But A Perfect Circle is more organic than the sum of its parts suggests; the band formed by slow gravitational pull rather than some marketing exec's brainstorm. Songwriter-guitarist Billy Howerdel and singer Maynard James Keenan of Tool met in 1992 but didn't start working together until 1996. Howerdel met bassist-violinist Paz Lenchantin a year later. Guitarist Troy Van Leeuwen, who was in the criminally underrated atmospheric rock band Failure, joined the following year. And like clockwork, one year later the current roster was established when drummer Josh Freese (Devo, Vandals) replaced Primus' Tim Alexander. The group's clinically precise alt-metal debut, Mer de Noms, definitely sounds as if it was written by a former guitar tech for Nine Inch Nails and the Smashing Pumpkins and the vocalist for Tool, yet the way Freese and Lenchantin navigate the sinewy grooves and shifting guitar dynamics liberates the sound.
APC is Howerdel's vision, but the obvious shorthand description of the band remains "Maynard's side project." The intense singer goes to great lengths to characterize APC as anything but a Tool offshoot, even disguising himself with a long black wig.
During an interview before the band left Los Angeles to open for Nine Inch Nails' "Fragility 2.0" tour, Keenan said emphatically, "Billy really is the main songwriter in this band. He writes all the music; he did all the producing, all the engineering. It's his band."
Howerdel himself offers a more balanced perspective: "Maynard being in Tool is a huge thing -- anything that the guy's name is on is huge," he notes, crediting APC's 20 sold-out club shows last fall, before the album was even released, to Keenan's status. But Howerdel also notes that the radio success of APC's first single, "Judith," might have garnered some fans. "This album sold more than any Tool album did in its first day and in its first week," he says. "That has to be due to something."
In fact much of A Perfect Circle's success can be directly linked to a thirst for any new Tool-related material. For a while in the mid-'90s, Tool's menacing, progressive-meets-metal sound seemed likely to inherit the Jane's Addiction throne, particularly after the quartet stole the show at 1993's Lollapalooza. Rather than offering wanky, guitar solodominated metal, Tool's sound is more textured. The band had a platinum album with 1993's Undertow and a multiplatinum smash with 1996's Aenima but has since all but dropped from the radar after a legal wrangle with its label.
Yet a one-off show headlining the Coachella Music Festival in Southern California last year proved Tool can still put asses in the seats. You see a lot of black Tool T-shirts among the crowds at any major metal show, from OzzFest to Marilyn Manson. The band connects to alienated kids, mainly via enigmatic frontman Keenan. But his lyrics aren't simply the raging-rat-in-a-cage type -- he prides himself on encouraging his fans to think for themselves. He is also a natural, charismatic performer. At Coachella, Keenan engaged in some call and response with his audience: First he explained that the French word for yes is oui and that the Spanish word is si. Then he had the crowd chant all three words in a row. Most people in the crowd had no idea they were screaming, "Yes, we see!" He was wearing nothing but a Speedo and body paint at the time.
Still, as engaging as Keenan's other band is, APC's aural palette extends far beyond Tool's multiple shades of black. Keenan sings more than yells on Mer de Noms, and the band shifts in and out of quiet passages without sounding as if it's following a metronome. Another telling difference: Tool's last record was produced by Dave Bottrill, who, though he's known for his work with such gear huggers as Peter Gabriel, David Sylvian, and King Crimson, recorded most of Mer de Noms in Howerdel's garage. Intense and heavy -- as expected -- the disc also has a postpunk tension, thanks to the band's rhythmic interplay. Released in May, APC's debut sold a thundering 188,000 copies in its first week.
It's a long climb from Howerdel's beginnings as roadie for a crappy Guns N' Roses wannabe. After he left that gig, Howerdel lived in about ten different places all over Los Angeles; around 1991 he hooked up with the ska/punk/funk/metal pioneers of Fishbone. In several years of working for the group, he managed to avoid the dreaded "trombone-catching" duty, which involved a horn thrown 30 feet from the stage. Even that particular assignment, Howerdel is quick to point out, was not nearly as risky as his job with another long-time employer, Nine Inch Nails. "That was a war zone," he recalls.
In person Howerdel comes across as an unlikely candidate to thrive amid NIN's theatrical gloom; he seems like a shy guy who would rather read technical manuals on effects processors than drink absinthe with the leather-pants crowd. But he remembers his NIN days fondly. Little wonder that Trent Reznor personally invited APC to open his band's recent tour.
Other people for whom Howerdel worked recognized something special in him as well. Fishbone bassist Norwood Fisher remembers Howerdel writing a lot of songs while he was working for the band. "They ended up becoming the Perfect Circle album," Fisher says. "I knew he was a genius before he even started writing those songs. He's out of his motherfucking mind!"
After leaving the Fishbone camp, Howerdel went to work for Tool and Guns N' Roses, among others. Meanwhile, he was still writing and recording his own music. When then-roommate Keenan heard what Howerdel was working on, he offered to sing on it. But Howerdel was writing with a female voice in mind, so he turned down Keenan.
"I didn't put a lot of weight into it," Howerdel explains. "It wasn't like this one day where he joined up; it was over a couple of conversations that it really sunk in."
Once Keenan became involved, however, things skyrocketed. His name alone meant a record deal was a slam-dunk. A bidding war ensued, and APC eventually signed a multi-album deal with Virgin, even though Tool's label, Volcano, had the right to match any offer.
A Perfect Circle is a record label's dream, only better, because its members came together on their own. Lenchantin is a former piano teacher who has never played in a rock band, but both Keenan and Howerdel claim she's the purest musician in the group. Contrast that with Freese's and Van Leeuwen's poise and experience -- the kind of x factors that give APC a wide musical base. And while Keenan's involvement helped get the attention of record labels, his star power is also the element that makes APC more than the studio obsession of a music freak.
As for the music freak himself, Howerdel admits to obsessive-compulsive tendencies--a trait that meshed well with his first career but sometimes interferes with his creative side. "There's a very fine line between tweaking something forever and releasing something that you're really proud of that you efficiently got done," he says. "You use your right and left brain at the same time. It's nerve-racking. There's nothing I regret on the record. There are only two or three things that I hoped I could add, but they're very small -- they're not important."