The astral trajectory of Mastodon’s most compositionally OTT album, Crack The Skye, saw the Atlanta quartet fly so close to the sun that it fried them to the point of burn-out. Mastodon’s vision for complex metal, bound by a narrative concept, was becoming an unmanageable burden. Not only was their tour itinerary exhausting, there was no fun anymore, little energy to help rouse the monster riffs for a hike into the green Tolkien-scented pastures of progressive rock.
As the Crack The Skye album cycle ground to its conclusion, the band had two paths available to them: a hiatus, a sabbatical after which they could dig deep and draft another cinematic album concept; or they could stop by the house, sleep for a week, feed the cat and consider doing an album that would be fun to write, record and play. Mastodon went with the latter.
