POO! WHAT A SCORCHER!
John Perry
Wipe that shit-eating grin off your mouth. No, on second thoughts, show us every one of those Colgate-shy dentures because ol' brown tongue is back. And he's as mad as a brush that eats it's own shit. No surprise there then. What is a very pleasant surprise is that this seventh FNM LP ever made it out of the khazi.
Fifteen, yes, that's 15 years down the line, it looked like it was all over for the San Fran rock-rap-funk behemoths.
After the stripped-to-the-pine pinging-tendon angerfest of 1995's 'King For A Day Fool For A Lifetime', it seemed like FNM had come to the end of the line. Bassist Billy Gould buggered off to Moscow, Mike Patton began wailing in hideous thrashfunkers Mr Bungle, Roddy Bottum was plonking away at the back of dreamy indie rockers Imperial Teen and Mike Bordin was riding the adjustable drum stool of Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train. Down to hell, presumably.
Was it time to hang up the combat kecks, remove the sphincter rings and wash the vegetable dye out of the hair?
Were Faith, erm, No More?
NO GODDAMN IT!! They're back and their nostrils are flairing like a randy bull on a winter morning. At least, it starts that way. 'Collision' is a red-faced return to the epic, Tonka toy-smashing glories of 'The Real Thing'; loads of uncalled-for shouting and big, sweaty faces happily getting punched in the pit. Just like the good old days. Lovely. 'Stripsearch', however, does an illegal blaring horn U-turn and we're back in the Midnight Cowboy-loving days of 'Crack Hitler'. Ver More instantly turn into Marillion. But in a good way. Loose, swoozy guitar that sounds like it was recorded in the middle of Monument Valley lap against wave-smooth trip-hop rhythms while Mikey Boy screams about The Big Torch. Nice. And we're only two tracks in. 'Album Of The Year' ia a stepladder slamdunk return to form, encompassing all of FNM's Bullworker-mangling strengths in 12 fizzy tracks. There's the screaming-into-the-wind sulphur-riffs of the splendidly-titled 'Naked In Front Of The Computer' (the best bits of the Chuck Mosely years), the robo-vocals and funk-spikiness of 'The Last Cup Of Sorrow' (the 'Angel Dust' years) or the epic ferocity of 'Ashes To Ashes' (it sounds like 'From Out Of Nowhere'!).
But even this collection of great moments has some really Great, Great moments; when FNM get really weird.
Like when 'Mouth To Mouth''s wonky Arabian merry-go-round goes spinning into the candy floss stall or when Patton turns into the satanic Lionel Richie on 'She Loves Me Not', crooning, "On Your Knees!" across the Starlight Rooms. Magic. Wouldn't want to French kiss them, but for once the tongue-in-cheek title is a review in itself.
