Photo by Dustin Rabin
In December of 1989, the French-Canadian thrash metal band Voivod—a cult favorite influenced equally by Discharge, Die Kreuzen, and early Genesis records played backwards—toured the U.S. and Canada with Soundgarden and Faith No More as openers. Longtime Chicago Tribune/Sound Opinions critic Greg Kot declared all three bands as "leading contenders" for the title of "hot metal band of the '90s." He also praised the "truly exceptional voice" of Faith No More vocalist Mike Patton. "Even more important," Kot wrote, Faith No More "breaks out of the metal mold by drawing on hip-hop with rhythms and sing-speak lyrics and progressive rock..."
Within two years, Voivod's rising career stock had plummeted while the other two bands found themselves in the presumably uncomfortable position of twisting heavy rock into new shapes while simultaneously achieving mass recognition. Soundgarden and Faith No More's success would forever brand them as faces of grunge and alternative rock, respectively. Another two years later, then-Tool bassist Paul D'Amour sassed a Lollapalooza crowd by asking "You know what I think alternative music is? Jocks with punk rock haircuts." D’Amour had a point: though the media was re-writing the storyline as it unfolded, bands like Faith No More, Soundgarden, Primus, Helmet, the Rollins Band, and dozens more were initially marketed as quasi-metal acts. This was only possible in a climate where record labels, journalists, and college radio DJs understood that the metal audience could embrace new, albeit arty variations on the form.
In fact, MTV's iconic video show "Headbanger's Ball" boasted nearly as broad a range as "120 Minutes", its ‘alternative’ cousin. Several bands, alas, fit both platforms. And if you followed magazines like RIP, Circus, or Metal Maniacs in the late '80s/early '90s, you read about Deep Purple, Motley Crue, Queensryche, Nuclear Assault, Prong, Godflesh, and Napalm Death all under one gloriously messy roof. Here, it must be noted that metal fans, already accustomed to the notion that underground music could sell millions, were essentially inoculated from the narrative that Nirvana changed the paradigm for everyone. For metalheads, Metallica—and Voivod, Soundgarden, and Faith No More, for that matter—had radically altered the parameters of popular music years before the fabled alternative revolution.
Fast forward to the present. Last week, just before Faith No More embarked on its first North American tour since reuniting in 2009, the band shared a medieval-tinged remix of its new song "Superhero" courtesy of Einstürzende Neubauten bassist Alexander Hacke. Like Spinna’s heady electro remix and FNM bassist Billy Gould’s celestial reworking of songs from the band's final album before breaking up, 1997's Album of the Year, Hacke's interpretation points to avant-garde tendencies that aren’t apparent on "Epic", the smash single off 1989’s The Real Thing and a gift that keeps on giving when it comes to mis-representing Faith No More’s legacy. When Mike Patton replaced Chuck Mosley as FNM’s frontman in 1988, he may have just come from waging "fucked-up psychological terrorism" with Mr. Bungle, but "Epic" nevertheless made it easy to dismiss him as a second-rate Anthony Kiedis knockoff (which, apparently, he was still touchy about long after the fact)—and to view the band as unfortunate funk/rap-metal avatars destined for flash-in-the-pan status.
Thankfully, neither of those things turned out to be true—at least not for long. Faith No More went on to record three adventurous, musically rich albums before breaking up, while Patton immediately proved himself as a creative force to be reckoned with by 1992’s Angel Dust. After Faith No More, he pursued a career of such staggering versatility that it would take this entire column to scratch its surface. Hacke, for example, is one among the scores of cutting-edge artists to release work on Ipecac, the label Patton co-founded with former Alternative Tentacles manager Greg Werckman. Patton’s ravenous appetite for exploration makes you wonder whether he’s been trying to compensate for his flat, nasal rapping on "Epic" ever since. If so, then that song truly is a gift that keeps on giving.
Still, after masterminding the nightmarish (and utterly mesmerizing) Fantômas album Delirium Cordia—an album that sets to music the sensation of being semi-conscious and clouded by anesthetics on an operating table while surgeons hack through bone and flesh—it’s hard to envision how Patton and Faith No More will break new ground together. The early returns are in with "Superhero" and the band’s first official new release, "Motherfucker", out as a 7'' on Record Store Day. Both tunes demonstrate that, at the very least, Faith No More has retained its distinct, keyboard-driven flair for drama. And maybe, after 18 years of listening to Patton indulge his manifold creative urges (including Tomahawk, a significantly more straight ahead outlet than FNM), it would be a welcome change to hear him reach for the edge in the band that’s arguably best suited to keep him from going overboard but still yield compelling results.
We’ll never know whether, in private, Mike Patton feels less rewarded by Faith No More than by his other work. (His commitment to the band since 2009 suggests otherwise.) But the potential for creative friction is one of the things that makes the band’s story—and the question of how new album Sol Invictus will hold up as a whole—so intriguing. Patton and Gould recently sat together with Pitchfork to discuss what Patton referred to as their "elder statesmen" status. It’s a curious perspective to hear from Patton himself. Because if Faith No More had emerged in the '70s, they’d have stood alongside Blue Öyster Cult and Alice Cooper, acts who likewise kept one foot in commercial viability and another in just-plain-fucking-strange-ness with music that confounded as much as it dazzled. We can also point to several artists walking the same tightrope today.
Which means that it’s now easier (maybe even imperative) to eschew the ‘alternative rock’ prism that dumbs down what Faith No More brought—and will hopefully bring again—to the table. So, when Sol Invictus is out next month, you can expect the usual media voices to reduce Faith No More’s legacy to thumbnail summaries that mention the '90s zeitgeist. You don’t have to believe them.