Review Summary: You want hit songs? You won't find it here, look another way.
Kevin Moore: Hey guys, I don't know how to say this but I want out of the band. It's just so hard because you guys are my friends and I've known you since high school. We used to play Bastille Day by Rush in an old murky basement but those are just memories now. Whenever I contribute it just doesn't fit in with what the rest of you guys are doing. I want to do my own thing, and so I'm just sitting in my car day after day staring at my dashboard trying to find the strength to say that I don't want to come on the Awake tour. I'm going to do it though. I'm going to sell all my belongings, live off the checks from Images and Words and isolate myself in my station wagon and travel aimlessly around the United States. Then maybe I will know what I really want in life.
“Caught in a Web”
James LaBrie: Don't know why I joined this band, but they had the contract and pen, so what the f***. The record company says they'll at least give us complete freedom over our next one if we make this one dark, deep and somewhat grunge-like.
John Petrucci: Kevin, you've become an emo and I'm tired of arguing with you over what the 32nd note should be in the fifty seventh measure of Caught in a Web. Every time I come up with a cool riff like Puppies on Acid you get negative, say it's utter rubbish, and call me a muppet for not listening to you. If we are going to be a working outfit and actually last as a band, then you can't go around saying “I can't play the keyboard, I forgot.” That's a load of crap.
“A Mind Beside Itself, Part 1: Erotomania”
[Intense seven minute wank through various time signatures]
“A Mind Beside Itself, Part 2: Voices”
I feel elated, I feel depressed. Sex is death, death is sex. Voices are protecting me, “good behavior brings the savior to his knees,” voices rejecting me “others read your thoughts – they aren't confined within your mind.” I don't want to be here... only love is, only love is what matters... You've got to know who you're dealing with, because like a stranger I might come in here with a gun. Then what would you do? Everything is immaterial, you know that reality is immaterial?
“A Mind Beside Itself, Part 3: The Silent Man”
The capacity of human intelligence seems to limit the capabilities to expand upon any possible creative aptitudes. Indeed, if one cannot even notice the facets that the ingenuities around him are comprised of, how can he be expected to fashion a beast of his own? This inveterate sense of constraint is a great blow to the veracity of mankind's abilities. It restrains us and holds our minds to the ground below, averting any possibility of rising above ourselves to something greater; something not fathomed by the conventional mind. This concept of seeking to go beyond one's self, known as “transcendence”, is essentially a gateway to unlocking pieces of ourselves that can lead to some of the most elaborate and significant creations of our world. For many, this quest to transcend and form creations that were once considered unthinkable and overwhelming consumes life. Certainly it is rare to find such people, but when they are found, creative barriers are destroyed. [Shadows]
Mike Portnoy: *Takes a drink from a fifth of brandy in a paper bag* Wanna hear a joke? What do you see when you open a DT booklet?
Images and Words.
Kevin Moore: I won't, I swear I wont (did). I try, I swear I'll try (lie)
John Petrucci : Just because LaBrie has a wife, and me and Portnoy have girlfriends doesn't mean you have to get all jealous. It's making you disillusioned. I think that deep down, we need to focus on what we set out to accomplish as musicians: To fix the rotating axis of the earth through ridiculously complex solos. Stop reading that magazine and come help us work on this. And who the hell is John Myung?
“Lifting Shadows Off A Dream”
John Myung: (says nothing)
Kevin Moore: I'm going to be serious here for seven minutes. There's this girl in a unique piece of clothing on a magazine that I think is just beautiful, and if I could just meet her, my life would be complete. I want her, I love her, and I've grown to admire her face as something that I could keep all to myself. But then I tell myself, “She's a model on a ***ing piece of paper,” and I realize that I can never have her and that my desire is only because of lust. I've reduced every chance of me having her by reducing her to an object to look at. Everything I would enjoy is right here, on my magazine. She's like a trophy that I'm keeping on a shelf, and all of her thoughts, feelings, and ideas are null. The only way I can retain my love for her is if she stays on the page. Otherwise it will all be lost. There's no one to help me. I'll just smile and learn to pretend in this fake life of mine, and I can never be open again.