Deftones coming to London – for a giant sold out Crystal Palace headliner, no less – should have sparked hype from every one of us. Instead, worry arcs between us as weâre shuffled through the sun-bleached Victorian palisades. Deftones cancelled their Glastonbury appearance at short notice less than twenty four hours before, and we’re relying on Instagram promises and Reddit conferring to reassure us that theyâll show today. As weâd discover our worries were unfounded, blasted away by the sheer experience of finally witnessing Deftones on such a huge scale.
High Vis slap on the modern hardcore to get us ready, their echoing (itâs when you wanna do more)Â the magnet for the wilting crowd. Vocalist Graham Sale claims theyâre âjust a dickhead punk bandâ, adding âanyone can do this, itâs just shouting and moaning, innit,â but perhaps thatâs what makes them shine so brightly. They could be us, spitting out âMindâs A Lieâ like a premonition of a night out and letting the guitar waft like a much needed breeze over us. His near death experience makes âTrauma Bondsâ into a song launched with fervour that flies with its own wings, his new found optimism lending us strength.
A booming rush occurs and then Weezer appear, heralded by a chanted, garage take on âHash Pipeâ. Theyâre keeping their raw style that they threw out at Download Festival and it works for them, allowing the introverted sincerity they hold dear to shine through like theyâre musically panning for gold. âDope Noseâ is the finest skater nostalgia, but with a sense of efficient stagecraft, a teenage favourite remastered in front of us. The aching, cartoony quality which Weezer have spread over all of their sound feels too small for the huge stage, and too big to be contained at the same time. âUndoneâ germinates into a fan anthem, uniting teenagers who got their parents permission to go to the second day of Download and folk who remember this song when it came out in one joyful bounce, and there will never be a time that âIsland In The Sunâ canât cast a golden blanket across a huge crowd like this one. For a few moments, everything in the world feels alright as Weezer play âHolidayâ, pausing for a vocal harmony moment thatâs blown away by distortion before they lurch into the joyful simplicity of âBeverly Hillsâ. Itâs unintentionally hilarious to hear Rivers Cuomo compare South London to the splendour of LA, but thatâs all just part of their awkward charm. As âSay It Ainât Soâ draws our song from inside us, it becomes clear that itâs impossible to ignore Weezerâs resurgence.Â
Before weâve realised it, shadows have grown across the gravel and the graphic displaying the headlining band is about to be replaced with reality. Black and white smoke, a casual âhey,â and weâre into âBe Quiet and Drive (Far Away)â: bombastic and mysterious, itâs a hell of an opening salvo. Straight into a poisonous groove, âMy Own Summer (Shove It)â feels raw and spontaneous, the offbeat guitar plucking unnerving. The only respite is for a call for both hands up before frontman Chino Morenoâs barely caged meltdown. Each musical layer is exposed in turn on âDiamond Eyesâ, sometimes only a lonely electronic pulsing propping up his vocals until a tempo like floating underwater bubbles into a rhythm you can feel in your internal organs.Â
The beauty of Deftones’ set is how they play with time, sending one bar meandering as if itâs drifting out to sea before another song that passes in a flash. This is not a show about the band either; itâs entirely a place set aside in space to let their music grow organically. Moreno barely speaks, his occasional chatter limited to observations like âbeautiful, fucking beautiful, Sunday afternoonâ, but thatâs not because he doesnât want to engage with us. Heâs just a bit part in his musicâs massive presence and for a show with a five figure attendance, so much of their set feels private which summons whispered, individual song from each of us. From a hypnotic âSwerve Cityâ weâre thrown into the grit and grace of âFeiticieraâ, all chainsaw riffs with a tempo that flows like a rocky river, the ending word of each line of the chorus dropped like a bomb. As âDigital Battleâ expands out to focus on the isolated bridge that echoes like a dropped pebble, the crowd inexplicably begins to wander away. There will be a slow waterfall of people emptying from this point onwards, but their anxiety over train times results in a more intimate set for the rest of us as âRocket Skatesâ sets the tone boiling again, the backing vocals a haunted siren. Both the songs where they let loose and when they allow the music to coil slowly hold so much splendour, âSextapeâ beaming waves of emotion into the setting sun.
âChange (In The House Of Flies)â was always going to be a part of this set, and with the band highlighted in stark red against the darkening trees, it smoulders. As one, our phones are up and our chests are back, screaming out the lyrics as a release until a squeal of delight almost drowns out the cloaking fuzz of âGenesisâ. Delicate and devastating in its scope, âMinervaâ connects with so many who gaze and mouth the words in time. After an hour of being immersed into Deftonesâ world, â7 Wordsâ feels like a release, a lava punch to jolt us back to the reality of nervously being shuffled towards the exits. Our concerns were valid, but Deftones came through for us with a show that felt like a portal into a world where the laws of narrative, physics and the upper limit for distortion were made to be broken. Weâre left shaken and invigorated by a band whose life of experimentation and passion have culminated in a show that has plunged us into an otherworldly version of rock music, and weâre already hungry for more. Â
KATE ALLVEY