You might be asking why the hell a cannabis magazine is reviewing the new Deftones record. The answer is simple – music and cannabis have always been fused at the root.
I’ve lived it. I’ve written and released three albums of my own under Pitchkettle, playing every instrument, recording, mixing, and wringing every ounce of soul that I had with limited gear and knowledge, which is basically exactly the approach I’ve had with creating and building Fat Nugs Magazine. This is the space I’m used to in every way. I’ve played in bands, toured, sweated through clubs in the ’90s and 2000s, and of course, the one constant companion has been cannabis. It was my co-conspirator in writing, listening, and losing myself to sound.
My Mind Is A Mountain by The Deftones
The Deftones’ new album My Mind Is A Mountain is the first record in years that dragged me back into that headspace where I wanted my headphones tight, no distractions, volume high, joint in hand, and all while playing songs over and over until I felt the meaning. This isn’t background noise. This isn’t a playlist filler. It’s rare fire that makes you stop, dream of bigger things, and remember why music is church for so many of us.
Deftones have always been what I call “thinking man’s metal.” Heavy enough to rattle ribcages and destroy your ears during live shows (they did that to me back in 1999–I take earplugs now), but too self-aware, too layered, and too cinematic to sink into cookie-monster scream clichés or your basic screamo-sounding bands. They’ve always chosen art over basic boring structure, and storytelling over trend. And My Mind Is A Mountain only sharpens that ethos even further.
Chino Moreno is at the peak of his craft here. He’s not just singing, he’s haunting the listener while also playing a lot of guitar because of health-related issues with Stephen Carpenter. At times, there’s this sense that his vocals float like ghosts over the mix, stacked and processed into layers that feel less like words and more like weather systems: fog, storm, lightning, and brutal heat. His delivery isn’t just melody, it’s mood and possession, the kind of thing that sticks under your skin long after the album ends.
And the band? They sound like they’ve been waiting their whole lives to make this record. Riffs rise and collapse like my lungs when ripping a bong. Abe Cunningham’s drums carve caverns out of silence, Sergio Vega’s basslines and Stephen Carpenter’s guitar sound like blooming atmospherics that cut through like light refracted through water droplets. It’s music that refuses to bow, and it’s a direct middle finger to mainstream gloss, and a hardcore reminder that art doesn’t have to be polite to be transcendent.
Scaling the Mountain
The title track, “My Mind Is A Mountain,” sets the emotion with glacial patience. It’s relatively slow, deliberate, and suffocating in the best way, almost like cutting through the thickest fog toward something massive and unknowable.
Chino’s voice cuts across the verses like shattered glass and distant thunder, while the band builds a towering wall of sound that never fully collapses. It’s restraint used as a weapon, ready to come snatch your heart at any moment.
“Locked Club” is the opposite: claustrophobic and sort of like a feral cat. The riffs come in like swinging chains, and Abe’s drumming feels like a heart trying to punch its way out of a ribcage. There’s an off-kilter and unsettling tension running underneath it, like the floor is shifting while you’re trying to stand still in a haunted house. It’s Deftones at their most dangerous with sharp edges and no safety rails. It’s the kind of track that makes you bare your teeth without knowing why.
“Ecdysis” is where they rip their own skin off. The track peels back layers until it’s raw and exposed, built on raging bass loops that circle like vultures. Chino sounds almost broken here as he screams “A symbol of our plague” from what seems like the bottom of a well, then fades back into nothing. It’s the sound of transformation, painful and necessary, shedding the old to survive.
And then there’s “Milk of the Madonna,” which feels like the eye of the storm. It’s grimy, grinding, ethereal, almost weightless, floating on reverb-soaked guitars and vocals that shimmer like desert heat mirages.
But beneath that storm, there’s this chill and fiery lurking punch-you-in-the-face pulse like something or someone you may not want to meet in a dark alley. It’s a strange and beautiful piece that reminds me of reaching a summit only to look up and see another mountain to climb staring right back at me. The line, “holy ghost holy spirit I’m on fire” with the simplest but sickest guitar run makes you feel alive and forces you to bob your head back up and down no matter what.
The Burn After
What sets this record apart is the depth of feeling. It’s not just heavy, it’s soulful and possessive. Songs that drag you into a moment and force you to climb, stumble, and bleed on the way to some kind of brutal clarity. It reminds me of why I fell in love with music in the first place, back when Kurt Cobain raised me, and Chris Cornell was my hero (he still is).
My Mind Is A Mountain is proof that the Deftones are still pushing, challenging themselves and mainstream sellouts, while burning down boundaries. It’s rare these days that I hit repeat on a track before moving forward. With this record, it happened over and over again. That says everything. Because this album isn’t just worth listening to, it commands it. So light one up and let yourself get lost in the sauce.
