Mastodon’s Release of a Heart-Wrenching Video About the Death of Ex-Bandmate Brent Hinds Was a Tragic Mistake
(I don’t typically break the third wall on The Bad Penny, because my grandmother taught me it was rude to use the word “I,” it creates distance with the reader, and the goal of this website is to focus on bands and not a hack journalist like me. But in this instance, as Mastodon are responsible for deeply enriching my love of heavy music – and because I don’t want to suggest the opinion I’m about to set forth is held by anyone other than myself – I’m breaking my rule.)
Mastodon are the most important heavy band of the 21st century. (Queens of the Stone Age ceded the throne with their softer, but no less righteous, “Matador trilogy.”) When I first saw them in concert – at Knitting Factory Hollywood in February 2004, in support of their Remission debut – the 300-person venue seemed on the verge of spontaneous combustion during their entire set. There was no need – or ability – to cut a rug; the floor was shaking with such force that those of us who didn’t intend to jump up and down in place didn’t have the option to do so.
Mastodon won me over at that moment, and ever since, they’ve had a comfy spot as one of my top five favorite bands of all time. I’ve put their albums on my year-end top 10 lists more than any other group (see here, here, here, here, here and here). For those who don’t have such an emotional connection to the ATL squad, consider these objective arguments:
• The original Mastodon lineup were among an elite group in which every member was so musically gifted and technically proficient that few other bands of any genre could claim such repute (in terms of instruments; I’ll cede the point as far as vocals are concerned).
• Again excluding QOTSA, no other band bridged the gap between metalheads and indie-rockers. Perhaps I’ll write at greater length about this some other time, but utilizing harsh vocals is almost always a red line between the two camps. That Mastodon transcended that division speaks to their par excellence in songwriting, refusal to ever take the road most traveled and ceaseless thirst for pushing both metal’s boundaries and their own musical talents.
• Mastodon never embraced satanic or “evil” imagery and subject matter that is so juvenile, dull and goofy that Tenacious D built an entire career mocking its overabundance. Instead, Mastodon created albums based on classic 19th century literature (Moby-Dick/Leviathan), Stephen Hawking theories and Rasputin (Crack the Skye), climbing peaks teeming with strange creatures (Blood Mountain) and – in what reinforced the band’s reputation as a singularly sincere and unpretentious group of rockers – grief (The Hunter, Emperor of Sand and Hushed and Grim).
I could go on, but you get the drift: Mastodon didn’t snatch the brass ring of cred that every musician reaches for purely because of their musical prowess but because they are as real as a famous band can be. (Side note: Fuck marketing reps and PR flacks in every industry for debasing, overusing and thus robbing us from the invaluable word “authentic.”) Surely, the three musicians have developed what must be a superhuman level of inner strength and emotional fortification due to each of them having lost more family members and friends than any one person should bear in a lifetime. (The passings are known to fans by virtue of Mastodon’s lyrics, public statements and news accounts.)
In a cruel cosmic irony, Mastodon fans themselves suffered a triple-gut-punch of grief – the topic that the band addresses more than any other in their art – when founding member and John Bonham-level wild man Brent Hinds split with Mastodon in March of last year. That was the first hit. The second came when he and the remaining members of the band – who were so tight, even their most ardent fans would’ve mistaken them for brothers – publicly traded barbs about the circumstances of Hinds’ departure.
And then there was the third, crushing wave of devastation: Approximately five months after exiting the band to which he had devoted a quarter of his life, Hinds died in a brutal vehicle accident in Mastodon’s hometown of Atlanta, on August 20. Hinds’ passing was horrific, gut-wrenching, bizarre, monumental and a catalyst for agony to fans of his and Mastodon – which means the torture must have been incalculably worse for Hinds’ family and friends.
As someone who is (thankfully) not well-versed in grief, I am the least qualified to talk about what it feels like, how to deal with it and if there’s any way to truly survive through such pain. Some people repress tragedy. Others act out, for better or worse. Many are lucky enough to have a network of loved ones with whom they can cope by crying together, hugging each other, trading stories, cracking jokes or simply by being there for one another.
For that reason and others, I will not deride Mastodon for performing live two days after Hinds’ death. Or playing one show a month for the remainder of 2025. Anyone familiar with their music or what I’ve stated above can discern that Troy Sanders, Bill Kelliher and Brann Dailor are good guys. Hell, maybe the musicians behind songs like “Mother Puncher” are even gentlemen. They have always exhibited graciousness toward their fans, never call in a show, take pride in their craft and seem to pal around with other good eggs, like Josh Homme, Mike Keneally and Scott Kelly.
It appeared that Mastodon decided to stay trained on their art – or remaining work commitments – when they played those aforementioned shows after Hinds’ passing. Dailor, often the de facto spokesman for the group, appeared to muster all the strength he could (which is a lot – dude’s one of the hardest-hitting drummers alive) when he addressed the death of his lifelong friend at the conclusion of that August 22 show in Alaska:
On July 8, Mastodon paid a more formal tribute to Hinds in the form of the 35-minute short film, aptly titled The Mastodon in the Room, which is embedded above. Just as I will not criticize any members of Mastodon for how they choose to grieve, I will not begrudge them as far as the emotional memorial film is concerned.
But there is a caveat, and it’s a crucial one: Just five days after posting The Mastodon in the Room on YouTube, the band announced the release of a new studio album, Marrow Deep, due August 28. Anyone who knows about musicians who have achieved a notable level of success knows that they develop a team to handle tasks ranging from dealing with the press to plotting tour routes to helping them make any number of day-to-day decisions. While the band is now on its third record label, Mastodon – as great as the guys seem to be – appear to have made a grave error, whether it be the fault of their team or the musicians themselves.
In releasing the Hinds tribute video mere days before announcing a new record, it will inevitably lead fans and observers alike to surmise – rightly or wrongly – that the band decided to deal publicly with the loss of Hinds more as a matter of timing and even convenience, rather than let the grieving process play itself out in a natural way. The way that Mastodon previously dealt with their grief over the loss of family and friends: through their art. Regardless of their intentions, the release of The Mastodon in the Room at the time the band and its team chose to do so will unnecessarily invite skepticism over its veracity and even lead some to perceive it as a cynical ploy to stuff their emotional baggage into a closet so they can get on with their next promotional cycle, tours and the like.
Over the course of three decades, Mastodon have made astonishingly few missteps, especially for a heavy-metal band that is no stranger to partying and pushing the envelope artistically, aesthetically and otherwise. Let’s be clear: Mastodon have not lost their credibility, largely due to the fact that the band seems incapable of recording a bad album. But for a group of close friends who have suffered so much grief in their lives, and managed to pull through every time, with heads held high, the way their grief over the death of Hinds has played out is a mistake that deviates from their sterling track record. It’s a shame that will forever rest atop a tragedy of immeasurable proportions.
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