“Other bands would get on our bus and say, ‘Jesus, what’s that smell?’ That smell is money, man.
Photo: Vulture; Photo: Martin Philbey/Redferns

Slipknot has one of the most grotesque traditions in rock music. In their early years, they had the habit of snorting dead birds before the show, then shitting and vomiting on stage, before throwing them into the crowd. In 1999, each member was assigned a number, a mask, and a killer costume. Against all odds, their self-titled debut, a nine-man thrash and death metal snarl, found widespread success and became the fastest-selling album in the history of the genre.

For Shawn Crahan (aka Clown or #6), the co-founder of the band, percussionist and creative strategist in general, all of this has had a spiritual purpose. Almost all of Slipknot’s iconic attributes can be attributed to Crahan. Through his vision (the masks, the jumpsuits), he left no detail unresolved. If the world didn’t sit up and take notice, he would break down the door and make them do it.

Since then, Slipknot have gone multi-platinum, founded their own music festival, and extended far beyond their parochial metal scene into persistent cultural relevance. (They also stopped pooping and vomiting on stage.) They have 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 from the band’s decades-long career. “I’m not happy with everything I’ve published,” he said, “but at least I’ve helped people disappear and tear down their wall.”

Great 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. I have a hard time choosing between its melody and its aggressive tones. But I would say (and I’m not saying this because it’s a huge hit) that “Duality” would be up there. From the beginning of the song, he is doing things that many people wouldn’t dare to do. Boomhe likes the melody. It’s like I jumped out of a plane and landed straight into the song. And then he has this crazy voice with these strong effects and he can take on a different personality. How does he get through all that?

Oh my god. I don’t even know where to start. I mean, there’s audio and there’s also video. We have tons of incomplete concepts, some barely complete. There are a lot of things about Slipknot that I wish the culture had. There are many things that I create throughout my career, but in reality very, very little is published.

Someone recently mentioned the album. Look outside your window. It was a piece of art that Corey Taylor, Jim Root, Sid Wilson and I created in 2008. We walked up the hill from the studio that we recorded. All hope is gone In Perry, Iowa. No one even believes it exists or will ever come to light. I’ve always spoken highly of it and I’ve always said you’ll never hear Corey Taylor sing like that. In my opinion, it’s just a completely different approach. Recently, I approved all art. I also worked very hard to mix and master it.

Be born.

“The devil in me.” It has all the ingredients for a great recipe: knives, prosthetics, wheelchairs, straitjackets, explosions, blood, acrobatics.

If you watch the video for “The Devil in I,” it looks like I hang myself. Legally, they wouldn’t let me do that (it’s a 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. At that time I was in a shopping center with my girlfriend. We always went to Spencer’s because they had little novelty toys for adults. Then I saw this mask in the clearance bin. I remember it exactly. I put it on and immediately understood what it was like to disappear. I was gone and the real me had just appeared. It was so natural. From that day on I shaped my face to make my own masks. I’ve always been the Clown no matter how the mask changed. The essences are always there. But I always find it ironic that the most identifiable clown mask is the one I didn’t make myself. It seems like this is how the world has been brainwashed, that this family entity created by a corporation has become part of my own merchandising. I still have that baby. I kept it in a safe in Iowa before moving to Palm Springs and now it remains hidden in a bag in the studio. It’s a little reduced by all the stage lights. I know this is going to sound a little weird, but I always thought I was going to sell it for a lot of money. If you were to donate it, there is no guarantee that you would be taken seriously or protected. You know, if the Smithsonian would accept it, I’d give it to them, but I don’t know if they’d be interested.

I thought each time would be the last. But the obvious change occurred during 2019. We are not your class chapter. My body had taken enough abuse.

Oh God, I mean, it’s pretty bad. Almost all bodily fluids have passed into it. It is rolling on every floor in every city. It rubs against human beings in the middle of a well. It is a disease in itself. All masks are. When we did Ozzfest in ’98 we were on a bus with 16 people. We didn’t have money. Nobody knew who Slipknot was. We weren’t even going to get a hotel room. I had to steal the showers, waiting for the fucking Deftones to play so I could sneak in and use their disgusting stuff. There was a room on the bus, with about six drawers. We put our masks there. I can remember other bands taking two steps onto our bus and saying: Jesus, what is that smell? That smell is money, man.

There are a lot of things, but the one that really affected me was when I tore my bicep in half on stage hitting a barrel with a bat. If you know anything about a biceps, they are basically two cables, one on each side, that hold the muscle in place, kind of like elastic bands that connect at the shoulder. I ripped those two bastards off. So my biceps were actually on my forearm. It just fell and my skin fell with it. People would vomit when they saw it. I had surgery and lost 25 percent of that arm. I go grab something off the top shelf of the refrigerator, I think I have it, and then whatever it is, it just falls out. Hurts. I have swelling on the right side where this dissolvable screw was. Of all the injuries, this 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 them live with them. His contributions to my life are incomprehensible. Yet here I am. It’s very difficult for me. I don’t like that they can’t talk. They are the two people you should be talking to right now. Now everything is memory. And, you know, it’s not that a lot of people are trying to take Paul away from me, but a lot of people are trying to take Joey away from me because of the circumstances. But none of the band members ever talk about it. Why would we do it? That’s our brother. It’s hard nowadays because a lot of people have all these opinions about what Joey might have thought of me. Many humans like to tell you exactly what they know and 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 things.

Every time we play “Vermillion” I think of Paul. I just remember him up in the mansion, slowing down that song for weeks. He was a genius. And Joey, God, it’s all about it. Right now we’re playing “Scissors” and you can only play that song with his kind of skill, and we haven’t been around for a long, long time. We’re finally back there. It was a song where he got really angry. But even a song like “Hit It Out,” the way Joey demanded attention on that song. He was like the director: everyone paid attention to him. I miss that.

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

The band’s 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.