Deftones
Saturday Night Wrist
It's becoming less and less likely that there will ever be a right time for the Deftones. Every few years, they show up with another difficult to classify album that gets ignored by just about everybody. 2006 might have been different, one hoped: after all, for all those white shoe wearing bicycle liberals who read the New Yorker cover to cover had to deal with two pages on Saturday Night Wrist by their resident music critic Sasha Frere-Jones. New Yorker readers do, after all, only trust the New Yorker, so it can't be condemned that the Factual hired reporters across the East Coast, doing exit polls in the parking lots of Borders and Best Buys across the states: after all, we'd be looking at a whole new crop of Deftones fans, and we wanted to be sure they also picked up a copy of 2000's seminal masterwork (the one that wasn't Kid A,) the Deftones White Pony.
Sadly, another Tuesday came and went, we owe a lot of wanna-be reporters a twenty or two, and the fanbase of the Deftones continues to be confused Staind fans and skinny white guys with big headphones. At this point in being a Deftones fan, it's about time to stop talking about how incredibly fucking hard "Hole in the Earth" will kick anybodies ass into gear, how raw, disgusting and hilarious "Pink Cellophane" is, and it certainly isn't time to try to re-educate anyone utilizing "Cherry Waves," which just might be the best Deftones song in existence. No, no, no. Not the time.
At this point, one just needs to say, "Hey. Asshole. The Deftones don't sound like what you think they sound like, and they sound a lot better than you might even be willing to imagine. Give 'em a chance, peckerwood."
-Tucker Stone, 2006
For those interested in checking out other albums that got ignored in sales, yet also rocked hard enough to pull off faces, check out Young Machetes by The Blood Brothers and City By The Light Divided by Thursday.
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