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FAITH NO MORE
Sol Invictus

Reclamation / Ipecac (2015)
Rating: 10/10

It’s so long ago since clunking, cult anthem ‘We Care A Lot’ fizzed through my teenage ears and opened my soul to the curious entity that is Faith No More. Back in 1985 they were somewhat a confused, lo-fi “indie” act, while two years later with 1987’s Introduce Yourself they beefed things up, but maintained that air of befuddlement via Roddy Bottum’s keys, Jim Martin’s crunching metallic guitar and Chuck Mosley’s nasal whine.

However, in 1989 Faith No More changed my life quite literally. The Real Thing emerged when no-one was looking – with Mosley replaced by king brat Mike Patton (Mr. Bungle), the band went on the rampage with a kaleidoscopic nightmare fusing elements of funk, rap, extreme metal, soul and progressive rock, and yet within this Technicolor mire existed a handful of massive hits which became a soundtrack to a generation. The “metal” genre would never be the same again as styles began to shift dramatically, and with the likes of ‘Epic’, ‘From Out Of Nowhere’ and ‘Falling To Pieces’ Faith No More attracted a fan-base of hip hoppin’ hipsters who’ve never looked back.

Of course, 1992’s Angel Dust was another life changer – for me anyway – the band somehow transforming into an in-joke ridden, poisonous and polluted monstrosity. The “hits” were still there, but this time coated in oil, laced with seediness and bloated with congealed pus. Patton’s voice was now a menacing and sarcastic growl, the guitars were thicker and heavier and the band were now injecting country ‘n’ western twangs alongside industrialised mayhem. For me, The Real Thing and Angel Dust were defining moments, not just for the band but for that era.

What followed was a brace of erratic yet still enigmatic albums; namely 1995’s King For A Day… Fool For A Lifetime (the band now bereft of Jim Martin and boasting the talents of Trey Spruance of Mr. Bungle) and 1997’s Album Of The Year (Spruance out, Jon Hudson in) which proved to be the final chapter in a career best described as “unusual”.

Patton of course continued to explore and exploit his vocal talents via a myriad of projects and no-one expected the band to reform. But now, 30 years after that quirky debut, Faith No More has returned. Sol Invictus boasts the same line-up as the previous outing and brings with it ten tracks and a rather short running time at a shade under 40 minutes. Would it be enough to quench the thirst of eager, excited fans?

Well, it’s fair to say that you never know what you’re gonna get with Faith No More so in a sense it’s a band so hard to criticize, but as a fan whose been there from day one and been so affected by The Real Thing and Angel Dust I still expect to hear those distinctive Roddy Bottum keyboards, that clunky guitar chug, Bill Gould’s thudding bass, Mike Bordin’s hammering drum and Mike Patton’s demented vocal schizophrenics. Sol Invictus brings such qualities to the table.

Patton will always be that unhinged frontman growling, yapping, crooning and spasmodically wailing through each wayward anthem, but since the mid-90s there’s always been that tendency for Faith No More to start sounding in patches like one of Patton’s side projects – think Tomahawk, Mr. Bungle, Peeping Tom.

I’ve missed Jim Martin’s metallic clank all too much, still finding myself hung up by Hudson’s charge, and yet Faith No More boasts a sound that just grows on you like a suffocating mould. Such is the dark intricacies of everything they do that it will no doubt take even more than the 30 or so listens I’ve experienced to truly appreciate the content.

The title track comes trickling out almost in underwhelming fashion; a simple drum plod and sullen piano lead cavorts with Patton’s dark, brooding narration – the track being a prime example of how Faith No More has once again given way to Patton’s Mr. Bungle, because this sounds like something wrenched from Mr. B’s 1999 California platter. As an opener I expected more; it builds almost tepidly without reaching a sonic climax, but then again it’s also the band at their most subtle. However, with ‘Superhero’ we are treated to those characteristics I spoke of earlier; the juddering bass and drum in deadly tandem, Bottum’s plush keyboards and a cool, itchy riff leading us to Patton’s mocking smirks and derisive yelps.

By the time we reach the cries of “Leader of men, leader of men” we know that the Faith No More we’ve come to know and love is still there, lurking somewhere in the shadows of its own murky existence. But this is a band who refuses to rest on its laurels; one moment happy to give the fans a gorgeous melody to chew on but the next eager to remain elusive and inaccessible. ‘Superhero’ is very much a “single” – not quite reaching the sugary highs of, say, ‘From Out of Nowhere’ or ‘A Small Victory’, but still harbouring those deft and dark qualities we expect from this devious monster.

For those seeking greater frills then ‘Sunny Side Up’ is probably the most instant of all the tracks on offer. It introduces itself in the same way ‘Evidence’ did in 1995; a cool, dark trickling essence of noir with Patton’s deep, almost whispering prowess. But where Faith No More rule above all else is with those unexpected chorus hooks, and this one just hits you in the face – anthemic, summery and just devastatingly brilliant. Bordin’s drum is persistent in its hammering, the bass thuds and rams, and there’s that airy feel to the guitar, and yet all the while as Bottum tinkles away there’s that scent of unease. Faith No More are complete masters of vomiting out these so-called “hits” and effortlessly building them upon a foundation of seediness and menace.

