Nevermen’s album is out today, and it’s a really good record. An experiment in collective sound production that took them years. I’m not a music reviewer, so I can’t tell you what it sounds like in terms of influences, but I can say that Patton, Tunde Adebimpe (TV On The Radio), and Doseone seem to have a good time singing back and forth to one another, echoing one another, building very stratified vocal harmonies upon an irregular sonic background. And no one prevails, but as Consequence of Sound puts it “they each have their own color, but for one to move, they must all move“. Despite all the layering, the songs on the album have beats we are able to follow easily at least for a while, so it’s a pleasant listening experience. I’m curious to try to listen to it with a good pair of headphones (voices coming from everywhere), and I’m even more curious to see Nevermen live: how will that work? How much improvisation can they afford without compromising the harmonic structure? Looking forward.
But aside from this, the only real issue here is that I would listen to anything, anything Patton does. And as we all know, he’s done a lot. I would listen to anything and try to go see him everywhere. I am inspired, changed, excited, impressed by him.
I am a fan.
I am also one of the thousands of women who periodically drool over photos of him and hope that one day, if he sees me once more (if he sees me at all) in the crowd, he will realize that he loves me.
Except he doesn’t.
Last night Nevermen hosted an AMA (Ask Me Anything) on the creepiest place of all, Reddit. Almost 400 people logged on to ask the trio a question (mine didn’t get an answer). Even though questions should have been focusing on Nevermen, many people took the chance to express their gratefulness, admiration, love for Mike, Adam and Tunde, or to ask them separately about other projects. Or to ask them what would a Nevermen pizza be topped with (answer: love).
Then a woman posted a long comment. A very long one. She had been a fan of Patton for more than 20 years – just like me and many, many others – and she too had confided in Patton’s weird genius throughout her life. She had saved money to go to his gigs, whomever he was playing with. And then one day, I suppose she finally managed to get to the front row, Patton called her out during the show, making fun of her weight in public. She asked him: what do you get out of doing this? Why do you treat your fans like this? She said that she really wanted to continue being a fan, but she couldn’t anymore. That experience (let’s think about it for a second: to be the butt of a fat-shaming joke in front of thousands of people, and the one making the joke is a guy you worship) hadn’t changed her love of Patton, but he had made clear that he did not love her back.
Why do we fall in love with artists? Do artists have the right not to love us back? Is the relationship between a fan and her/his idol a reciprocal one, and how?
Patton replied to the woman’s comment and apologized, which is good. But truth be told, even in my eternal love for him, I have seen him abuse the crowd many, many times. He called us names, told us to fuck off, picked on this or that person in the front row. Don’t like to admit it even to myself, but it is possible that Mike Patton might not be a very nice person.
He doesn’t have to be. We project our fantasies upon him (or any other musical idol) based on what we hear, the lyrics we learn by heart, the sight of a naked torso onstage, whatever. In Patton’s case, I think I can say that we are also inspired by his imagination and his versatility: so many males (presumably straight) love him as much as I do. Does he owe us anything?
Judging from his career choices, one can safely say that he would continue to make music even if no one was there to listen to it. Yet he publishes it and he seems concerned with getting his (and other’s) music out, for the sake of music itself and the benefit of people who may enjoy it. And we got to know him because of Faith No More, there’s no doubt about this. Some maybe were early Mr Bungle fans, but the worldwide following he has nowadays is an effect of The Real Thing, Angel Dust, King For a Day etcetera. You don’t just bump into Pranzo Oltranzista. Moonchild does not become the soundtrack to your morning commute (and if it does, hats off, but you’re insane). So we strain our ears and our wallets, in admiration of his originality and independence: and yet, so often we are met with what looks like utter disrespect. Like we’re a bunch of fools to stand and wait for him to come onstage.
I think we are fools, to a degree: our foolishness serves us well when we need something to look forward to in our otherwise drab lives. But even as fools, we deserve better than to be laughed at: an empty auditorium is a rehearsal, not a gig. And still, as a fan, I don’t really buy into the rational argument about us being paying customers who expect a certain standard in return. This is about love.
And so I have to ask you, Mike: deep down I know you don’t love me back, but please don’t tell me. You’re perfect, yes, it’s true: but without me, you’re only you.
The Opposite of Lifestyle 