As suggestive as the title of this post may be, don’t expect anything sexual in it, not in the physical sense of it, at least. The sentence is taken from the lyrics of the song Minerva, the first single in Deftones’ self-titled 2003 album. Just today this song came to my mind, while talking to Jessica Jones (a colleague who will probably hate me for writing this lines instead of a 500 words piece on the DH that I promised her), and I came to think about how much that song actually means to me.
To say that I like this song is quite an understatement; one of my first email addresses was email@example.com (enjoy as much as you like, spammers, I don’t even log into that account anymore) and if I am ever asked which is my all-time favorite song I have serious doubts when choosing between this song and Hexagram (also from Deftones and giving title to my blog. This probably broke the magic behind such a magic blog title, but the guys from Sacramento kind of deserve all the credit anyway).
The feeling that this song brings me is one of those things that are still and will probably remain unexplained (like why Scarlett Johansson abandoned the aura of perfection around her in Lost in Translation to inevitably become another skinny mainstream Hollywood actress). So many things have been said and written about other things that create a temporary feeling of euphoria: the so-called running high, the hundreds of chemicals involved in love at first sight, the collective hysteria phenomenon created by Lost and more recently by The Walking Dead (another American failed attempt to properly adapt a brilliant graphic novel), but nothing seems to ever be said about that feeling generated when a song is just too much for your body and soul to handle.
And I fully understand why. How can you really explain the goose bumps when you listen to “that” song? are you one of those people who create a music video around them when that song comes up in your mp3 player? how many times did your mum/dad entered your room without any warning and caught you, not masturbating (like it happens to normal people) but screaming your lungs out to a remote control that you are using as a microphone?
It happened a lot to some of us, and it is quite difficult to explain. I still remember the first time I listened to Minerva at my best friend Rafa’s house when the album came out (one of us would buy the album and meet the other for a first listening and analyzing of every song, maybe we were a bit weird, now that I think about it) and that same sensation I had that very first time keeps on coming back every time I listen to the song again, eleven years later.
I also remember seeing Deftones play live in Madrid, at the 2003 edition of Festimad, with Aida, another good friend of mine. I recall making it to the front line between a crazed audience that kicked, elbowed and punched in an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of their teenage angst (I would probably die if I attempted the same thing now). What made me run into that battlefield was the mere sound of the opening riff of Minerva. Right in front of Chino Moreno, I extended my arm just in time to touch his fingers, while he was singing precisely the following line:
For the hearts you break, every time you moan…
I’ll be proud of being there and experiencing that unique moment until I die.