Ten years ago today, my life was irrevocably changed.

I was 18; my sophomore year in the Corps of Cadets at Texas A&M only just beginning. I had begun writing for the University newspaper – The Battalion (aka TheBatt) – and had only published one article thus far, a review of 3:10 to Yuma. 

Roughly a week before, I had gathered with my fellow student writers in the Battalion headquarters for our weekly meeting. In a pile on the table around which we sat were several promotional copies of upcoming albums. We were encouraged to sift through the pile for anything that piqued our interest or would make a good article. I remember being vaguely unimpressed with the selection, but one name stood out: Between the Buried and Me. I wasn’t familiar with their work, but the name rang a bell so I volunteered to review their forthcoming album – Colors.

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I wish I could say I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I heard those first opening notes. I had a habit of listening to music wherever I could, thanks to my trusty (discontinued) 80GB iPod, and Colors became another addition to my walking-to-class/studying-in-the-library rotation. It’s a testament to my naïveté that I didn’t realize my life was changing even with those first forgotten listens, but Colors was the most challenging thing I’d heard up to that point. I assumed I could jump from track to track, get a general impression of the music, maybe find one or two songs I really liked, and hammer out a write-up in an afternoon.

Colors swiftly disabused me of this assumption.

First, the music was unlike anything I had heard before; as if a metal band had been tasked with referencing every conceivable genre of music in a little over an hour and had actually succeeded. Second, while there were transitions (of sorts) between tracks, the entire album played out as one continuous piece of music. I couldn’t just jam the singles until I got sick of them – there were no singles to speak of. I had to listen to the whole thing in a sitting, or as much as possible in the time I had, before starting the dizzying journey all over again.

Colors was playing hard to get.

I’d never had to put so much work into music before, but I quickly learned how rewarding the chase was. When I’d finally completed about a dozen listens-through, I was familiar enough with the album to give it a review but only just beginning my torrid love affair with the music itself.

Colors was a watershed moment for me. All at once, I realized how narrow my conception of music – and art in general – had been. Before, it would never have occurred to me that such wildly distinct sounds and musical traditions could be fused together; much less that the result would be greater than the sum of its parts. Of course, Colors was no accident. As I noted in my review at the time, the whole venture would have disintegrated without the razor-sharp precision and dexterity of virtuoso musicians.

My review, and the transcription of a phone interview with Paul Waggoner, appeared in the paper the week of official release. You may not know this about Texas A&M, but The Battalion isn’t exactly the first place you’d expect to find chatter about metal. Nevertheless, my review (and interview) took up a full page, generously gifting me with a round of animated compliments from Batt veterans, family, and friends alike. It was a good week.

More to the point though, Colors changed my life. That might sound like a dose of hyperbole for effect, but I am completely serious. Colors incinerated my preconceived expectations in a way nothing had before and very few things have since.

It personally introduced me to the intoxicating joy of possibility. It taught me to avoid knee-jerk value judgments. It compelled me to seek out new experiences, to eschew my comfort zone more often.

It opened my mind.

On top of all that, it’s a truly kick ass metal album.

So to the quintet responsible – Tommy, Paul, Dan, Dustie, Blake – thank you, a thousand times. Ten years ago, you blasted a hole in my world through which I found a great deal of myself in the intervening years. Colors can still be regularly found in my recent listening, and that’s not likely to change soon. On the list of moments I’d like to revisit as the proverbial fly on the wall, finding Colors is somewhere in the top ten.

Until Elon Musk conquers time travel, I can only marvel at how seemingly insignificant a gesture it was to pull that promotional copy from that pile on that table ten years ago.