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http://filter-mag.com/news/interior.1460.htmlQ & A: Mike Patton
by Erin Broadley | 06.22.2004
Insomnia is a curious condition—these long, sleepless nights fueled by ADD and pulsing caffeine. Nights spent watching infomercials on repeat and cleaning the dirt out from under one’s shrinking cuticles. Too often, they’re nights spent perusing that endless sea of ennui and stimuli called the Internet, possibly preparing for an interview with Fantomas frontman Mike Patton. One of the gems a person might stumble across during one of these red-eye stints is the Urban Dictionary, an online collection of any and all user-submitted entries. Type in our current hero’s name and the third definition that pops up offers “Mike Patton is the best thing since sliced bread.” And that’s right after one that states simply “The god of modern music.” The Patton versus Wonder Bread debate and the polytheistic discussion over his omnipresence may never reach conclusion, but when you can’t sleep, Fantomas becomes the perfect soundtrack to that insomniac realm between the conscious and subconscious, and Patton’s vocals become the lullaby to your mental purgatory.
The self-taught vocalist is one of the most versatile, valuable, and under-appreciated maestros in music, owning an eccentric set of pipes that can leap from booming shriek to Sinatra croon to something more faint than a whisper, all within seconds. Patton embraces musical variety like a schizophrenic with alternate personalities, flaunting his ability to be simultaneously subversive and aggressive, both refined and explosive. With a resume that includes vocal duties for bands like Tomahawk, Mr. Bungle and Faith No More, and collaborative projects with the likes of Dan “The Automator” Nakamura, experimentalist John Zorn, and former Roots beatboxer Rahzel, Patton nurtures a range of influences. Fantomas, the most eclectic of his projects, flirts with musical genres with the intensity of a pop star let loose in Pharrell’s record collection. Guitarist Buzz Osborne (of the Melvins) brings the gloom of proto-grunge, bassist Trevor Dunn (Mr. Bungle) supplies the hurtling low-end rhythms of circus rock, and drummer Dave Lombardo (Slayer) delivers the horror of death metal—the music smashed and arranged together like an intricate and maniacal orchestra with Patton whipping the conductor’s baton accordingly.
Filter met up with Patton in Los Angeles at the Henry Fonda Theater, Just before he took the stage with Fantomas. The band’s latest album, Delirium Cordia—released January 27 on Ipecac Records—is a one-track, 74-minute atmospheric opus of haunted rock expressionism. The interview took place in a closet (or a “prison cell” as Patton called it) backstage, mainly because there is no such thing as a quiet place for a conversation during a Fantomas sound check.
In a recent interview, talking about the unexpected success of Delirium Cordia, you called it “the weirdest creature” Fantomas has ever made. Why so?
It’s a departure for us. It’s one track, over an hour long and very outside of the normal scheme of things that we do. It doesn’t really sound like us so I think it’s funny that people would pick up on this one. Success means different things to different people but this is a big step for us and the record has done great.
One thing I noticed when listening to the album was your treatment of silence—the so-called “negative space” in the music. Was this deliberate?
Yep. In a way this was one of the hardest records to make because it goes against a lot of my musical instincts. I’m about filling up space, and music that’s very demanding, selfish and always going, “Look at me, now!” This record couldn’t be like that so I had to twist my own arm to pull back and use space and other ways to get people’s attention. I wanted it to be more like background music or wallpaper music.
Would you consider it ambient?
Absolutely. I think “ambient” is totally appropriate. A lot of people would balk at that because of the connotations of the word, but in our language—in our world—this is our ambient record. It’s mood music. It’s something you put on and go vacuum the house to.
With Fantomas, I understand that you don’t normally see the music as needing words or lyrics. But the last record, The Director’s Cut (2001, Ipecac), did have more of a lyrical element than Delirium Cordia or the self-titled debut (1999, Ipecac). Were you looking forward to moving away from lyrics again with this record?
The Director’s Cut was basically a record of covers just for kicks. It was someone else’s music but I wrote lyrics to the instrumentals that didn’t have them. I thought, “I’ll show them!” For most of what Fantomas does, there’s no real space for lyrics or traditional vocals that soar above the band. The music says it all. I think the way vocals are usually mixed—that straight up-and-center, louder-than-everything-else bullshit—is even too much for this band. The voice in Fantomas has a very specific role that’s more like another guitar. That’s where it exists and where it’s happy.
I’ve read that you think there’s a danger in explaining too much with music.
Usually I say that when I don’t want to talk about something (laughs). Believe it or not, I usually get more questions about bands where I’m using lyrics because people want to know, “What does this or that mean?” And I’m just like, “Give me a fucking break.” It’s dumb ass fan-zine 101. I don’t usually tell anyone anything. That’s what the record is there for. I got it off my chest so now you go have fun with it. The fact that people are listening is good but beyond that it’s really up to them to do something with it or not. If you like it then great! And if you don’t like it then cool, I got something else that you might like instead. The good thing about a band like Fantomas is you may not like what’s going on at the moment, but about three or four seconds later it’ll be something different. So keep listening, you might like the next part.
