Faith No More: How Rock’s Most Contrarian Band Made Up and Came Back
Faith No More are hours away from their first North American tour in 17 years and they haven’t figured out who’s going to sound the chime in “From the Dead.” A 12-song soundcheck in Vancouver’s empty, echoey PNE Forum is like trying on new clothes since, in the next few days, they’ll be premiering five songs from the ominous, brawny Sol Invictus, the band’s first album since 1997. “From the Dead” features a triumphant tubular-bell-like note that would probably be struck by keyboardist Roddy Bottum, except he’s playing acoustic guitar on the song — he awkwardly attempts to prod at the key in between strums. Vocal gymnast Mike Patton wanders behind the keyboard to croon and poke, but it’s ultimately decided the song is too “live” to hide the hyperkinetic spotlight-stealer behind a keyboard.
“What would Yngwie do?” kids Patton.
“Why don’t we dress Eric in a monkey suit?” suggests bassist Billy Gould, jokingly offering up the dignity of keyboard tech Eric Baecht.
Patton only sent his transcribed Sol Invictus lyrics to the band two weeks ago. “Hearing other peoples’ interpretations of your lyrics to me is just a total kick in the pants,” he says. “Half the time, they’re better.”
Finessing three-part harmony background vocals on the song, guitarist Jon Hudson asks Patton if he’s singing, “Daddy, daddy.”
“No! But let’s say that!” exclaims Patton, excitedly. He loves being detached enough from his own words to rewrite them on the fly.
Such free and good-natured communication among all five band members is a new, beautiful thing for Faith No More . They spent much of their career publicly feuding with each other while bristling at outside input. Their record label, critics, fans and even bandmates were often, and often justifiably, confused and confounded by them.
Like Nirvana — a group that they “paved the way for,” according to the band’s Krist Novoselic — Faith No More would zig where outsiders would urge them to zag. Their 1990 rap-metal volley “Epic” was a Top 10 hit, but they followed its album, The Real Thing, with the avant-metal terrordome Angel Dust, which Entertainment Weekly called, “probably the most uncommercial follow-up to a hit record ever.” Then they followed that with a mostly straight cover of the Commodores’ soft-pop hammock-swinger “Easy.” The band’s music only got more arcane, spiraling into fake bossa-nova (“Caralho Voador”) and the onomatopoetic screeching of Japanese noise outfits (“Cuckoo for Caca”). While infuriating to many, Faith No More’s musical restlessness would inspire a generation of boundary-pushing metal groups, including System of a Down and Dillinger Escape Plan, and since their breakup, their following has only grown: come August, the reunited band will headline Madison Square Garden for the first time in an over-30-year career. Perhaps most remarkably, Faith No More’s new album is just as free-spirited and radio-unfriendly as anyone could hope, ranging from goth-punk atmospherics to Morricone metal to a lead single called “Motherfucker” that, for the most part, isn’t even sung by Patton. Something as obvious as a reunion album should seem downright abominable to a band so dead-set on defying convention; yet here they are here, finishing what they started, having a blast and making music that can stand proudly in their catalog. How did Faith No More manage to pull this off without embarrassing themselves?
