At the Drive In
Vaya

The human mind has been considered for centuries upon centuries as the most complex mechanism ever created. After millennia of discoveries, inventions, and works, the most multifaceted, complicated, and at the same time perfect work remains our brain. A well-oiled machine that rarely gets stuck or jams.

But sometimes the human brain encounters difficulties. Obstacles insurmountable even for it; it encounters phenomena that it cannot explain. Years and years of research in the most varied sciences such as philosophy, history, chemistry, biology, and so on, powerless in the face of the inexplicable. But man does not remain idle to contemplate his failure; instead, he tries to mitigate it, to "patch it up," thanks to a simple and at the same time infallible tactic: symbolism.

Everyone, more or less, has made use of it; especially on a site like Debaser, which treats art (musical, cinematic, or otherwise) in the most disparate ways. Thus, it happens to come across a work of such incredible magnitude and magnificence that one can do nothing but stand there, aghast, mouth agape, incapable of doing anything other than admiring the notes and images processed in our brain. And how to treat with words, how to describe what one has just experienced, if we can't even express the universal concept of it? By using symbolism, indeed, with the particularism of Socratic memory.

It has happened to me several times to find myself in the situation described above: in the musical field, there have been "BE" by Pain of Salvation, "Mellon Collie and The Infinite Sadness" by the Smashing Pumpkins, "Hemispheres" by Rush, for example, which left me unable to describe them. And so I tried to give an idea of the greatness of these works by relating them to already known concepts: the sweetness of flowing water, the power of a storm, the elegant strength of a snowy landscape. Emotions conveyed through common images and sounds, present in the collective imagination.

So what happened when I first listened to this "Vaya," dated 1999? After listening to this particular EP, summed up with the feelings provided by their previous works (and confirmed by the subsequent "Relationship of Command"), I was able for the first time to categorize the essence of At The Drive-In, that essence of theirs that had until then been fleeting and elusive. When I listen to this band, the first image that comes to mind is this: Coca-Cola.

Corrosive, like the sharp guitars of Jim Ward and Omar Rodriguez-Lopez; acidic, like the pounding bass of Paul Hinojos; headache-inducing, like the angry voice of Cedric Bixler-Zavala. A seemingly deadly compound, or at least a malignant one. A battery acid with a sugary taste.

But, tell me: has anyone ever complained about its taste? Or perhaps do we not get the irresistible urge to take another sip?

These are At The Drive-In: acid and sweeteners. Migraine and ecstasy. Cross and delight. Black and white. Good and evil.

Do you want a little more?