Years before "epic" went from buzzword to omnipresent cliché, the San Francisco band Faith No More owned the adjective with its 1990 song "Epic," a majestic collision of punk, funk, rap and double devil's horn heavy metal.
It turned out to be its only Top 10 hit, and Faith No More broke up in 1998. But the passage of time has reminded the world just how innovative the genre-bending band really was.
Touring behind Sol Invictus, its first album in 18 years, the reunited Faith No More was every bit as explosive Monday night at South Side Ballroom as it was in its heyday. Maybe even more so.
Drummer and founding member Mike Bordin thrashed his kit relentlessly like he was trying to pulverize it into dust. He refused to even stop to hydrate -- instead, he had a roadie pour water into his mouth while he pounded away.
Original bassist Billy Gould whipped his head to and fro like his neck was one giant rubber band. And singer Mike Patton covered the stage like Cassius Clay, throwing left hooks and bouncing up and down as if taunting an invisible opponent.
But the real action was in Patton's larynx. One second, he screeched and hissed like a mountain lion. The next, he wailed like an opera singer imitating Ronnie James Dio before he shifted gears and crooned a dead-on cover of the Commodores' ballad "Easy."
"Easy" was as puzzling Monday night as it was when Faith No More first recorded it in '92. Is it a sardonic send-up of Lionel Richie -- or just a tribute to a catchy melody? Was the band mocking "We Are the World" with its rap song "We Care A Lot"? And what's up with the band sneaking Boz Scaggs' disco-era "Lowdown" into the middle of a song?
The simple answer is that Faith No More thrives on ambiguity and constant motion, moving like a shark from one style to the next. One tune ended with a two-minute barrage of experimental noise-rock. In another, Roddy Bottum made his synthesizer sound like an 800-pound mosquito. A new song with a title best not repeated in a family newspaper came off like a Broadway show tune crossed with death metal,with a Beat poet reciting the lyrics.
Decked out in all-white clothing on a stage covered in flowers, Faith No More sounded impeccably well-rehearsed as it cut through the venue's notoriously muddy acoustics. The audience was clearly psyched to see them after all these years: As band members struggled to recall when they last played Dallas, a chorus of fans shouted "Deep Ellum Live in '97!"
And when the group abruptly stopped in the middle of "Midlife Crisis," diehard fans took over the vocals and sang every word, as if they'd written the song themselves.
Thor Christensen is a Dallas writer and critic. Emiail him at thorchris2@yahoo.com
