PATTONLAND

Gig Review: FANTOMAS, The Forum, 18 June 2005
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Patton's ladies. Photo by Savage Pink.

Over the course of their four records, Fantomas have had their wicked way with a mixed bag of oddball concepts, but the twisted musical vision of leader Mike Patton has remained remarkably pure throughout. It’s about the mutation and destruction of seemingly impenetrable boundaries: between horror and comedy; between metal and easy listening; between the ambient and the immediate. It’s about recognising that, when you squint your eyes just so, all of these things are essentially the same as each other. And, uh, basically it’s the reason why I can’t work out whether Fantomas are the soundtrack to the sickest David Lynch nightmare or the wackiest Tex Avery cartoon.

Onstage, Patton’s charismatic performance is the focus of attention, for both the audience and his fellow musicians. His demented, mostly wordless vocals consist of enough coughs, gurgles, screams and murmurs to threaten any thesaurus, each of which is manipulated further by his bewildering array of microphones and effects. Throughout the show he doubles as conductor, his physical contortions acting as cues for his unfeasibly talented band-mates. The Melvins’ Buzz Osbourne churns out complex guitar lines and breakneck riffs from underneath a grey cumulo nimbus of hair, long-time Patton cohort Trevor Dunn provides bowel-worrying bass, and drummer Terry Bozzio (standing in for Slayer’s Dave Lombardo tonight) pilots a kit so absurdly large it looks like he’s being gang-raped by giant tambourines.

Dalek had to set up Bozzio's drums as payment for getting their support slot. Photo by Savage Pink.

Practically every conceivable genre is given the Fantomas treatment during the course of the show, as Gregorian-style chants, cult-movie soundtracks, spastic grindcore and more are melded seamlessly together in one gloriously ADD-addled mélange that is equal parts terrifying and hilarious. At one point, Patton eyeballs the assembled throng malevolently as he summons great peals of feedback from his radio mic. At another, each instrument churns out caustic shards of tag-team noise like some form of musical Tourette's. Each new idea is discarded almost as quickly as it was picked up, and the cycle of tension and release is cranked into maximum spin.

Fantomas don't often make for comfortable listening, but they command your attention effortlessly, and it’s practically guaranteed that their restless experimentation and overabundance of ideas will provide the template for dozens of lesser bands in years to come. Ultimately, despite all their stylistic barrier busting, where Fantomas truly succeed is in emphasising the stark contrast between those bands content to follow as fashion dictates, and those that constantly challenge themselves and their audience, forging paths through unexplored musical territory and leaving so much scorched earth in their wake.