About a year ago I met a girl – let’s call her “Jeff”. Funny, right? Well, to be truthful – I called her that, or rather my phone did – she was in my phone as “Jeff” because she and I worked together and she was an executive and I was but a sous chef. I loved her. With everything that I was capable of loving someone with. She was perfect. Perfect to me, as it were. And she KNEW music. Better than me – if you can wrap your head around that. Her philosophy was that she liked “Anything that was great”, she was right – she did. I never met a girl that loved Tool, or anything remotely close to that style of music. But, well…she did. And I loved her. We used to play her iPod all night, and sometimes held impromptu dance parties – just her and I – in front of her windows at night that faced out onto a busy intersection downtown. That girl knew every lyric to every Beastie Boys song ever. She was magic to me. But, I fucked it up. That’s what I do. Or did. So, I avoided music that brought her memory back to me.
Like a lot of things, my music history and my depression go hand-in-hand. I of course am really scared to ‘trigger’ myself into a place of deep darkness. I avoided Slayer for years. I hope you can understand when you hear something in a grocery store these days how far back your brain reminds you of a certain undeniable feeling – it’s really remarkable.
I avoided the Deftones – White Pony for the same reason. It’s a lot. Like, tears rolling a lot.
This is easily their most ‘Grown-up’ album – but alas the name – White Pony. Look up the ‘street’ names and you’ll see that it has a few colorful meanings.
I’m going to say right here that this album is scary good. It’s a masterpiece. A bona-fide classic.
I’m a storyteller. That’s what I do now. Part of what makes me who I am is the music I listen/ed to. Yes, of course I have a broad range of artists that I can identify with – but what makes me a storyteller is HOW I listen/ed to music. I listen to albums. LP’s. Long Play formats. What I think is so great about LP’s is that the artist as well as a host of other people are building a story within the recording. That’s important. They’re storytellers.
White Pony is a feeling maybe more than a story – but that’s almost better. It keeps you right the fuck where you want to be. Deliciously in a empty dark sea of a Digital Bath. Oh yeah, that’s an actual song on this album…
The Deftones sink me into their ‘thing’ deep. It’s fucking metal to be sure – but Chino’s vocals are pure pain and he’s glad as fuck to be there.
I imagine riding a loud-as-fuck motorcycle down an empty New Mexico highway as fast as I can to this album…but everything is in complete slow motion. Feeling the wind compress against my chest. Pulling me off the bike – holding on for dear life, yet because of the momentum, it’s making me pull back harder on the throttle.
That’s what this album feels like.
I love you