It’s extremely difficult to win a championship in sports. Everything has to align: player personnel, performance, coaching, and health are all requirements, and a little luck doesn’t hurt. Sure, you hear of teams “overcoming adversity” to reach the highest of heights, but for the most part, those that make it to the trophy ceremony have typically avoided catastrophic injury, are extremely well run as organizations, and well, they played better than the other teams. The formula isn’t rocket science, but it’s still really difficult to achieve.
If we go by the logic that a classic album is the musical equivalent of a sports championship – and by god we’re going by that logic – then you can make a point that it’s also extremely difficult winning a musical championship. Like in sports, a lot of things have to align: band personnel, stylistic vision, performances, chemistry, and well, health doesn’t hurt (rock history is loaded with stories of key band members checking out of recording sessions due to addiction or burnout or both). Sometimes a band taps into this magic immediately, and sometimes it takes several years and albums. The latter was the case for Faith No More.
In terms of band personnel, Faith No More only had their championship roster together for two albums. That’s it. This is not to take away from the earlier years, as the lineup of drummer Mike Bordin, bassist Billy Gould, guitarist Jim Martin, keyboardist Roddy Bottum, and vocalist Chuck Mosley put out some great funk metal, particularly on Introduce Yourself, but it wasn’t until Mosley was replaced with Mike Patton that the band would begin to realize their full potential as one of the weirder units in all of popular rockdom.
Propelled by the rap metal hit “Epic,” The Real Thing went platinum in the U.S. Pretty good for a bunch of guys that on paper sometimes read like they’re all playing for different bands. Bottum played airy, new wave-y synths and soft piano parts; Gould slapped his way into pure funk terrain; Martin played thrash riffs as if he grew up around key members of the scene (he did); and Bordin glued it all together with a performance as funky as it was hammering. Patton, of course, was the type of spitfire madman that was rarely heard on such a hit record, possessing stylistic range that fit whatever the band was doing at the time, all the while demanding the spotlight.
The Real Thing remains Faith No More’s best-selling album. “Epic” is a big reason why, but the whole of the record absolutely rules, and it would be a sterling “best record” for many a great rock band. And yet – and yet – few argue that it’s their artistic peak. It was like that first season under a new coach when almost everything clicks but the ultimate goal isn’t quite reached–Patton himself only joined the band during its recording, so he was not as involved in the songwriting process as he would be later on. Still, nearly everything aligned, but in terms of vision and songwriting, there was more to achieve, and that “more” was Angel Dust.
Angel Dust is without a doubt one of the strangest and most audacious records to ever be a mainstream hit, but Faith No More was so locked into each other as a unit, so at the top of their game in terms of performers and songwriters, and so ballsy that every last second is magical. As strange as The Real Thing is for a platinum-selling album, it still largely saw Faith No More working within a certain stylistic pocket. Sure, some moments are a touch progressive, others get loungy, and sometimes the thrash really comes through, but for the most part it rarely veers too far from a stylistic mean. Angel Dust, on the other hand, is completely all over the place, and is all the better for it.
The album’s foundation is that of a darker, more atmospheric take on The Real Thing. Yes, many of the building blocks are still the same – the airy keys, punchy drumming, and thrashy riffs – but there’s so much more space to it that it seems to exist in a different realm. Patton had also evolved a ton as a vocalist in just a few years, eschewing much of his more nasal style in favor of a larger set of tools ranging from a deeper croon to singing that seems to soar within the greater space created by his bandmates. He was also much more involved in the songwriting process, which is apparent throughout as his melodies often seem to lead songs, as opposed to just fitting in with whatever else was already there as on The Real Thing.
Opener “Land of Sunshine” is smartly not one of the more outlandish songs on Angel Dust – it’s largely based on the foundation of slap bass, snare-heavy drumming, and lightly thrashy guitars – but it’s teeming with signs of Faith No More’s evolution nonetheless. As stated, there’s far more space here, Bottum’s keys sometimes take more of the spotlight (a crucial descending line is particularly sweet, as is Gould’s answer), and Patton instantly shows how far his melodic sense had grown. There’s also a heightened sense of theatricality, as shown in the dramatic finish.
Much of the album similarly utilizes the established Faith No More formula while providing slight – but crucially different – twists. “Caffiene” comes at the listener and is immediately thrasher, more intense, and darker than the opener, while Patton ranges from maniacal screams to truly soulful singing. Plus, there’s something rather mysterious about it, a vibe Faith No More had not yet tapped into on previous albums. The hooky and expansive “Smaller and Smaller” and equal parts aggressive and lighthearted “Everything’s Ruined” similarly carry some of that mystery to their moods, often due to Patton’s melodies and the space in the production. Both tracks also showed Martin’s knack for narrative playing, with an expressive lead in the former and tasty solo in the latter. “Crack Hitler” also twists the main formula by pushing both the bubbly funk (most slap bass on the album) and overall drama.
Then there’s “Kindergarten,” an expression of youthful innocence that is perfectly matched by escapist music that involves the whole band. From Patton’s lyrics about short drinking fountains to Martin’s looser playing to Gould’s expressive bass work, everything here is particularly tasty. Like basically all of the album’s songs, try not to sing along to that chorus. While I don’t have empirical evidence to back this up, this just has to be the best song ever about being perpetually stuck in kindergarten.
