The last decade has seen the excruciating rise and equally agonizing fall of the much-maligned nü-metal genre. In that time, Los Angeles' Tool have worn that label as either a badge or a scar. Though they predate bands like Korn, Tool's rise to prominence in the mid-'90s helped anchor the new class of SoCal thrash-influenced rock.

On the surface, this seems plausible. Their sound is heavy, built on top of one of the most punishing rhythm sections in rock. Lyrics are inscrutable and angry, bearing a poetic flow and affected rage that is more laughable than scary. Their songs deal with the common themes of aggression, isolation, and general malaise, with vocals that are screamed and barked as much as they are sung. As nü-metal's unmourned corpse starts to fester and its last tattooed and pierced adherents limp toward their unmarked graves, Tool somehow manage to remain not only relevant, but also important.

Since 1996's Ænima, Tool have occupied a strange middle ground in the rock landscape. They've received critical acclaim from various mainstream sources, mostly for lending a technical precision and artistic flair to heavy metal, a genre that had become stale and commercial. Their albums have become increasingly conceptual—filled with long instrumentals, cryptic world-influenced percussion, and drug-fueled eccentricity. They shrugged off the mantle of nü-metal long ago. The paradox is that despite these dramatic changes, they haven't alienated their core audience.

In the process, Tool have become one of the most commercially successful rock bands in America. They have no hits, minimal airplay, and are utterly reclusive. They dropped off the radar for five years, enough time for a person to go through high school without hearing a new Tool release. But with their latest LP, 10,000 Days (which debuted at number one on Billboard), Tool have accomplished one of the record industry's most elusive feats: simultaneously balancing commercial success with insider credibility. They just came off a headlining spot at Coachella, slumming it with the indie darlings (and Madonna), but now they're on a summer world tour playing giant venues named after auto manufacturers or search engines.

Today's music trends are so schizophrenic, it sometimes seems like stadium rock's days are over. Is it possible for there ever to be another band like the Stones, Def Leppard, or Led Zeppelin, who were so successful they became ingrained in the American musical subconscious? Sure, there are Pearl Jam and Red Hot Chili Peppers, but they've already achieved the crutch of classic-rock status. There are enough moms into Pearl Jam that they no longer seem edgy to 16-year-olds.

With a handful of notable exceptions, the hottest bands are so rooted in the realities of the music industry's here and now that they seem destined to be forgotten by rock's fickle tastemakers. Earning fans with Tuesday gigs at empty bars seems old-fashioned when bands are headlining tours after cutting five songs on their laptop and a making a webpage. They are tailored for the current crop of blogger rock critics and optimized for viral marketability. But for all their momentum, bands manufactured by internet hype inevitably will lack longevity. It's difficult to imagine a time 10 years from now when today's scenesters are hiring a sitter so they can catch Bloc Party at Qwest Field.

In contrast, Tool seem almost resistant to industry trends. They never give interviews. They don't even have a MySpace profile. Tool have used their inaccessibility to create a genuine mystique. Critics have justifiably called their newest record difficult and pretentious. Even more than their previous albums, 10,000 Days builds up their hallmark growl through sprawling, droning 13-minute tracks that will never get played on the radio. With music like this, Tool's widespread success has to be earned the old-fashioned way: by playing consistently heavy and creative rock.

When viewed in this context, Tool are an ideal candidate to become the anthemic, defining stadium-rock band of the PlayStation generation. Part of Tool's appeal is their big, dark, and unapologetic sound. Their music has an epic quality that simply doesn't translate over a streaming internet connection. It translates well in a stadium. And rather than embracing the quirks and fashions of the industry like their defunct nü-metal brethren or the soon-to-be-defunct internet buzz bands, Tool might just be here to stay.