eyeamflesch
19-01-2005, 20:40
Mike Patton, Mr. Bungle & The Church of Over Compensation.
A Point and Half-Assed Counterpoint.
By Andy Earles
Genius. Clever. Intense. Fucked-up. Ground-breaking. Good.
There are artists who seemingly exist for the sole purpose of convincing stupid people that they are, or understand art that is, one or all of the above attributes. Mike Patton is their leader.
For all we knew in 1989, the future would prove harmless and laughable. Wrong. A histrionic proto-wigger in sweat shorts gesticulating opposite a flopping, asphyxiating fish shouldn’t have been taken seriously. Somehow he was. Even as strains of the (then) freshly-christened Funk Metal genre churned behind him, it all seemed innocent and silly to those possessing the cognitive power to make a sandwich or execute dry sex. To their miniscule bank of credit, Mike Patton and Faith No More would move away from Funk Metal, but Patton would continue on with another, exponentially horrifying battle cry of the ham-fisted hipsters: Mr. Bungle.
Mr. Bungle is the illogical (because there shouldn’t be any) progression from Frank Zappa’s legacy—a soul-eroding blight across the last three and a half decades of music if there ever was one. Just add every single fucking special interest genre to the stew. Why? Because that’s “eclectic.”
POINT:
Anyway, all Mr. Bungle and Mike Patton apologists cite the same five credentials during the inevitable pro-Bungle tirade inextricably associated with hardcore fans of this overbearing, non-stop, parade of faux-intensity. Here’s a point-by-point rebuttal:
1. The John Zorn connection.
Nothing elicits a ricochet of negative energy from that guy at your local scenester bar who won’t shut up quite like the statement, “John Zorn is fake jazz.” You should try it. It’s a hoot. Granted, it’s a hoot to me because I have a sense of humor, so results may vary. John Zorn attaches an unfortunate degree of “respect” to whatever he touches, whether it be the run of the mill slummer routine with a Japanese blastcore band, or some NYC crusty spazzcakes, or something as loathsome as Mr. Bungle. I also hear that he has been donning camo trousers for the past two decades, something that precipitated the omnipresent lack of style amongst his disciples. Fake jazz? Nooooooo... he is a jazz musician... calm down. At least he was the last time I cared, which was sometime in the mid-’90s. Oh, and we can thank John Zorn for the popularity/credibility/visibility of people like Buckethead and Vernon Reid.
2. “You gotta respect what they are doing. You gotta respect the musicianship.”
No, I don’t. Watch. I don’t. See? It’s that easy. Just because somebody didn’t garner enough attention from their “parents” or “friends” or “anything but masturbating in their basement to Rush” at some point in life’s long journey doesn’t mean that I have sit still while they beat me over the head with “ability.” Why are people still hoodwinked into believing that instrumental prowess = good? Am I supposed to be impressed by some “wacky” bullshit that jumps around from bossa nova to grindcore to soft rock to polka within one song? Hey, I think I need to be reminded of your “impressive musical palette” every four seconds...yeah that’s it...dart those little bug eyes out over the crowd while you do it! Let everyone know how “crazy” and “off-kilter” you are!!
3. “But I also like...”
Every single note pooped out by The Butthole Surfers, Primus, The Dillinger Escape Plan, The Secret Chiefs (‘natch), Candiria, all of that forgotten bass-poppin’ “jazzcore” flushed down the black hole of forgotten irrelevance by Alternative Tentacles and SST, Alice Fucking Donut, assholes that bark about licking the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag against the backdrop of thudding bass or white noise, Bootsauce, Mind Funk, anything with the ultimate red flag of two bass players, maybe some throwaway AmRep testosterone mills, and probably something a little “illbient.”
4. Pop and rock music is too conventional and boring.
Sure, a gaping amount is. You’re “above” pop and rock music. Wait a minute. No. You are not. The blind discrediting of pop and rock music — a practice that many noiseniks seem to swear by, is laughable and indicative of a very serious case of social ineptitude. To address the boys (gender joke? don’t have time) here: only listening to music that pummels you with its fucked-uppitude, its negativity, its volume, its lack of structure, its hate; it’s evidence of something lurking in the closet. Why else would you have to be constantly reassured of your masculinity? I’m just sayin’, dude.
5. “I can’t argue with you right now, my cat is chewing on my dreads.”
Then pull some Tender Vittles out of your cargo shorts. And as a bonus, in lieu of a cyanide capsule, a summary of Mr. Bungle’s proper Warners’ releases goes like this:
Mr. Bungle (1991) - Unfunny doo doo humor.
Disco Volante (1995) - The mature outing. The “really experimental one.” A great example of Cleverness 101.
California (1999) - The irony pop album that is...you guessed correct... “all fucked up.”
HALF-ASSED COUNTERPOINT:
And if it’s still going so bad that you have to play devil’s advocate just to shut one of these fuckers up, you can make the following admissions:
1. If forced by sharp stick to witness a Mike Patton production, I would choose Fant99mas. There is a scope to Fant99mas that is lacking with Patton’s other projects. Plus, Dave Lombardo is the drummer, and Slayer always knew how stupid they were.
2. Mike Patton has a sense of humor. Sometimes it’s not a great one, but it’s one nonetheless. A good example would be his reissuing of Gregg Turkington’s Great Phone Calls — the juggernaut of all prank phone call releases.
