To many hoodie-wearers of this world, there is no finer name to appear emblazoned on your back than Deftones. The band represent metal at its most touching, intelligent and brutal, with verses gently lifting you up to a peaceful sky only to make the head-first fall more devastating. Doesn’t sound great on paper, but their back catalogue is truly an addictive ride.
Whilst 2000’s White Pony is generally considered to be their finest moment – indeed, last month’s super special low-key show at London’s Electric Ballroom drew mostly from this album – 2003’s Deftones surpassed that, to these ears at least. And where does Saturday Night Wrist fit in? On first impression, it’s hard to make head or tail of it, simply because they throw in a truckload of experimentation (the highlight of which is ‘Pink Cellphone’. The electronic-based closer features Ann Hardy of Giant Drag, who rants about blow-jobs and “butt-fucking residue”. From those pretty lips!).
Once the album’s unpicked, however, it’s a different beast altogether. Experimentation becomes diversity, underlying layers bubble to the surface, and the tensions that marred the record – they ditched their producer halfway through, frontman Chino Moreno left and came back, etc – are apparent in its atmospherics. ‘Combat’ even rivals debut single ‘7 Words’ as their heaviest moment, while ‘U, U, D, D, L, R, L, R, A, B, Select, Start’ (a gaming reference) is an instrumental that sounds more influenced by Mogwai than Metallica. Elsewhere, Serj from System Of A Down lends his skills to ‘Mein’, which is more traditional in that it constricts their caliginous sentiments into the shape of a fierce melody. Genius.
To recap, nu-metal, as a genre, sucked. A few years later, the waste products have disintegrated, and those who had the potential have evolved. Saturday Night Wrist proves exactly why Deftones remain the leaders of their game.