Rock On
“The smell of the sea, of kelp and fish and bitter moving water, rose stronger in my nostrils. It flooded my consciousness like an ancestral memory. The swells rose sluggishly and fell away, casting up dismal gleams between the boards of the pier. And the whole pier rose and fell in stiff and creaking mimicry, dancing its long slow dance of dissolution. I reached the end and saw no one, heard nothing but my footsteps and the creak of the beams, the slap of waves on the pilings. It was a fifteen-foot drop to the dim water. The nearest land ahead of me was Hawaii.” - Ross Macdonald, The Drowning Pool
Dave Williams almost didn’t make it. Growing up in a small town and having a troubled childhood, he followed the path that so many take when they need a creative outlet and to escape: He learned guitar. Throughout his teenage years, he auditioned as a vocalist, bouncing around as a member of nearly a dozen bands. But nothing fit quite right. Undeterred, Williams kept at it, scrapping by and building a name for himself until more than a decade later, when in 1999, he crossed paths with a 3-man instrumental group who were looking for a front man. Everything changed. It was an overnight success—decades in the making.
The band, Drowning Pool, named after the 1975 mystery thriller film, reached stardom at breakneck speed with their June 2001 debut album, Sinner. Tracks such as Follow, Sermon, and the eponymous Sinner explore the conflicting—even contradicting—aspects of organized religion, undoubtedly partly fueled by Williams’ strict upbringing in a deeply religious household in the heart of Texas. With turn-of-the-century nu metal riffs layered under strained vocals and unfiltered aggression, the entirety was written off by many as merely an angsty, irreligious exposé. But for the band, and Dave especially, the album was about exploring all of existence, questioning mankind, and seeking to understand one’s place in the universe, as well as accepting others for who they are and seeking acceptance—themes hardly exclusive to the band or genre, and surely found in numerous holy texts.
Perhaps nothing captures the extent of the misinterpretations better than those surrounding track two, a rerecorded version of the group’s demo, Bodies:
[Pre-Chorus]
One, nothing wrong with me
Two, nothing wrong with me
Three, nothing wrong with me
Four, nothing wrong with me
One, something's got to give
Two, something's got to give
Three, something's got to give
Now!
[Chorus]
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the-
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the-
To the uninitiated, the song appears as a command for senseless violence. Following its official release, public concern rose out of fear that it was becoming a dangerous anthem for a whole new generation of metalheads, spreading unfettered hostility. Of course, politicians and special interest groups always need a boogeyman to blame for something. However, such concerns couldn’t have been more off-base. The bridge hints at the song’s true meaning:
[Bridge]
Skin against skin, blood and bone
You're all by yourself, but you're not alone
You wanted in, and now you're here
Driven by hate, consumed by fear
You’re all by yourself, but you're not alone. For Dave Williams, who spent decades attending fast-paced and deafeningly loud concerts in search of his place in the world, the song captures the energy and emotion of being in the mosh pit, connecting with the thousands of other attendees through the power of music. The critics were right: The song was an anthem. But it was of unity, not violence.
The debut album hit platinum just six weeks after release, and Bodies rapidly gained playtime on radio stations across the country for several months until it was abruptly pulled following the 9/11 attacks for having lyrics deemed insensitive. Yet, even with their number one single being taken off the airwaves, there was no stopping the band’s trajectory, and Dave Williams’ presence, in which he poured every ounce of himself out onto the stage each night, made waves. The following summer, in 2002, Drowning Pool found themselves on the main stage at Ozzfest, playing across Europe and the United States alongside esteemed names such as Tool, System of a Down, Black Label Society, Slayer, Cradle of Filth, Rob Zombie, and, of course, the legendary Ozzy Osbourne himself.
Select tour performances were recorded and released as a live album, Ozzfest 2002, encompassing sixteen tracks from a number of the main and second stage acts. Covering Metallica’s Creeping Death, a song inspired by the biblical story of the plagues of Egypt, told from the perspective of the Angel of Death, Drowning Pool’s contribution remains what I believe to be one of the greatest live performances of all time. When you have five minutes, search for the cover and listen to it. It’s worth every second. The shredding tempo and crash of the drum kit will pull you in, but it’s Dave Williams’ commanding voice that carries you to the end, just as it did the sea of bodies who were moshing along on that hot summer day twenty-two years ago. He hadn’t just found his people. He was leading them.
Despite the exceptional performance, Drowning Pool would be forced to pull out of the rest of the tour soon after. On August 14, 2002, David Wayne Williams was found dead on his tour bus. Unlike the cases of so many other stars, the ensuing autopsy would show no drugs in his system. It wasn’t self-inflicted. There was no foul play. Dave was removed from our world by undiagnosed Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, a congenital disorder that often shows no symptoms but has the potential to reduce the heart’s ability to pump blood by hardening the walls of the left ventricle. Simply, he had lost the genetic lottery.
He was thirty years old.
Folding and connecting the corners of finance and history from the confines of a quiet, dimly lit office would, on the surface, share few parallels with the spotlight of a musician known for inciting massive mosh pits. However, despite achieving varying degrees of success in the traditional sense, I, too, long struggled to encounter a role I felt I could settle into or remain content with. There were always too many questions requiring too much movement for me to keep still. There was always a small something missing, and now, I can confidently say that I have found it.
This post marks the 2-year anniversary of Invariant. What started as a mere curiosity about what would happen if I published my ideas has continued to evolve into something substantial. My writing has improved alongside my thinking—an expected and unavoidable result I touched on in last year’s anniversary reflection, Writing for the Long Run. But it has been the incredible rate of growing acceptance amongst readers that has truly astonished me. In the last year alone, that base has expanded by more than 50% to 6,000.
I believe that figure underplays what is occurring. I’ve previously written on the dangers of isolation and, more recently, a virtuous cycle in which the growing base of readers has included numerous novices and experts alike, providing me vital feedback, criticism, and access, allowing me the ability to iterate and improve Invariant’s output far beyond what I would be able to do as a solo act. To paraphrase Dave Williams—I am all by myself, but I’m not alone.
Two other signals further indicate the merits of this work, which have everything to do with the fact that two years are now cemented. First is the growing number of people who eagerly open Invariant every Sunday morning. To be part of that ritual is a privilege. Second, on occasion, a new reader, having only recently discovered Invariant, will begin to explore the archive, and it isn’t long until they are consuming 10, 20, or 30 articles. To know that others are searching for answers that Invariant is able to deliver is wonderful, but to see people devouring the publication in that way elicits a visceral satisfaction that I will never tire of and assures me I am well on my way to creating something enduring.
I have been presented with an exciting conundrum. Although my writing has helped me discover numerous answers, the digging process has multiplied the remaining list of questions. That long list of rabbit holes to fully excavate ensures no shortage of future Invariant material. Between here and the Preferred Shares Podcast with Doug and Lawrence, I can confidently say there is an incredible mix of content in the pipeline that you won’t find anywhere else. I get excited thinking about how the archive could look not just next month or next year but in the next decade.
As Dave Williams reminds us, we simply don’t know how much time we have. I am fortunate to have found a route that is so challenging and fulfilling, and I will continue pursuing this path for as long as the universe allows. I want to thank you for making Invariant what it is today. If you’d like to show support for its future, consider pledging a paid subscription and sharing this piece with someone who would enjoy it.
Rock on.
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Disclaimer
This publication’s content is for entertainment and educational purposes only. I am not a licensed investment professional. Nothing produced under the Invariant brand should be thought of as investment advice. Do your own research. All content is subject to interpretation.
Happy 2 year anniversary!
Keep crushing it Devin!