Album review by Mz Terra
To me, Deftones isn’t music you just hear, it’s music you feel. Their sound has always carried sex’s extremes—break-up and reunion, bruises and tenderness, craving and comfort colliding. Live, it’s filthier still, vibrations crawling under the skin, pulling you between ache and ecstasy. With eleven new songs to sink into, I’m curious what lies in store.
‘My Mind Is a Mountain’ stomps in with a jagged riff that’s a love bite with teeth. Just before it breaks the skin, Moreno slides in and bends the mood into something steady. It’s a bait and switch they’ve always loved, bruise first then bandage. Raskulinecz is back at the controls for the first time in years, and the sound is massive but roomy. Every hit lands with depth without choking the space around it. Lyrically, Moreno is circling obsession with scale and surrender, climbing and collapsing in the same breath.
The tension continues through ‘Locked Club’ and ‘Ecdysis’. On the former, Carpenter chops sharp and impatient while Moreno floats high in falsetto, sounding like he might drift away if the band weren’t anchoring him. The result is disorienting, like being crushed and lifted at once. ‘Ecdysis’ starts with an electronic shimmer before waves of heavy distortion crash down. The title suits its skin-shedding sound. Scraping layers away, Moreno’s voice slips between spell-like whispers and a raw snarl that sounds like it clawed its way out of its own shell.
Midway, the band lean into fragility. ‘Infinite Source’ swirls with melodic smoke, Cunningham’s drumming keeping it unsettled, preventing it from turning too sweet. The lyrics chase endlessness, a well that never runs dry, circling without closure. ‘Souvenir’ follows, stomping in only to soften into a melody that recalls ‘Sextape’. Moreno’s words reach for memory, delicate and already slipping. Delgado is steering here, textures shaping mood until the outro stretches two minutes into shadow. ‘I Think About You All the Time’ strips things right back. No big chorus, just an aching simplicity. It carries the vulnerability of ‘Minerva’ but rougher, worn by time, uninterested in polish. Moreno sounds consumed by obsession, the dangerous kind that sways between surrender and destruction.
The back end of the record swings harder. ‘cXz’ is a burst of punk chaos that feels ready to fall apart until the drums drag it back in line. Its fractured title fits the scrambled mood, like a code glitch locking itself back into orbit. ‘Milk of the Madonna’ plays contrast, Moreno stretching airy vocals over Carpenter’s wrecking ball riffs. The sacred and corrupted tangle, religious imagery bleeding into lust. ‘Cut Hands’ struts with pure swagger, Moreno sounding like he’s smirking through the mic. The rhythm section swings heavy but loose, cocky without strain, echoing early Deftones attitude.
‘~metal dream’ folds shoegaze haze into hard edges. Guitars and synth wash together into one shimmering wall, Delgado’s ghostly touches slipping underneath like hidden steering. The lyrics blur human touch with machine logic, the band living in the in-between. Closing track ‘Departing the Body’ drifts long and uneasy. Six minutes of unresolved tension, dissolving rather than ending. Moreno’s voice fades with it, body leaving, spirit flickering, a dissolution that unsettles more than it soothes.
Across the record, the band feel tighter yet freer. Carpenter’s riffs are still heavy as hell but strangely weightless. Moreno shifts from whisper to scream as if it were one continuous instrument. Cunningham keeps grooves firm yet flexible, giving songs the room to breathe. Delgado is no longer in the background, painting moods that define entire tracks. Sablan’s bass fits seamlessly, bridging past and present as if no beat was missed after Vega’s departure.
Private Music isn’t chasing nostalgia. It is cohesive without growing dull, experimental without losing itself. Deftones, three decades in, are still rolling on satin sheets laid across concrete, binding heavy and delicate until they can’t be torn apart. It doesn’t need to dethrone Adrenaline, White Pony or Diamond Eyes. It breathes here and now, and it breathes deep.
