Deftones
White Pony
(Maverick)

     One listen to the new, much-lauded Deftones disc will leave you wondering just what they would do had reverb never been invented.  Verily, Chino Moreno�s psychotic vocals appear to accumulate more and more echo with each song, provoking concern as to whether or not the heft of White Pony was recorded in a cave.  A second listen to this over-produced, over-glorified wad of tripe will leave you wondering why aggressive rock has to be so damned heavy-handed and melodramatic.
     Musically, Chino and the boys seem to have turned their backs on the rawer, more lo-fi vibe of past records such as Around the Fur in favor or a chunkier, bassed-out sound which will certainly sit better with the masses of hormone-crazed, Korn-fed teenagers that will eat this up like ambrosia.  Creed this isn�t, but the Deftones definitely seem to be rolling down the River Styx to a Hades of Arena Rock�but, hey, who cares, as long as the t-shirts are selling?
     The guitar riffs all coalesce predictably into one big, grumbling tummy of sound, which is bad enough except that Chino keeps croaking out lines like �I taste you much better off teeth of white skin on red leather.�  It�s at about that point that White Pony has you reaching for your revolver�either the Beatles record or a handgun to put yourself out of your misery.
      No, no, no.  The record isn�t that poor, but the best moments are either borrowed (i.e. when Maynard Keenan of Tool lends some professionalism to �Passenger�), or too few and far between, like when the band slows down and explores some melody on �Teenager� and �Change.�  In the end, it�s too little, too late to save this pony.

By Casey Lombardo
Long Beach Union

Originally printed 8.14.00

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