But Faith No More being Faith No More, and this album being what it is, the comparatively “ordinary” tracks (which are by no means ordinary) only tell part of the story. You also have the sillier songs like the loungy and humorous “RV” and bonkers “Be Aggressive,” but this being Faith No More, they weave that silliness into some pretty unforgettable songs. “Be Aggressive,” in particular, is rather impossible to resist with its killer main organ theme, cheerleaders in the chorus, and general sense of throwing caution to the wind. Legend has it that Roddy Bottum (who is gay) wrote lyrics about giving a blowjob so that Mike Patton (who is straight) would be embarrassed to sing them. As if Mike Patton gets embarrassed about anything–it became an instant live staple. The result was yet one more kickass Faith No More song, and one of many that shows just how fearless they were at this time, which naturally happened to also be their artistic peak.
Beyond the more humorous songs there are those that really stretch the album’s dynamics, including those that flirt with extreme metal and those that carry pure pop sensibility. On the more intense side are songs like the hammeringly heavy “Malpractice” and the totally insane “Jizzlobber.” The former combines pounding riffs, demented keys, and Patton’s screams, only pausing the onslaught for a passage of bells and soft singing, which oddly works because this is Faith No More, after all. The latter carries massive, foreboding riffs, Patton’s desperate, manic vocals, and a general sense of madness to become the album’s most obvious mosh song, not to mention the closest Faith No More ever got to extreme metal. That it fades into nothing but organ, perfectly leading into the closing cover of the Midnight Cowboy theme, takes nothing from this demented aura. If anything it only highlights the madness with a touch of majesty.
On the pop sensibility side are the album’s two lead singles: “Midlife Crisis” and “A Small Victory.” We’ll start with the latter first, which is full of uplifting melodies and bouncy rhythms, making it a perfect way to follow up the audacious “Be Aggressive.” The former, well… For my money, “Midlife Crisis” isn’t just Faith No More’s finest single moment, it’s one of the greatest songs in rock and roll history. From Bordin’s bouncy rhythms and the hip hop-tinged verses to the preposterously infectious chorus and a slightly darker bridge, everything about it is impeccable. More than that, however, is how utterly refreshing it feels. I simply don’t know how to adequately describe what makes it so special, except that it’ll put a particular pep in your step that is rare in rock. It’s perfect, yes, it’s true (and now it’s in your head).
Another masterful aspect of Angel Dust is its sequencing. Everything feels perfectly in place, and the band uses contrast to great effect throughout. Already mentioned is the brilliance of following up the wackiness of “Be Aggressive” with “A Small Victory” (and the latter with the heightened intensity and funk of “Crack Hitler”) but also key is in how the sexual explicitness and bonkers music of “Be Aggressive” follows up the innocence and introspective vibes of “Kindergarten.” The opening duo of “Land of Sunshine” and “Caffeine” are wicked good in their own right, but they also feel like lead-ins to the alluring charm of “Midlife Crisis,” which is in turn contrasted by the softer and humorous “RV.” And yes, we also already mentioned that closing cover of the Midnight Cowboy theme, but it’s really fascinating how well it reflects not just on the finish of “Jizzlobber,” but the album as a whole.
Not one single song feels out of place or out of order, a feat that is all the more impressive in light of the album’s breadth of styles and moods. The sequencing is yet one more thing that absolutely went right for the album, alongside the contrasting but complementary performances, the impeccable songwriting, and all the tiny details that keep you coming back again and again.
Angel Dust is the sound of a band absolutely going for it on all levels and succeeding, and yet, it almost wasn’t. Jim Martin was unhappy with the change of direction and was reportedly distant during the album’s sessions (his father had also recently passed, likely adding to his detachment). Internal conflicts would lead to him leaving the band (or being fired, depending on who you ask) after the album’s tour, and Faith No More would never quite be the same again. They’ve released three more albums post-Martin, all of which are good, but none capture that insane magic that the band had during their two-album run with both Patton and Martin, and none contain that wonderfully free and unfettered feel of Angel Dust.
It just shows how tenuous the grasp can be on that perfect formula, and how fleeting these magical moments are in music and art. A slightly worse vibe from Martin, and he might have left the band during the album’s sessions, but thankfully he remained to contribute to an album that was simply lightning-in-a-bottle. Even with his supposed detachment, Martin delivered a killer performance throughout the record, matched by the killer performances of his bandmates. From talent and tension emerged the greatness of this record; pressure created a gem. And perhaps it was fitting that he didn’t quite agree with the evolution of Angel Dust; Faith No More was, of course, a band constantly at odds with itself, with everyone bringing their own style to the table.
Angel Dust is the ultimate expression of this constant contrast. It’s an explosion of brilliance and fearlessness that is almost never heard in mainstream rock, one that had to befuddle record execs as much as it continues to befuddle fans. It’s expansive and imaginative, dorky and slick, funky and punchy, progressive and regressive, and still, after all these years, impossibly cool to the right sets of ears.
If you’ve managed to never hear it over the past 30-plus years, enjoy–you’ll probably be a little confused while having a boatload of fun. If you have heard it but haven’t spun it in years, give it a revisit and rediscover its genius all over again. Peak Faith No More lasted for two incredible albums, but Angel Dust is the one that solidified them as champions.
