As previously documented on these cursed pages, I am somewhat of a Mike Patton fan, which is important to document certainly when you think it could impair your critical judgement. Patton’s influence has seeped into mainstream and popularist areas, including soundtracks, spoken word and more avant-garde work that doesn’t just stray from the path well-trodden, (with say Faith No More), but ceases to recognise said path, but views it as more of a roughly hewn staircase made of human hair and badgers tails, proving a hirsute staircase into the aural milkshake of Patton’s mind where musicality isn’t simply tied to a style per se, but more a platform to do whatever pleases him at any given point.

And here lies the fulcrum of what some struggle with when it comes to Patton’s work. Whilst it can be argued that ‘art’ is anything that elicits a reaction (true), when it comes the erstwhile FNM frontman, he can emit a stench of the self-indulgent. Occasionally there seems to be a decided lack of quality control given his freeform, devil may care approach to his music. There is a huge degree of free form ambiguity to Patton’s work, but I don’t necessarily agree that there is a larger, more malevolent, piss taking agenda at play here, but it is an accusation that is often levelled his way. Being so prolific, will invite such unkind and often spiteful critique.

And so, to the latest in the cavalcade of carnage from Patton Towers, which takes the form of what can best be described as a super group of sorts. Unbelievably, Tomahawk are now onto their fifth album since forming from the remnants of the hugely enjoyable movie soundtrack pastiche of Fantômas in 1999. Boasting a veritable smorgasbord of the great and good of alt rock and metal in guitarist Duane Denison [the Jesus Lizard), drummer John Stanier (Helmet) and bassist Trevor Dunn (Mr. Bungle). Given the constituent parts, Tomahawk, should (on paper) have set the world on fire, but in my opinion, curating their previous four albums, I would struggle to identify more than say five songs in totality from their back catalogue, that holds a candle to anything they have produced as individuals in the past. I found it all extremely middle of the road, pedestrian, quirky (not in a good way) and dull, as if the protagonist’s reputation were deemed enough and the songs were a mere distraction, an irritant and something that was assumed good enough. So, upon venturing into this, their fifth full length effort, I pressed play with zero expectations.

Was I right to be so prejudiced? Yes, I was. Was I proven right that this would be another mindless exercise in pomposity and an exercise in trading off past glories? Well no, not really. Fist fucking its way out of the gate and crashing its way through the doors like a pissed cowboy, ‘SHHHH!’ immediately sets the tone. Spidery riffs rain down like piss from a Dutch hooker on their third golden shower special of the night, as Patton channels his inner demons via his horribly itchy, whispered nightmare vocal delivery before everything straightens out into a catchy rock and roller. ‘Valentine Shine’ doubles down, as strong as anything on the last few Faith No More albums, punk in tone and caked in Patton’s distinctive chameleon like vocals, adding a sheen of unpredictability to proceedings. It’s a blinder of a song to be honest and has a kick-ass guitar solo that sounds off the cuff but probably it’s just designed to appear that way, in the way that hugely impressive and technical things often are. The excellence keeps coming with ‘Predators and Scavengers’ and ‘Business Casual’ which are aggressive, snarling, creepy slices of dirty Americano.

Tomahawk, seemed to have found their nasty side, and whilst not quite abandoning their mainstream pretensions, at the very heart of the band, roars a blackened furnace with an ear for a tune. Patton seems to be enjoying himself which always helps, being, as he is, the fulcrum of the band. ‘Howlie’ seems to best sum this up, bookended by grinding metal guitars and screamo vocals, with a soft center of veiled threats via Patton’s vocal gymnastics.

And there is enough of Denison’s epic Jesus Lizard guitar stink at work here, infusing much of what’s good about this album and when coupled with Staniers’ trademark stomping, militaristic drum heroics, it’s enough to have my heart all of a flutter (seeing as both Helmet and the Jesus Lizard would be in my top ten bands of all time). It all coalesces into somewhat of a triumph. My question to the band, would be why it’s taken them so long to create an album that comes close to being on a par with their rich and varied musical past? Maybe, that’s my problem, striving for the perfect blend of Tomahawk’s members past lives which upon reflection, is an unachievable fanboy pipedream. In summary, Tonic Immobility, seems to be the album Tomahawk have been threatening to produce since their inception. It manages to hit a rich vein of musical inspiration which has resulted in a collection of great, creepy, gonzo rock vignettes.

(8/10 Nick Griffiths)

https://www.facebook.com/Tomahawkband

https://tomahawkofficial.bandcamp.com/album/tonic-immobility