In 1995, I graduated high school. I kept in touch with a few of my classmates, but for the most part never saw or spoke to most of them after that.
In 2005, they held a 10 year class reunion. I was a little disappointed that I couldn’t attend, and felt something like sentimentality seeing the photos later. One guy from the class, with whom I had once been good friends in our younger days, contacted me on MySpace to say hey, and that was about it.
In spite of that, it was with a bit of anticipation that I awaited the 20 year reunion. Late one recent night I decided to check in on the Facebook groups I was in to see if anything was being discussed, and noticed a closed one that apparently I wasn’t a member of (I can’t keep track of all that shit) – “Trying to get a reunion together!” was part of the headline. Nine people I knew were already there. So I joined and got approved a few minutes later. Almost immediately, I was scrolling through posts talking about how great it was.
Yeah, not only had I missed my high school reunion, I wasn’t even invited to it. Despite the social media associations; despite people I was friends with having been part of this group/discussion for months prior. It was somehow fitting, though, as it was just like high school all over again. They didn’t want me at the parties then, they didn’t want me at the parties now.
Something else happened in 1995: Faith No More released King For a Day, Fool For a Lifetime. It had great moments but nothing to really match the brilliant Angel Dust or breakthrough The Real Thing. Combine that with my own personal new age of music discovery, and the album was quickly lost in the shuffle of various assorted metals. In a way, it marked the end of my close association with the band. Even when Album of the Year came along in 1997, it felt more like a passing encounter with an old friend than a genuine experience.
Something else else happened this year: Faith No More came back to town and was kind enough to invite me to their own reunion of sorts, entitled Sol Invictus. It was everything my old classmates said that their reunion would be and was, only so much better, because it was hosted by a much dearer friend with whom I shared much dearer memories.
Faith No More always loved their dramatics, so it was no surprise that the first thing I heard was the slow burning build that gave the event its name. Just when I thought I might hear a musical explosion, I was greeted with a hearty slap on the back and the “Hey! Remember back when we…” pure, high-energy rock power of “Superhero.” I grinned from ear-to-ear. Those old memories came flooding back in a hurry. We had so much to catch up on, yet so much to reminisce on.
Talk of our black-clad days of teenage angst manifested itself in “Separation Anxiety,” a bubbling cauldron of mania that sounded exactly like so many days and nights of frustration that boiled over into some instances of acting act but never to the point of shooting up the place in a violent display of misanthropia. No, we were more likely to wear that metaphorical “Cone of Shame” and turn our darkest thoughts into the type of poetry that would make Sylvia Plath say, “You’ve got problems.”
We continued to swap stories, and somehow at the same moment, we both grinned wickedly and remembered the time we pranked the school talent show with a profanity-laden performance piece simply entitled “Motherfucker.” Of course, we didn’t tell them that when we signed up to perform. Oh, man. The looks on the administrators’ faces were priceless, a mix of horror and helplessness equaled only by those of the attendees; except for our parents, who were doing their best to disappear into the uncomfortable folding chairs of the auditorium. The detention was totally worth it.
As the night drew on, talk turned to how we felt when we knew we would be going our separate ways, recalling a story about a “Matador” that brought us comfort knowing that although it would be hard, we would be just fine on our own, and that someday, our paths would cross again. We shared a chuckle as we realized that someday was right now.
Sadly, and all too soon, the time to part was upon us. To wrap things up, Faith No More revealed that they had written a special song for the occasion, one that was perfect to end the night on, and would hence be “our” song for future reunions. Ironically, “From the Dead” filled the space with life; with hope; with the knowledge that Faith No More would always be there for me. Likewise, I knew I would always be there for Faith No More.
Thus ended the Dave Pirtle/Faith No More 20 year reunion. Holy cow, had it really been that long since we had genuinely embraced each other? As we were back then, so we were once again. It was suddenly all too clear who my true friends were. It was the music. It was always the music. It was Faith No More.
“Back from the dead / I can see the end / Welcome home, my friend.” Indeed.
