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What a difference chart position makes. For Dream Theater’s first video, for the song “Pull Me Under,” “They told us an hour before we went on, ‘Oh, we’re shooting tonight,’“ recalls guitarist John Petrucci. “I was pissed ‘cause I hadn’t shaved, and we didn’t have any clothes.” He shrugs. “It didn’t matter; you couldn’t see us anyway. It was all hair and strobes.” The one identifiable piece of clothing was lead singer James LaBrie’s Napalm Death T-shirt. Ironically, “I still haven’t listened to them,” James admits. “But I met Barney, their lead vocalist, and he was a really cool guy.” “I’m the only one who’s seen them,” says drummer Mike Portnoy. “Barney loves Dream Theater. I think it’s incredible that they listen to a band like us. It says a lot for their open-mindedness. He gave us a bunch of t-shirts. James just happened to be wearing one that night. Barney called me up a few weeks later” – he imitates the grindcore master’s deep, British- accented growl – “‘Hey, tell James wearing that shirt in the video, that’s great.’”

But this was all before Dream Theater started edging up toward the Top 40. Now a video director is trying to talk them out of wearing all black. Too Procol Harum, he says. “We ARE Procol Harum,” Portnoy smirks. “What do you normally wear?” the director asks the drummer, who lifts his shirt to reveal his bare chest, hoping to be excused from this afternoon’s shopping expedition. No such luck. They’re off enmasse to the downtown L.A. warehouse of a shirtmaker. The stylist is playing show-and-tell with a bunch of necklaces she got in Mexico, while theband wisecracks about the scenery. “Look, it’s a Napalm Deatht-shirt,” laughs Kevin as the van passes a Hollywood Boulevard shop. “Made famous by James LaBrie.” “Rock Star Accessories,” quips Petrucci about another store stocked with studded leather jackets and spandex dresses. “I’d rather go to [upscale N.Y. department store] Bloomingdale’s and get a cool silk shirt.”

Yes, in an era when most multi-platinum sellers are going for plaid flannel from the Salvation Army, Dream Theater are on their own path, both in culture and sound, mixing prog-rock influences like Rush and Yes with Queensryche and speed-metal aggressiveness. “This music will never be cool, like grunge or industrial,” says keyboardist Kevin Moore, and if that bothers them, you coulda fooled me. “Our fans are more real,” says Mike. “It’s not like we’re part of a trend or anything. With the Seattle bands, after a while it becomes trendy and everybody starts to lump them together and starts liking them just because of the kind of music it is, not because they like the individual band. So it’s probably better this way.”

Off the freeway and into the scuzzy area that surrounds L.A.’s wholesale garment district. We get lost for a bit and also lose a second car that’s carrying some of the Dreamers. Upon our arrival at the warehouse, a panhandler hits on bassist John Myung the moment we get out of the van. A coffin- sized elevator opens into a slightly more posh reception area. “Is there a building in L.A. that doesn’t have a full-length mirror?” grumbles Kevin. We’re led into a warehouse full of shirts that range from great to horrifically garish. “Look at this,” Petrucci quips. “I was looking for something in a mustard polka-dot.” “Um, early Maui,” grins Myung, fingering a loud, flowered extravaganza. As Keving discovers pants with an alligator motif, Portnoy and Labrie emerge from the mini-vator. “We saw this bum screaming for about ten minutes,” Mike announces. “We were watching him.”

The shirts don’t interest him one bit, so he takes this opportunity to use the manufacturer’s phone for a chat with his grandma. Mike is close to his family. In fact, his dad is driving to Dream Theater’s show at the Palace tonight, all the way downfrom Monterey, site of the original Dream Theater, a movie house whose name the band copped after their first moniker, Majesty, turned out to be copyrighted by someone else. This was back in 1988, when nobody cared what color shirts they wore. Petrucci and Myung met while they were students at the prestigious Berklee College of Music. “I wanted to meet people to do what I’m doing now,” Petrucci explains, “but as long as I was there, I wanted to learn as much as I could about music.” Later he used hi formal training to support himself as a guitar teacher. “It totally kept me on top of my technique, because you have to present ideas to your students, and they have to respect you. But when I built it up so muchI was making a living at it, I didn’t look forward to it anymore. It was just like work.”

