.

As O’Brien puts it, “The trick is to find something challenging that can reach the most people. Crack the Skye does just that.”

 

hIrTy MINuTES BEfOrE SATurDAy night’s set, the worries have subsided. The rain has trailed off, the venue—a muddy patch of urban wasteland covered by an expensive tent—is packed, and hinds has just arrived. To be fair, as Dailor points out, hinds has never missed a gig.

“Before we go on, you’ll hear, ‘Dude, I’m not feeling very good,’” says Dailor. “Once he hits the stage, it’s a different story.”

So it goes tonight. After burying his face at the side of the stage for 30 seconds, hinds strolls out and displays no signs of wear through a 90- minute set that requires him to play technically exacting and physically exhausting guitar parts.

Onstage, as Mastodon roar through nine years of material, it’s impossible to discern any faultlines within the band. Despite the way hinds’ offstage behavior frequently makes him Mastodon’s focus, creatively this is as democratic an outfit as you’ll come across. But if they’re going to become the force Crack the Skye hints at, it’s impossible not to see hinds as, to some extent, the guy who will either lead them there or hold them back.

“I’m always worried about Brent,” says Dailor. “But he told me, ‘This is going to be the album that sobers me up.’ he wants to do awesome.”

A few days after the show, back at El Myr, hinds insists he’d never let his partying get in the way of Mastodon’s success.

“Sooner or later, I get done what I have to with this band,” he says. “I can sit around knowing my bills have been paid and nobody’s pissed at me for fucking their wife or whatever—I don’t need those horrible mind-eating thoughts.” he looks down at his Tecate and laughs. “That way, when I do get fucked up, I’m having a better time.”