Aptly Named: "Angel Dust" Review

Album: Angel Dust
Artist: Faith No More
Genre: Avant-Garde / Experimental Rock
Length: 1:01:54
Release Date: June 8th, 1992
Label: Slash
Producer: Matt Wallace, Faith No More



Despite having just recovered from the rousing financial success of their 1989 release, The Real Thing, the wildly experimental rock group Faith No More denied the push for greater mainstream appeal, pulling a 180-degree turn and taking an entirely different approach to their sound. The result, Angel Dust, has proven to be one of greatest examples of success through experimentation and avant-garde mentality over stagnation and repetition.

It has also proven to be nuttier than peanut brittle.

Now, I’ve received some flak in the past for languishing on albums which hammer about on gimmicks and genre-benders rather than create a unique, self-proclaimed niche…not like I’m pointing fingers or anything [insert evil glare at Beck here]. At first glance, Angel Dust is nothing if not a “gimmick album”, sometimes completely hiding its hard rock foundations behind layers of bizarre genre insertions. Moments of thrashing metal or ballad-rock-esque riffage are certainly present, and indeed form the core of the Faith No More experience, but they tend to be masked by the outright twisted diversions the album often takes. Whether it’s cheerleaders chanting in the background of Be Aggressive, or the presence of sudden choir organs at the end of Jizzlobber (yes, Jizzlobber), there’s almost always something in each track meant to distract the listener from the band’s true roots. It’s often in these situations that I’m reminded of a magician performing a trick; it’s all about the spectacle and flair, meant to draw the eye (or, in the case of music, ear) from what’s really going on, never giving the audience a moment to wonder whether or not there’s any substance that lies behind the façade.

But in Faith No More’s case there is, and there are two simple reasons why: the risks they take are A.) justified, and B.) performed with elegance and class. You could certainly pick apart the album’s moments of mind-splitting, acid-tripping freak-outs and argue whether all of them are really necessary, but overall they tend to delightfully serve as means to an end, rather than the end itself. Take, for instance, one of the oddest of the bunch RV; here, multi-talented vocalist Mike Patton adopts the low-pitched, grumbling persona of a low-income, trailer-trash father, and describes – amidst the backdrop of a country-tinged guitar and fiddling piano – the utter amounts of sloth, stubbornness, and regret that define his pathetic life. You’re right to think that it sounds silly, and indeed the song will probably have you in stitches by the time Patton starts his lower-class rant about how his “pants fall down every time I bend over”, but there’s no denying it works. In addition to holding interest, this approach adds infinitely more credibility to the statement that the song is attempting to make about middle-America. Call it a gimmick, if you must, but while most gimmicks repel, this one sucked me in like a black hole.

Angel Dust is full of these brilliantly executed left-field moments, even in the times when the band is getting their rock on. Album opener Land of Sunshine is one of the more straightforward thrashers occasionally exhibited by the record, but when a series of descending keyboard notes give a dark, carnival-esque flavor to the proceedings, it makes even the straightforward seem intriguing and engaging. It even possesses some of the earliest proto-typical instances of rap meeting metal, lending to a nu-metal vibe that’s almost strong enough to promote mental images of Jonathan Davis and Fred Durst sitting outside the recording studio with a pen and notepad in hand, giggling wildly in hysteria. Other moments are simply, as the saying goes, “full of win”, such the track Crack Hitler (yes, Crack Hitler), which opens with guitar-scratching and funky bass so reminiscent of 80’s streetwise cop thrillers that it feels like it could be a suitable intro theme to Magnum P.I., or Midnight Cowboy, which is actually a cover of the theme of the 1969 drama film of the same name. And believe me, anything that could get to say words like this in a non-ironic manner is truly a few screws loose, if you catch my drift.

Of course – or at least as is my understanding – experimentation means nothing if the fundamentals aren’t in place, and Faith No More is at least competent in this area as well…unlike some people [insert evil glare yaddayaddayadda]. Patton’s aforementioned vocal talents are the strongest asset on display, capable of adapting to any needed role, from creepy whispers to fevered shouts to…yes, the rapping. The guitar tone and playstyle does not drift far from contemporary rock styles of the time, but it is executed with class, complexity, and even a few proggy outbursts. Interesting to note is that the bass and keyboards are practically just as prominent in the mix, if not more so, which lends a funky twist to the music. Surely, nothing about the music remains as interesting when the band’s experimenting gears aren’t spinning, but as far poppy, metal-tinged rock goes, it’s actually quite good in small doses, at least until the weirder stuff kicks in and things become deliciously haywire.