Next up is ‘Separation Anxiety’. The band clearly not wanting us listening folk to become too comfortable, they churn out another brooding, slow-building composition of menace and suspense. The track is built upon that rattling bass and prodding drum as Patton’s whispers lead us into the mire – again I’m reminded more of Patton’s side projects rather than Faith No More at its most glorious. There’s a distinct lack of accessibility here; the track is bereft of a chorus and trundles along like some surrealistic gurgle, hinting at Angel Dust’s thornier escapades as the guitar starts to grate on the matter.

Upon the first few listens, ‘Separation Anxiety’ may appear as the weak link of the album, but to those brought up upon Angel Dust’s derisive melodies then one will feel comfortable placing this heap of metallic tumult alongside the likes of ‘Malpractice’.

‘Cone Of Shame’ is next on the agenda; beginning with a guitar twang reminiscent of Ennio Morricone, it’s another brooding soundtrack featuring a marching drum and Patton’s ominous tone. Again, with those first few listens fans may argue that it’s Faith No More at its most elusive; the finger clicks and Patton’s croons more suitable to lacing a David Lynch (Twin Peaks, Wild At Heart, Blue Velvet) film while hinting at the narrative ooze of Angel Dust’s ‘RV’. When the meat is put on the bone I’m crying out for something nastier in the guitar, but it’s still a threatening chunk of seething rock that builds nicely into catchy melody; again Bordin is the master of being that hammering backdrop.

‘Rise Of The Fall’ begins in typical Faith No More fashion to some extent; that jabbing rhythm turns quickly however into a casual reggae-waltz of stark percussive tap. It’s one of those typical Faith No More subtleties at first, but builds into Mr. Bungle at its most bulbous; from Patton’s snarling yaps to the main rhythm which then reverts back to that delicate traipse.

‘Black Friday’, however, is pure gold; arguably one of Faith No More’s catchiest ever songs with its well-grooved bass and punky bubblegum riff. I haven’t a clue as to why I’m reminded of US indie rockers Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but maybe it’s just in that devious, dark yet beautifully catchy nature; Faith No More dragging the listener into a somewhat post-punk tango where the encroaching shadows can only add to the Gothic atmosphere. Patton is at his most versatile here, and again many will point to Mr. Bungle as the vocal master flits from the usual recognisable rasps to darker whispers and nasal quips.

Either way, it’s a deliciously infectious tune featuring a nifty, raging guitar and solid bass prod before ‘Motherfucker’ crawls out from beneath its rock like an insistent anthem that digs deep into the brain like a parasite we’re quite happy to live with. The marching drum, the backbone of bass and Patton’s narration are all killer ingredients leading us to that soaring, mocking chorus. As a track it pretty much sums up the addictive schizophrenic nature of a band that so effortlessly can churn out seemingly commercial songs but with such a coating of the irrational.

‘Matador’ begins with more unsettling whispers, but by this point we’re suddenly aware that Faith No More has with Sol Invictus created something akin to an opera, echoing the majesty of Mr. Bungle’s 1995 inaccessible Disco Volante merged with the murkier, suave nuances of King For A Day…, and Patton’s equally quizzical Fantômas project. As ‘Matador’ builds there’s that sense of the epic (excuse the pun) while adorned in Gothic drapes; the track judders, thuds and never rests upon a foundation many would be quite happy with. “We will rise from the killing floor”, Patton threatens before asking, “What more can we give?”, to which we reply in tandem, “From the dead!”; ‘From The Dead’ being the final track from an album that feels an hour longer than it actually is.

You’ll feel like you’ve heard the sunny rhythm of ‘From The Dead’ before. At its heart there’s something Beatles-esque about its joyous nature, but then again it’s typically Faith No More – a melody to die for and seemingly harmless harmonies laced by Bordin’s gorgeous drum shuffle. “We’ve been turning miseries to nursery rhymes”, barks Patton, and suddenly we’re at one with the band; a place where we never thought we’d be because the in-jokes were always too scathing. But as Patton serenades with, “Back from the dead, I can see the end… welcome home my friend”, I for some unknown reason shed a tear, realising how far the band has come and how much we’ve missed their schizophrenic nature, because for every chink in their armour Faith No More has remained a true enigmatic entity.

While The Real Thing and Angel Dust remain embedded in my soul and musical folklore, Sol Invictus is a timely reminder as to why Faith No More remains such a titanic and influential force in music. It was Bill Gould who once said, “Rock ‘n’ roll is not wanting to know about anything about anybody else, but having them wanting to know everything about you”, and that sums up the album, because Faith No More has remained in a field of its own since its inception and its audience has become something akin to a crowd so eager for a sneak peek into this sideshow of genius. While Faith No More let us get close to unravelling its mysteries, it’s always able to keep us at arm’s length – mocking all the while as we fall into its trap. For every fault, blemish and dark corner, Sol Invictus is true genius.

Neil Arnold

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