The name Fantomas is a reference to the pre-WWI-era French crime novel and film character often discussed in reference to Surrealism and the Dadaist movement in art and literature. Do you see any parallels between those movements and this band’s music?
A little bit. It’s a frame of reference. I’m a fan of that kind of stuff. I read a lot of that literature and have a lot of that art. Those guys were doing some ridiculous stuff that no one understood, so hats off! When choosing a band name, I just wanted something obscure enough that cast a bit of a shadow over the music. I had those movies and originally thought it’d be a good song title. Then I thought, “What the hell, I’ll just name the whole band that!”
With the songs on the first album being separated into “pages” and The Director’s Cut being covers of film soundtrack songs, where do you see Delirium Cordia in accompanying the original idea of Fantomas—that visual, cinematic presence?
All I really wanted to do with this record was make it like a pastoral, like one smear with the brush. Everything else we’ve done has been like little specks. I didn’t want this to be a rock record at all. I wanted it to sound more like a contemporary music ensemble. The first record was developing a language, figuring it out and saying a few paragraphs. The second one was a treat, a reward of covers that was fun because it wasn’t our music and there’s a lot of release in that. It was comforting to interpret somebody else’s music. I really enjoyed that. Then this record was back to work. It’s us stretching out what we do, elaborating and really pushing. We’re using a lot of new and unfamiliar tools. Dave [Lombardo] doesn’t even play much of his drum set on the record. It’s all tympani, wind machines and orchestral stuff. He was like, “What’s this? How do you play that?” And I’d say, “Oh, just twirl it around” [laughs]. This record is basically just adding a few more paragraphs on to the sentences we created before.
How does Delirium Cordia work live, integrated with the previous albums?
It works really well and makes the other stuff make more sense. It gives the ear a good rest. There are ports now we have to swim to—little islands in the middle of the set. The ear can only really hold so much information so now it has an ebb and flow and it’s really good. I basically drew up a different set for every night of the week. Every night we go, “Hmm do you feel like Monday tonight or Wednesday? Friday?” [laughs].
I understand there’s another Fantomas record on its way within the next year. What can we expect?
The next one is called Suspended Animation and it’s like a really playful, upbeat children’s record. It’s light and fun, almost goofy, but fast moving, quick changing and uses a lot of cartoon sounds and effects. I use a lot of musical toys on the record. Again, when we play that stuff live we’ll have a whole other set up. It’ll look like a romper room on stage with a trampoline. To me, logically, we should make a record that’s really happy-go-lucky and light on its feet after a record like this, which is like fucking anger. This record’s a nightmare. I know it’s a thick pill to swallow. The next one won’t be. And this great artist, Yoshitomo Nara, did all the drawings and artwork for it—cute Japanese art. It’ll be a funny looking package.
You also just finished acting in a film, Firecracker. How was that experience?
Every time you do something new, out of your element, it’s a little unnerving and strange. But that’s exactly why I did it. I knew it was going to be an uncomfortable environment for me. I had to live in Kansas for a month to film. I just recently saw a rough-cut of the whole thing and it came out better than I thought. Firecracker is a very weird, twisted, tragic redneck family, carnival mystery. It’s a bit film noir to me. But it’s also a bit kitschy and got a bit of a David Lynch thing. Visually, it’s gorgeous. Half of it’s black and white, half of it’s color—ambitious but the director [Steve Balderson] pulled it off. What a world though. Actors are a whole other breed of person. Oh my god, talk about high maintenance! I thought we were pains in the asses, didn’t have our shit together and were always showing up late! We’re like fucking accountants compared to these guys. The whole experience made me feel proud to be a musician [laughs]. But for all my bitching and moaning about vain, ego-tripping actors and actresses, everybody pulled it off. The people that I was worried about were all cool and unbelievable. It’s just a whole other set of tools they use to get themselves hyped up. I’ve never been part of a team that big before.
Is acting something you’d want to do again?
I might, if the situation was like this one where I really trusted the director. Steve asked me to do it and I said, “Why don’t I do the music?” He said, “No, I really think you have this in you.” It was definitely worth doing. I learned a lot, saw a lot and tried to keep my mouth shut. In bands, even if it’s a democracy, I’ve always known that I’m going to get my two cents in. But with this it was like, “Okay, I’m trusting you. This doesn’t feel good; it feels horrible. But it better fucking look good because I don’t know what you’re doing!” It’s all about trust. So I had a lot to learn. I was really on my own out there. A lot of times I’d be doing a scene and it felt like getting my baby picture taken or something. It’s that Goddamn awkward. Then Steve would say, “Okay, stop. Come over here and look at the camera. See what I’m seeing.” And I’d look and then realize that none of what I was doing really mattered because he’s focusing in on some fly on the wall—literally! I was like, “Are you kidding me? I’m wearing pajamas!” But none of those things mattered. It’s a complete illusion. It’s a total make-believe, weird world where everyone gets away with murder. It’s being completely outside yourself. I was a redneck in Kansas with blonde hair, speaking with a drawl and chewing tobacco. I was someone else.
They made you a blonde?
Yep.
Sounds like an adventure.