While this is certainly the magnum opus of Faith No More, and a prime example of how to properly create avant-garde music without complete failure, it is by no means perfect. In an album so rife with experimentation, it’s inevitable that some of them miss their mark with certain audiences; I, for one, did not gel with the rapping sections, though that may be because rap and metal usually mix about as well as pickled relish and raspberry jam. It’s also a tad on the long side, which may mean your interest may run dry over the course of a sustained listen. And indeed, as hinted before, one cannot shake the feeling that the underlying foundations aren’t nearly as stable without the extraneous layers to support it. And yet, for all its eccentricity, Angel Dust is still a work of art. With a bounty of clever ideas, thought-provoking lyrical themes, and even some catchy riffs here and there, it stands atop a pantheon of musical oddities to remain treasured as an influential classic. If nothing else, it’s good for at least one listen to absorb the kookiness that dwells within, as well as to affirm the idea that one does not need to be bland to be successful.

Great Gig in the Sky, Indeed: "Dark Side of the Moon" Review

Album: The Dark Side of the Moon
Artist: Pink Floyd
Genre: Progressive Rock / Psychadelic Rock
Length: 42:59
Release Date: March 17, 1973
Label: Harvest (1973), Capitol (20th Anniversary), EMI (30th Anniversary)
Producer: Pink Floyd




It’s a sad fact of life – at least in the world of music, anyway – that the greatest and most important creations and developments are often sadly overlooked. I can expect anyone to know who Britney Spears is, but I still get raised eyebrows when I ask someone about Iron Maiden, and I guarantee most people have no idea what a “Grandmaster Flash” is. In such a world, it’s become increasingly difficult for me to take anything that’s remotely popular or mainstream seriously, which has in part lead to my more “alternative” taste.

Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon is, in all respects, a glorious exception to this rule. Once my initial skepticism was pushed aside, I was overjoyed to find it to be one of the elite few truly deserving of its success and praise. And that goes beyond its purely financial achievements; at the time of its conception, DSotM was (and I am not exaggerating in the slightest here) an album destined by its inherent brilliance, creativity, and originality to define its era and deeply influence those to come from here to eternity. Whether that’s a statement that everyone wearing the Pink Floyd T-shirts they bought at The Gap can agree with is beyond me, but against impossible odds the fans and the critics – myself included – seem to agree, and so should you.

What’s truly magnificent about Pink Floyd is that the fame they acquired was due solely to the music they created, as it should be. DSotM is probably the best of their works to represent their ability because it is simultaneously their most experimental, so much so that it went on to define a genre that revolves around experimentation: progressive rock. Unlike their later rock opera classic The Wall, the album wallows in a sort of ethereal state, passing fluidly from one phase to the next, hard to grasp yet impossible not to be sucked into, like a musical vacuum. For this reason it’s hard to definitively break down DSotM into parts and infinitely easier to look at it as a whole, where the division of the album into songs only exists to divvy up the conceptual lyrics.

And conceptual the album is, dealing with some of the broadest and most complex issues: life, death, and that which takes place in between. Speak to Me / Breathe is the embodiment of life, represented by the throbbing heartbeat that ushers in the album, and the brief Eclipse ends it with a bold statement about free will. The remaining songs cover all kinds of territory ranging from religion (The Great Gig in the Sky) to greed (Money) to ethics and moral conflict (Us and Them), and are all delivered beautifully through David Gilmore’s spectacular vocals.

The guitarists and drummers do their task marvelously throughout, never overly technical and always in sync with the rest of the sound, but the real star here is the keyboard, courtesy of (recently deceased) Richard Wright. They are, indisputably, the key that unlocks the album’s almost ghost-like and oftentimes eerie sound, and this is clearly the album to which Wright contributed the most. Apart from that, the album’s atmosphere is accentuated by masterful mixing in of various sound effects and other oddities. The exact reasoning escapes me, but when a metronome syncs perfectly with the starting riff in Time, or when a melody of ringing cash registers and jingling coins kick in Money, it seems to make the song more meaningful.

Of course, the album does have its flaws. If you haven’t inferred this by now, know that it takes a patient and open mind to fully enjoy what DSotM has to offer. For something that has garnered so much attention, it’s surprisingly slow and lacks the focus and immediacy of most other music; many of its greatest second-long moments have buildups that can take minutes, as is the nature of progressivism. On the Run symbolizes this well; its long and repetitive keyboard noodling, accented only by odd sounds that pass in and out, may be as exciting to some as it is coma-inducing to others. Ironically, another potential fault can be found in its ending, which is sudden and lacks the explosive punch you would expect such an epic album to end at. In most other regards, though, DSotM is excellently paced and mastered.

Of course, maybe I’m being overly analytical (not like that’s a surprise to anyone). Bluntly put, The Dark Side of the Moon perfectly captures the time and place of 1973, perfectly summarizes a handful of life’s most vital aspects, and is a blast to listen to, all in one handy package. Beyond being the most important proof that music that impresses the public and leaves a massive mainstream mark is almost always made without the intention to do so (see also: Nirvana), its an album that actually received what it deserved. It’s a pity more albums don’t.

And R.I.P. Richard. We think you and your band may have written your own best eulogy for you: "And I am not frightened of dying, any time will do, I don't mind. Why should I be frightened of dying? There's no reason for it, you've gotta go sometime."