A Point and Half-Assed Counterpoint.
By Andy Earles
Genius. Clever. Intense. Fucked-up. Ground-breaking. Good.
There are artists who seemingly exist for the sole purpose of convincing stupid people that they are, or understand art that is, one or all of the above attributes. Mike Patton is their leader.
For all we knew in 1989, the future would prove harmless and laughable. Wrong. A histrionic proto-wigger in sweat shorts gesticulating opposite a flopping, asphyxiating fish shouldn’t have been taken seriously. Somehow he was. Even as strains of the (then) freshly-christened Funk Metal genre churned behind him, it all seemed innocent and silly to those possessing the cognitive power to make a sandwich or execute dry sex. To their miniscule bank of credit, Mike Patton and Faith No More would move away from Funk Metal, but Patton would continue on with another, exponentially horrifying battle cry of the ham-fisted hipsters: Mr. Bungle.
Mr. Bungle is the illogical (because there shouldn’t be any) progression from Frank Zappa’s legacy—a soul-eroding blight across the last three and a half decades of music if there ever was one. Just add every single fucking special interest genre to the stew. Why? Because that’s “eclectic.”
POINT:
Anyway, all Mr. Bungle and Mike Patton apologists cite the same five credentials during the inevitable pro-Bungle tirade inextricably associated with hardcore fans of this overbearing, non-stop, parade of faux-intensity. Here’s a point-by-point rebuttal:
1. The John Zorn connection.
Nothing elicits a ricochet of negative energy from that guy at your local scenester bar who won’t shut up quite like the statement, “John Zorn is fake jazz.” You should try it. It’s a hoot. Granted, it’s a hoot to me because I have a sense of humor, so results may vary. John Zorn attaches an unfortunate degree of “respect” to whatever he touches, whether it be the run of the mill slummer routine with a Japanese blastcore band, or some NYC crusty spazzcakes, or something as loathsome as Mr. Bungle. I also hear that he has been donning camo trousers for the past two decades, something that precipitated the omnipresent lack of style amongst his disciples. Fake jazz? Nooooooo... he is a jazz musician... calm down. At least he was the last time I cared, which was sometime in the mid-’90s. Oh, and we can thank John Zorn for the popularity/credibility/visibility of people like Buckethead and Vernon Reid.
2. “You gotta respect what they are doing. You gotta respect the musicianship.”
No, I don’t. Watch. I don’t. See? It’s that easy. Just because somebody didn’t garner enough attention from their “parents” or “friends” or “anything but masturbating in their basement to Rush” at some point in life’s long journey doesn’t mean that I have sit still while they beat me over the head with “ability.” Why are people still hoodwinked into believing that instrumental prowess = good? Am I supposed to be impressed by some “wacky” bullshit that jumps around from bossa nova to grindcore to soft rock to polka within one song? Hey, I think I need to be reminded of your “impressive musical palette” every four seconds...yeah that’s it...dart those little bug eyes out over the crowd while you do it! Let everyone know how “crazy” and “off-kilter” you are!!
3. “But I also like...”
Every single note pooped out by The Butthole Surfers, Primus, The Dillinger Escape Plan, The Secret Chiefs (‘natch), Candiria, all of that forgotten bass-poppin’ “jazzcore” flushed down the black hole of forgotten irrelevance by Alternative Tentacles and SST, Alice Fucking Donut, assholes that bark about licking the inside of a vacuum cleaner bag against the backdrop of thudding bass or white noise, Bootsauce, Mind Funk, anything with the ultimate red flag of two bass players, maybe some throwaway AmRep testosterone mills, and probably something a little “illbient.”
4. Pop and rock music is too conventional and boring.
Sure, a gaping amount is. You’re “above” pop and rock music. Wait a minute. No. You are not. The blind discrediting of pop and rock music — a practice that many noiseniks seem to swear by, is laughable and indicative of a very serious case of social ineptitude. To address the boys (gender joke? don’t have time) here: only listening to music that pummels you with its fucked-uppitude, its negativity, its volume, its lack of structure, its hate; it’s evidence of something lurking in the closet. Why else would you have to be constantly reassured of your masculinity? I’m just sayin’, dude.
5. “I can’t argue with you right now, my cat is chewing on my dreads.”
Then pull some Tender Vittles out of your cargo shorts. And as a bonus, in lieu of a cyanide capsule, a summary of Mr. Bungle’s proper Warners’ releases goes like this:
Mr. Bungle (1991) - Unfunny doo doo humor.
Disco Volante (1995) - The mature outing. The “really experimental one.” A great example of Cleverness 101.
California (1999) - The irony pop album that is...you guessed correct... “all fucked up.”
HALF-ASSED COUNTERPOINT:
And if it’s still going so bad that you have to play devil’s advocate just to shut one of these fuckers up, you can make the following admissions:
1. If forced by sharp stick to witness a Mike Patton production, I would choose Fant99mas. There is a scope to Fant99mas that is lacking with Patton’s other projects. Plus, Dave Lombardo is the drummer, and Slayer always knew how stupid they were.
2. Mike Patton has a sense of humor. Sometimes it’s not a great one, but it’s one nonetheless. A good example would be his reissuing of Gregg Turkington’s Great Phone Calls — the juggernaut of all prank phone call releases.