Fantômas – The
Director’s Cut
(A&M, 2001)
Buy the album
here
The Director’s Cut is an act of genius. Like many iconic films that bring us a new
perspective on familiar material with the release of director’s cuts, such as Blade Runner and Apocalypse Now, Fantômas take recognisable film themes and score
and nefariously twist and abuse them.
The result is a mesmerising concoction of batshit crazy tunes that
briefly touches down in every genre imaginable, all the while managing to
harness the essence of the original music it is distorting. Every song is injected with joy and
enthusiasm for the source material that cannot be faked, and even though those
sources are disparate the album holds together in part due to the utter
excitement each track builds. Fantômas
is the brainchild of Mike Patton (Faith No More), Buzz Osborne (Melvins), Dave
Lombardo (Slayer), and Trevor Dunn (Mr. Bungle), and is named after a French
supervillain created in the early twentieth century, and perhaps most
recognised from the film Fantômas (1964). The band pursues this not-quite-esoteric tone
with a track listing that tows the line of being interesting and important
while never completely obscure. If you
love the films from which they draw inspiration this is a fun way to experience
having your ears drummed off the side of your head by Dave Lombardo, but if you
don’t there is still texture, melody, inventiveness, and a sinister energy that
will bring you back again and again.
Mike
Patton always feels like the maestro behind his various side projects (with the
exclusion of Nevermen perhaps), and if you’ve had the chance to see Fantômas
live you will have seen him conducting the group from behind his desk of a million
noises. Whether or not they are paying
any attention to him is another matter, but it’s a joy to behold and to imagine
as the album cracks through this classic film music. Things get underway with one of the most
famous pieces of film music, The Godfather
theme, TRANSFORMED INTO UTTER BEDLAM.
All seems well and normal until the band tear into an insane thrash
reimagining of the music, as if the band asked themselves what The Godfather would feel like if the entire story happened in thirty seconds, and from
that point you expect anything. The fact
that Patton decides to retain his “who needs lyrics when you have barks and
grunts” vocal approach from the band’s first album is barely surprising, but it
is incredibly effective. Lombardo’s drumming
is off the charts, and when combined with Osborne’s wrist-wrecking riffing,
creates a dizzying desire to destroy your neck.
For the duration of that song, NOTHING ELSE EXISTS.
The
fact that they slow the whole thing back down again is only testament to the
craziness – as if they thought they might get away with it. Their adaptation of Henry Mancini’s work on
the 60s thriller Experiment in Terror
sounds like Melvins playing a fictional David Lynch stage with its drone and
lounge jazz components, while “Cape Fear” mimics King’s X but fronted by angels
struggling in the spiralling fires of hell (an unbelievable interpretation of
one of the greatest and most accessible film music composers, Bernard Herrmann). Their intent is to inspire a fear in the
listener akin to that felt by contemporary viewers of most of these films. Stories with dark hearts, suspense, and often
inexplicable evil met by modern music made of the same. In “Rosemary’s Baby” Mike Patton’s high-pitched
lullaby vocal and distorted xylophone perfectly capture the creeping fear of
that film, but the vicious explosions of guitar and drum violence don’t allow the
audience to deal with it rationally, keeping them perpetually perched on the
edge of their seats. Alfred Hitchcock
would be proud.
“Spider
Baby” lightens the mood with its Halloween party atmosphere, mental samples, and
background horns. If anything, it’s an
easier and dancier track than the original and shows Patton’s more playful
side. “Vendetta” (not the Danny Dyer
one) isn’t as light-hearted an interpretation, it carries the full weight of King
Buzzo’s guitar for one, but its inclusion of twinkling keys, vocoder effects,
and reality-bending theremin sounds provide effervescent relief from crushing heaviness. And it’s the perpetual guessing game of when these moments of frenetic insanity will burst forth that
give the album so much life. The peak of
this art of destructive homage is found in “The Omen (Ave Satani)” and a
frankly bizarre and brilliant reimagining of the music from the Audrey Hepburn
and Cary Grant romantic comedy, Charade. Buzzo’s guitar scratches at the beginning of
this song only give slight warning of the unexpected barrage of belligerent
rhythm section and weird staccato vocal barks.
Patton does his best to smooth this out with his insatiably rich voice,
but the hardcore attack has the final word and, much like The Omen, brings out the darkness that exists beneath the surface
of even seemingly innocent characters. “The
Omen” is an almost indescribable thrash/hardcore outburst with the original
Latin prayer lyrics sung in hyperbolic, monk-like fashion with a hardcore edge. Lombardo’s drumming is sensational, and the
speed of the whole thing has you bewildered and seeking respite as the track
segues into the dark slough of “Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer”. Fantômas, at this point, have me in the palm
of their collective hand.
And
talking of being in the palm of someone’s hand, given David Lynch’s leaching,
leaking, and blending of realities in Twin
Peaks: The Return, it is a shame that Fantômas weren’t invited to play
their great version of the music from Twin
Peaks: Fire Walk With Me on the stage at The Roadhouse. The mix of breakneck snare, Sci-Fi laser
sound effects, overly earnest vocals, and portentous bass would have suited Lynch’s
unsettling combination of pure evil, human kindness, and confused/confusing
realities. With all these realities
colliding at once I may have avoided the fanboy embolism that this album induces
on every listen. Fantômas made one of my
favourite ever albums.
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