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T he reformation tango is
notoriously tricky.
Audiences have an
understandable tendency to
crystallise a band in memory; their
apex forever enshrined, their
triumphs defining them. So when a
massively loved act dips its toes
back in the water, the results can be
judged harshly – no matter how
much the world’s changed. The
audience wants the high water
mark; passable, or even simply
‘good’, just will not do. When Faith
No More last released an album, Bill
Clinton was still US President and
no one had even heard of Monica
Lewinsky. The World Trade Centre
still stood, and a ‘Facebook’ was
something printed in the back of Ivy
League yearbooks. 1997 belongs to
another era: Faith No More fans
now have mortgages. So how do
the San Franciscans fare on the
tightrope? Very convincingly indeed.
The intervening years have seen
frontman Mike Patton involved in a
dizzying array of projects (all of
which have their absolute merits)
but none have seen him accused of
trundling out FNM-lite. Faith No
More is Faith No More, and six
years after their first refomation gig,
here’s an album. Sol Invictus
reunites the last FNM line-up
including founders Roddy Bottum
(keys) and Mike Bordin (durms), and
longtime bassist Billy Gould (who’s
produced Sol Invictus ). Patton’s
storming ferocity and ability to lift
the band (and the songs) to their
heights is – crucially – intact. Nor
does a single moment sound tired or
half-done: it’s energised, passionate
and rocks as hard as any record
they’ve ever made. The opening title
track gives us a strangely funereal
beginning, with Patton prowling and
threatening before the mighty
Superhero kicks us into vintage
FNM high gear, all majestic keys,
super-primed bass devasation and
with “Leader of men/ back in your
cage/ will you be one of them?” has
a Patton refrain to die for – it’s
devastatingly good. Sunny Side Up
is all loose funk and a slow, sure
build, while Separation Anxiety is a
march-of-the-warriors procession
building to a kill ‘em all/take no
prisoners crescendo. While Faith No
More explore a few fun textures
along the way (hear the Mex-
Reggae of Rise of the Fall), it’s a
potent resurrection of all we ever
loved about them. Jonathan Alley
MAY 2015 JB HI-FI
088
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Belters, Must-Hears,
Assorted Musical Wonders
and Other Curiosities
FAITH NO MORE SOL INVICTUS
Nutshell Verdict
’90s funk-metal lunatics return, humour
and honour intact
STACK Picks
Superhero, Matador, Separation Anxiety
You may also like
Faith No More, Angel Dust
”Look for me on the dance floor playing easy to
get” – that hook is buried seven tracks deep in
Hot Chip’s sixth album, but it may as well have
been the title of a record that comes over like New
Order on the pull at the local disco.
“I know every single we play tonight/ will
make the people just bathe in the light,” is the gist
of lead single Huarache Lights. The rest is a warm
and fuzzy man-machine détente that makes Daft
Punk seem like difficult listening, burbling with diva
squeaks, Vocoder, rap-lite interjections and sneaky
orgasms of disco strings. The Smokey Robinson-
styled smooches of White Wine and Fried Chicken
and So Much Further to Go are a little light on,
well, Smokey Robinson, but elsewhere there’s
tinfoil funk, chunky keys, smiley house beats and
glitchy synth goodness to drive you near enough to
senselessness. Michael Dwyer
Hot Chip
Why Make Sense?
Steve Kilbey’s daughters! Lookers,
too! Now that they have our
attention, Swedish-Australian twins
Elektra and Miranda Kilbey-Janssen
are hell-bent on steaming us into
submission in a synthesised sauna
of programmed beats and breathy-
sweet pop nothings. The reverb
thunderhead yields a couple of jolts
of pop-poppet electro in Games for
Girls and Nothing but a Heartbeat, but
the string-sodden cinematic farewell
of Peppermint is more Say Lou Lou’s
default speed. Pillow-talking lyrics,
tectonic undertows and icicle textures
are a reliable bridge between the
fragile beginnings of Everything We
Touch, the lusty preoccupations of
Angels (Above Me) and the breathless
passion of Beloved. A slight tonal
weirdness in the intro to Wilder Than
the Wind is a welcome curve in a
pretty strait-laced harmonic palette but
the crashing waves and ‘80s-styled
kick of the scarf-
aving closer,
kylights, should
eave dream-
op romantics
eliciously spent.
ichael Dwyer
Say Lou Lou
Lucid Dreaming
The British songstress’s Love
Your Dum and Mad
was one of 2013’s best
debuts; a beguiling suite of
gothic exotica that recalled
PJ Harvey or Nick Cave. Her
sophomore release is cut
from the same cloth, with
her rich and seductive voice once again weaving a glorious
spell. However, unlike her more minimalist debut, the sound is
fuller his time, with Shah and collaborator/producer Ben Hillier
matching her hypnotic voice with melodic soundscapes and
sinuous post-punk rhythms. Don’t let the title fool you – this is a
feast that’s worth savouring. John Ferguson
Nadine Shah
Fast Food
Nadia Reid
Listen to Formation, Look to the Signs
New Zealand is in the midst of something of a folk/roots
renaissance – Tiny Ruins, Aldous Harding and Delaney Davidson
for starters. Add Nadia Reid to the list of talented female singer-
songwriters bringing folk to new audiences. Listen to Formation,
Look to the Signs is the South Island songstress’s debut album.
Producer Ben Edwards provides a warm and suitably rustic
backdrop for Reid’s cool, smoky voice and her rueful tales of love
and relationships, best typified by the gorgeous Joni Mitchell-
esque single Call the Days and the languid melancholy of Holy
Low. However, the fuzzy jangle of Reaching Through suggests
Reid is unafraid to step out of her comfort zone. John Ferguson