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A girl sitting in a Jacuzzi.
A pair of bare feet that turned out to belong to the photographer.
A fisheye lens.
A drink called Silk Panties.

That’s the accidental recipe for the cover of the Deftones’ Around the Fur.

But who was the girl in the hot tub? Why did the band pick a photo that feels like you’re standing just a little too close to something private? And how did a picture taken at a random party end up selling millions of records?

Sometimes album covers come from art directors, concept meetings, and mood boards.
And sometimes they come from a party, a camera, and a moment that didn’t know it mattered yet.

Grab a copy and listen along with us.

Grab a copy and listen along with us. Questions, comments, recommendations?
We’d love to hear from you at Albumartthecoverstories@gmail.com or check our Spotify Song List with a song from each album we have covered: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NrDU39yE9CJcHU6YJT8jj?si=Y1JAE4LWTDmKEDE9QGlB2A&pi=ly2xwE-ERRu-2

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Was this the greatest concept album ever made… or the greatest joke ever played on rock critics?

In 1972, Jethro Tull released Thick as a Brick, a single 44-minute song wrapped inside what looked like a twelve-page British newspaper. The headline story? An eight-year-old poet named Gerald “Little Milton” Bostock whose epic poem had just been disqualified for being too disturbing for polite society.

Except there was no poet. No scandal. No newspaper. It was all a brilliantly straight-faced parody.

Inside the album sleeve you’ll find stories about missing non-rabbits, scandalous poetry contests, classified ads that make no sense, and a review of the very album you’re holding. The whole thing was written largely by Ian Anderson and the band, who set out to make what Anderson called “the mother of all concept albums”—part masterpiece, part prank.

But here’s the twist: in trying to spoof progressive rock’s pretensions, Jethro Tull accidentally created one of the most beloved concept albums in rock history.

Grab a copy and listen along with us. Questions, comments, recommendations?
We’d love to hear from you at Albumartthecoverstories@gmail.com or check our Spotify Song List with a song from each album we have covered: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NrDU39yE9CJcHU6YJT8jj?si=Y1JAE4LWTDmKEDE9QGlB2A&pi=ly2xwE-ERRu-2

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A motorcycle skids across Georgia asphalt.
A slide guitar goes silent.
And somewhere in Macon, a pastel sky is already drying under a coat of baby-blue spray paint.

One hundred and six days after Duane Allman was thrown from his Harley and crushed beneath it, Eat a Peach appeared with no title on the cover — just a lone peach riding in the back of a truck, floating in a soft Southern dawn. Was it tribute? Was it myth? Was it gallows humor born from rumor and grief?

Inside, the dream fractures. Mushrooms tower. Fairies hover. A naked man stands on his head flipping the world the bird. It’s Hieronymus Bosch by way of Vero Beach and late-night psychedelia — a fantasy mural painted while the band was quietly breaking.

Who named the album? What did Duane mean when he said, “I eat a peach for peace”? And how did this gentle postcard of Southern fruit become one of rock’s most surreal memorials?

This isn’t just album art.
It’s grief wrapped in pastel.
It’s brotherhood slipping into legend.
It’s the sound of a band trying to outrun death — and finding it waiting at the next intersection.

Grab a copy and listen along with us. Questions, comments, recommendations? We’d love to hear from you at Albumartthecoverstories@gmail.com
or check our Spotify Song List with a song from each album we’ve covered:
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2NrDU39yE9CJcHU6YJT8jj?si=Y1JAE4LWTDmKEDE9QGlB2A&pi=ly2xwE-ERRu-2