They
call him the Frank Zappa of the next generation; but instead of
the guitar, the voice is his virtuoso instrument. Mike Patton and
his merry men of Mr. Bungle are touring the mid-sized venues in
support of their latest CD, California.
Although
Patton, formerly of Faith No More, is back in the bosom of the big
label, Warner Brothers, Mr. Bungle has taken on this demanding road
show without any tour support. Some might say they're lucky just
to be back on the label, which, Patton says, has no idea what to
do with them--promotionally speaking. The latest Mr. Bungle has
been called cartoon circus music for the intellectual freakazoid
set. That being the case, there's no shortage
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of
fan support out there in the twisted tributaries of America. Mr.
Bungle sold out Seattle before selling out Portland's Roseland theater
the next night. Then it was off to Salt Lake, their first night
off spent driving, where they sold out as well. Grueling is an understatement.
Body
surfing to acapella Sammy Davis Jr. croonings, "Only in Portland,"
Patton deadpanned to the crowd as he segued from lounge act satire
to Japanese geisha falsetto to Slayer-like death metal growls (using
a microphone held to his vocal cords and a free standing mike).
What is this? For sound engineer and tour manager Jayson, it's a
nightmare. With anything Patton, the point is to not try and figure
it out. But Patton damn well wants Jayson to figure it out and get
the sound dynamics right. Good luck. I doubt that anyone else on
earth can possibly imagine what Patton is hearing in his head.
After
the show, I visited with Patton at the lip of the stage. He remembered
our previous interview last October when he was touring his death
metal shoved out the window of Fantomas. "That was one of the most
bizarre interviews I've ever done," he said. Great. I knew I had
him hooked.
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Patton's
never been afraid of the bizarre; he thrives on it. So we set up
a telephone interview after he reached Salt Lake. No such luck.
The next night I caught up to them still on the bus, two drag ass hours out of Salt Lake. No interview. The next day I hooked up with Patton at the DV8 club during load-in/sound check. He complained that the place looked small, more like 500 than 1000 capacity. And it was hot. "It's gonna be a sweatbox," he said. At last, we started our interview.
Crossed
wires in the new Exotic office meant every time line 2 rang
we couldn't hear each other talking over the bleed through. Satan
was in the phone line. My co-worker had a melt down at that moment,
as he tried in vain to conduct his business as well, and started
hurling insults at me from across the room. I interrupted my interview
with Patton, already dead in the water, to yell back and throw a
pen at his head. It had all turned to shit. I called back later
at midnight and was promptly dismissed by Jayson as they were having
some "crisis with the club." What I managed to learn in our brief,
uninterrupted time together was that Patton is a patient man, up
to a point. But he was as fed up with the fuck-ups on my end as
me.
Patton's
quite pleased with being back with
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