Tag: rock

Slipknot has one of the grodiest lores in rock music. In their early years, they made a habit of huffing dead birds pre-show, then shitting and vomiting on stage, before throwing it into the crowd. By 1999, the members each had an assigned number, mask, and killer carny costume. Against all odds, their eponymous debut — a nine-man grumble of thrash and death metal — found mainstream success, becoming the fastest-selling album in the genre’s history.

For Shawn Crahan (aka Clown or #6), the band’s co-founder, percussionist, and overall creative strategist, this has all served a spiritual purpose. Almost all of Slipknot’s iconic attributes can be credited to Crahan. Through his vision — the masks, the boilersuits — he left no unscrew unturned. If the world wouldn’t sit up and take notice, he’d break down the door and force them to.

Slipknot have since gone multi-platinum, founded their own music festival, and stretched far beyond their parochial metal scene into persistent cultural relevance. (They also stopped pooping and puking on stage.) They’ve become a major influence, both sonically and aesthetically, on everyone from Code Orange to Playboi Carti. During a break from the band’s 25th anniversary tour, Crahan broke down some of the grossest and riskiest moments of the band’s decadeslong career. “I’m not happy with everything I’ve put out there,” he said, “but at least I’ve helped people disappear and break down their wall.”

Big question. Corey can go from screaming to singing in his sleep. His confidence is on another level. I could point out so many songs where he can bring you to your knees. It’s hard for me to choose between his melody and his aggressive tones. But I would say — and I’m not saying it because it’s a big hit — that “Duality” would be up there. From the beginning of the song, he’s doing things a lot of people wouldn’t dare do. Boom, he’s into the melody. It’s like he jumped out of a plane and landed right into the song. And then he’s got this crazy voice with these loud effects and he gets to put on a different persona. How does he go through all of that?

Oh my God. I don’t even know where to begin. I mean, there’s audio, and then there’s video too. We have tons of incomplete concepts, some just under completion. There’s a lot of Slipknot I wish the culture could have. There is so much I create throughout my career but very, very little is actually put out there.

Someone recently brought up the album Look Outside Your Window. It was a piece of art Corey Taylor, Jim Root, Sid Wilson, and myself created in 2008. We made it up the hill from the studio that we recorded All Hope Is Gone in, in Perry, Iowa. No one believes that it even exists, or that it’s ever going to come out. I’ve always talked very highly of it and I’ve always said that you will never hear Corey Taylor sing like this. It’s just a whole different approach in my mind. Recently, I approved all the art. I’ve also worked really hard to get it mixed and mastered.

Being born.

“The Devil In I.” It has all the ingredients for a great recipe: knives, prosthetics, wheelchairs, straitjackets, explosions, blood, stunts.

If you watch the video for “The Devil in I,” it looks like I hang myself. Legally, they would not let me do that — it’s a stunt double — even though I offered. But it was too dangerous. I wanted to be on fire at the same time.

I was 14 years old. I was in a mall with my girlfriend at the time. We always went to Spencer’s because they had little adult novelty toys. Then I saw this mask in the clearance bin. I remember it exactly. I put it on and I immediately understood what it was like to disappear. I was gone and the real me had just shown up. It was so natural. From that day on, I molded my face to make my own masks. I have always been the Clown no matter how the mask has changed. The essences are always there. But it’s always ironic to me that the most identifiable clown mask is the one I didn’t make for myself. It seems like that’s sort of how brainwashed the world is, that this familiar entity that a corporation made has become part of my own merchandising. I still have that baby. I kept it in a safe in Iowa before I moved to Palm Springs, and now it stays hidden away in a bag in the studio. It’s shrunken a bit from all the stage lights. I know this is going to sound a bit weird, but I always though I was going to sell it for a lot of money. If I were to donate it, there’s no guarantee that it’d be taken seriously or protected. You know, if the Smithsonian would take it, I would give it to them, but I don’t know if they’re interested.

I thought every time would be my last. But the obvious change came during the 2019 We Are Not Your Kind chapter. My body had just taken enough abuse.

Oh God, I mean, it’s pretty bad. Just about every body fluid has gone onto it. It’s rolled around on every floor in every city. It’s rubbed up against human beings in the middle of a pit. It’s a disease on its own. All the masks are. When we did Ozzfest in ‘98 we were on a bus with 16 people. We didn’t have any money. No one knew who Slipknot was. We weren’t even getting a hotel room. I had to steal showers, waiting for the fucking Deftones to play so I could sneak in and use their filthy ass stuff. There was this lounge on the bus, with, like, six drawers. We put our masks in there. I can remember other bands getting two steps into our bus and being like, Jesus, what is that smell? That smell’s money, man.

There’s a lot, but the one that’s really done me in was when I ripped my bicep in half on stage by hitting a keg with a bat. If you know anything about a bicep, it’s basically two wires, one on each side that holds the muscle in place — kind of like rubber bands that connect up by your shoulder. I ripped both those fuckers. So my bicep was actually on my forearm. Like, it just dropped down and my skin fell down with it. People would vomit when they saw it. I had surgery, and I lost 25 percent of that arm. I’ll go to grab something on the top shelf in the fridge, think I’ve got it, and then whatever it is will just fall. It hurts. I have swelling on my right side where this dissolvable screw was. Out of all the injuries, that one really is a daily reminder.

I miss them. You know, it’s too much. I feel bad even doing interviews about our 25th anniversary because most of it lives with them. Their contributions to my life are incomprehensible. Yet here I am. It’s really hard for me. I don’t like that they don’t get to talk. They are the two people you should be talking to right now. Now it’s all memory. And, you know, not that many people try to take Paul from me but a lot of people try to take Joey from me because of the circumstances. But none of the band ever talk about that. Why would we? That’s our brother. It’s hard today because so many people have all these opinions on what Joey’s thoughts might have been of me. A lot of humans like to tell you exactly what they know that I don’t know. All I can tell you is that those are my brothers, and, love me or hate me, it doesn’t matter. We did some shit.

Whenever we play “Vermillion” I think of Paul. I just remember him upstairs in the mansion whittling away at that song for weeks. He was a genius. And Joey, God, it’s just about everything. Right now we’re playing “Scissors” and you can only play that song with his kind of ability, and we haven’t been there for a long, long time. We’re finally back there. It was a song where he’d really just go off. But even a song like “Spit It Out,” the way Joey demanded the attention in that song. He was like the conductor — everyone paid attention to him. I miss that.

“And now it’s over” from “Prelude 3.0”

Band co-founder and bassist Paul Gray and original drummer Joey Jordison. Gray died in 2010; Jordison in 2021.

Jordison was fired from the band in 2013, citing personal reasons.