Tomahawk Debut Album 25 Years
Twenty-five years ago, Mike Patton’s powerhouse supergroup Tomahawk released their self-titled debut through Ipecac. Adding yet another strange and brilliant chapter to one of alternative music’s most unpredictable careers.
By 2001, Patton’s career already resembled the musical equivalent of a runaway train. Faith No More had imploded three years earlier, bringing one of his most celebrated chapters to an abrupt end in April 1998. Rather than taking a breather, however, Mike seemed determined to accelerate.
“I was a bit stifled in Faith No More,” he admitted. “I did not have much time to do anything else besides an occasional Mr. Bungle record. Once Faith No More ended, I already had ideas for Fantômas and Maldoror. I love all types of music and want to work with many different types of musicians.”
Ipecac was becoming an increasingly important home for the strange, extreme and downright fucking bizarre. And within the space of just 12 months, Patton unleashed three of his most distinctive records: Fantômas’ The Director’s Cut, Lovage’s Music To Make Love To Your Old Lady By and Tomahawk’s self-titled debut. Three wildly different albums, three completely different sounds and one endlessly restless musical mind.
“Tomahawk is great!” Patton said at the time. “It is mostly Duane, which helps lighten my load and make it easier.”
That Duane was former Jesus Lizard guitarist Duane Denison, whose path crossed with Patton’s at a Mr. Bungle show in Nashville in early 2000. Patton asked Denison what new material he had been working on, and Denison promptly shipped some early demos to Ipecac.
“At first, some of it was as basic as you can get – acoustic guitar and a metronome,” Denison recalled. “Gradually, I started sending home demos – guitar, bass, drum machine.”
When Patton asked whether Denison had a vocalist in mind, the answer became fairly obvious. The two agreed that Patton would fill the vacancy perfectly, because apparently the man didn’t have enough bands already.
Once the plans were fixed, “Mike added stuff [to the demos], then we got together, just Mike and myself. We recruited the band and I worked with those guys one at a time. When we went to record [in Nashville], we all got together a week or so before and hashed things out.”
Denison wrote the basic tunes, “on a 4-track, and sent the cassettes - this was ’99-2000 - to Mike, who then added vocals and samples for me to listen to. I think it took about a year altogether.”
The rest of the line-up was every bit as ridiculously good as you’d expect. Alongside Patton and Denison came former Helmet drummer John Stanier and ex-Cows/Melvins bassist Kevin Rutmanis - a combination that looked almost deliberately assembled to make alternative music fans lose their minds.
“There was a feeling-out period,” said Patton, “but we were drinking and wrestling before you know it.”
Which, frankly, sounds about right. Denison brought the band to his home turf, “Being in Nashville seemed to bring out the worst in everyone - excessive drinking, anxiety, fighting, etc. That’s the chemistry!”
Denison’s distinctive, off-kilter guitar work provided the backbone, while Stanier delivered the precise, punishing rhythmic attack you’d expect from a drummer who had already helped make Helmet such a formidable proposition. Rutmanis added his own warped unpredictability, giving the rhythm section a suitably twisted personality.
And then there was Patton.
By this point, trying to predict his next move was essentially pointless. Faith No More had established him as one of music’s great vocal chameleons, while Mr. Bungle had shown just how far his imagination could travel. Tomahawk gave him another outlet, but this time within a comparatively focused rock framework.
The result was surprisingly direct without sacrificing its eccentricity. The riffs had weight, the songs had structure and genuine hooks lurked beneath the murk. Denison gave the band a muscular but unconventional edge, creating something that felt familiar enough to grab hold of, yet strange enough to keep you guessing.
Even the imagery was here was peek Patton. Dressed in a police uniform and gas mask, he looked simultaneously menacing, ridiculous and completely theatrical - the perfect visual counterpart to music that refused to behave itself. The artwork on the album is very striking and accompanies the music perfectly.
Denison recalled, “Patton was the Lynd Ward fan - I think he didn’t get permission and so we had to pay up later, as I recall.”
Tomahawk was accessible without becoming predictable, experimental without disappearing completely down the rabbit hole, and heavy without relying solely on brute force. More importantly, it sounded like a band discovering what it could become rather than four musicians simply adding another project to their already impressive CVs.
The popularity of Tomahawk was clear and Patton, Denison, Stanier and Rumanis would hit the road for two years following the album’s release.
Tomahawk would evolve considerably across the albums that followed, but the debut remains particularly fascinating because of what it represented at the time: a fresh combination of musicians, an unfamiliar musical language and yet another opportunity for Patton to confound expectations.
Twenty-five years later, that unpredictability remains the appeal. Give Mike Patton a microphone and a room full of musicians willing to follow him somewhere strange, and there’s no telling what will come out the other side. With Tomahawk, the answer was one hell of a debut.
Kerrang! | October 2001
The Axemen Cometh
Tomahawk: awesomely uneasy listening from Mike Patton's new band Tomahawk.
(Ipecac IPC18CD)
KKKK
IT'S CLEAR to see why Mike Patton has named his latest band after that timeless weapon that's been used to slay and scalp white men since the dawn of time.
Exchange the handy-sized axe for a mike and guitar and the mission is still the same: to bludgeon the message home, create a mess and open a few minds along the way.
Thankfully, not literally though...
It's perhaps the experience of being burned by mainstream exposure and success that he never really sought in the first place that fuels Patton to explore the darker side of the human condition. But unlike the spaz-rock of Mr Bungle or the unsettling investigation into sonics carried out by Fantômas, Tomahawk are a band with a clear direction. And a million ideas. With Duane Denison from the similarly excellent Jesus Lizard, Helmet drummer John Stanier and Cows/Melvins bassist Kevin Rutmanis all on board for the ride, Patton fans can rest assured that Tomahawk create a sound that's both sombre and schizo.
"Flashback' sounds like a baroque Danzig - all grand howls and creepy whispers that sets the tone for what's to follow: a David Lynch-esque musical journey through the American hinterlands where Nick Cave, Ed Gein and both Mansons reign supreme, where morality no longer exists. Indeed "Jockstrap' is a tequila-slugging, slide-guitar update of Manson's 'The Beautiful People' - louche music for deranged lounge lizards, while the emotive 'Point And Click' lurches and judders like Tom Waits doing Tool with a trademark Patton chorus. Pop1' simply hits as hard as any of the members' former bands
Tomahawk' occupies that subconscious space in your head where the unexplainable thrives.
Where shadows lurk around your peripherals, hillbilly faces contort and speak in tongues. Whereas on 'Laredo' we're furiously told The cat's in the bag and the bag's in the river. And where 'Lost Highway' seems like a Sunday drive to Ikea. This is deep, dark music for people who need more than bad make-up to express themselves. This is the heart of America, bloody, beating and twitching for all to see.
BEN MYE
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