On one hand, we had imperious Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung’s ‘anima’: the feminine characteristics within the male unconscious. Beyond the sheer bafflement of a made-up word beginning with an obscure Latin letter, they were melding together two disparate themes. “It’s about change,” explained Maynard in one 1996 interview, “cleaning out the house to refurbish or redecorate and start over.”Īgain, the clue was in the title. It was an album for the weirdos, the intellectuals, those actually clever enough to get in on the joke. This was a record to weed-out the uninvested part-timers and bone-headed mosh bros who would quickly up sticks for camp nu-metal. A post-Cobain grunge collapse had made vacant the throne onto which so many believed Tool should ascend – as the furious new voices of Generation X. People thought they had a handle on the mind-mangling rhythms, the heavy grooves, the vitriolic vocals, the subliminal darkness on which they were afloat. Its seven-figure sales ensured they were also one of the most instantly recognisable. Stunning debut Undertow had announced them as one of the most fascinating, unmistakable, downright virtuoso voices in alternative music. The stony-faced solemnity with which critics and high-minded art-rock aficionados approached Ænima regardless said a lot about where the Los Angeles quartet found themselves in the mid-’90s.

Tool aenima album art