Still, it beat McDonald’s. At the time Dream Theater were stuck in the quagmire their first label deal and disc, “When Dream and Day Unite”, turned out to be. “Mechanic [Records] didn’t have any money,” says Mike, and parent company MCA wasn’t forthcoming either. Dream Theater had found themselves without tour support and increasingly at odds with their then-lead singer, Charlie Dominici. “His whole delivery wasn’t in synch with what we were doing,” Mike claims. “It was like Billy Joel trying to sing with Queensryche.” Major changes were clearly in order. “We asked to get dropped from the label,” Portnoy remembers. “They weren’t going to let us go, so we had to settle it under the table.” Then they parted company with Charlie. “The experience totally changed us,” says Petrucci. “It tested us as a band – to stay together, keep our heads clear, find the right vocalist and keep a good business head. The content of the entire ‘Images and Words’ album is reflective of our lives during the three years we were dealing with it.”

In the meantime, James’ band, Winter Rose, was touring his native Canada with his friend Lee Aaron. “She, unbeknownst to me, brought our tape in to Aquarius Records, who called me about a solo deal and then brought Dream Theater to my attention,” James recalls. Both parties were immediately taken with one another, and Atco Records, already interested in the band, were sold on the new ‘n’improved package. Still, it was a surprise when the eight-minute-long “Pull Me Under” began to get substantial air- and MTV-play. “We thought we’d maybe get some college radio that would set up the singles that would be released later,” says James.

Instead, their lives have been kicked into the hyperspeed that’s de rigueur for the suddenly hot. Having finally located half a dozen cool shirts among the atrocities, they’re off for a hasty dinner before soundcheck. Sweet’s “Ballroom Blitz” comes on the van radio. Petrucci doesn’t recognize it. “What, you weren’t alive in the 70s?” snipes Portnoy. “That was a classic.” A moment later he muses, “You think in 2010 somebody’s going to be listening to Ugly Kid Joe on the radio going, ‘You weren’t alive in the 90s?’“ He remembers the last time he was driving around L.A. Seems he spotted a woman with great-looking big hair in the car ahead of him. “I’m thinking, ‘That’s a mint chick. I gotta check her out.’” He pulled up alongside the car, only to discover that his dream girl was a huge, shaggy DOG!

Back in Hollywood, most of the guys head for the chuck wagon while Mike hooks up with his dad, a jovial man clearly thrilled about Mike’s success. They arrive at soundcheck to find everything a mess. Tech guys are running around, moving monitors and staircases, testing equipment and fiddling with lights. Even on a club stage, Dream Theater are believers in the The Big Show – rock ‘n’ roll as something grandiose and larger-than-life, right down to the exit music. “Usually, when a band is done playing an intense set, the deejay will start playing Metallica, and there’s no room for breathing,” says Mike. “We play the theme from “Twin Peaks”, just to keep everyone depressed.” He’s a rabid fan of director David Lynch – so much so that he has the Log Lady’s mysterious tattoo duplicated on his own leg. “I’m a very compulsive person,” he admits. “I have a couple of thousand movies, CDs. I’m the one who tapes all the shows onto DAT and video and collects all the articles.”

Does this attitude extend to music? “We’re all very meticulous about music, business and creative decisions,” says Kevin. “That’s one of the greatest things about this band, but it’s also one of the worst. Five members have an equal say, and nothing gets by without everybody’s approval. Everyone gets a chance for input, but it also creates a million arguments.” Not of the tantrum-throwing variety, however. “Nobody yells, but it goes on for so long,” laughs Mike. “After a while you just get disgusted. A half hour later, three days later...”

Out front, a crowd is gathering – metalheads, Sunset Strip babes, serious guys with that I-practice-guitar-nine-hours-day look, and an unexpected older contingent, yuppies and Valley couples who probably dug Rush when they were in their teens. The crush of fans is a clear sign that sweeping, traditional progressive metal is far from dead, grunge movement or no grunge movement. Dream Theater, getting ready backstage, know this. Their mutual, oft-articulated ambition is to get to the arena level their stately music was made for. But James has one other item on his to-do list. “Some time soon,” he says with a grin, “I definitely am going to give Napalm Death a listen.”