Serj Tankian

The anticipation in the air was fairly palpable. The crowd was mostly young white males, silently giddy in their black t-shirts bearing images of the most obscure bands on the planet. Did somebody say obscure band? For someone so famous within the annals of rock history, Mike Patton's sometime group Fantômas have certainly managed to stay deep underground. Yes, the Mike Patton of 80s/90s rock supergroup Faith No More. The Mike Patton of Mr Bungle, Tomahawk and more recently, Peeping Tom. Named after a popular protaganist in French crime fiction, the character of Fantômas was portrayed as a sociopath who enjoys killing in the most sadistic of fashions. Fantômas the band seem to love nothing more than assaulting all the senses of their audience in a similar way.

Mere hours after wowing the crowd on a tiny stage at Sydney's Big Day Out, Fantômas bound onto the stage, each decked out in cricket garb, bearing zinc on their noses. All except senior fuzzy haired guitarist Buzz Osborne, formerly of the Melvins - someone I guess you just don't enforce fancy dress upon. To much rapturous applause and hollering, the American four-piece burst excessively enthusiastically into their signature avant-garde metal material, making good on their puzzling but welcome promise to play the entirety of their brilliant 2001 album The Director's Cut. To put it as simply as possible, The Director's Cut is an record based on re-interpreting motion picture theme songs. To put it more specifically, Fantômas make these often nice, clean yet dramatic scores sound as if they have been reluctantly reborn, assaulted and fed a steady aural diet of grinning death metal.

On keys, Patton caresses and bashes his instrument to within an inch of its very capacity, and treats his vocal chords with a similar devil may care attitude. There's a bunch of groaning, moaning, falsetto screaming and violent head thrashing. Relatively new drummer Dale Crover (also formerly of the Melvins) showed off his frenetic mad skills, more than matching the sorely missed (by the fan-boys anyway) former Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo. They shocked and confused the giggling Fantômas virgins, they titillated and delighted every awed fan who had waited almost 4 long years for their return to our shores. They made everyone see uber-famous movie theme music, like that of The Godfather (played as a twisted thrash metal tribute to Coppola's masterpiece), Rosemary's Baby, and The Night of the Hunter (made into a macabre eerie lullaby) in a new light, as if someone had opened a door to a bright white hallway after you'd been in a photography dark room for 3 hours. Oh and did I mention Take Me Out to the Ball Game? Patton makes everyone sing along to the American baseball classic, gets out a plastic cricket bat, and proceeds to (or attempt to) whack crushed plastic cups and whatever else the audience catapulted his way. He also took a good, shit-stirring swipe at the state of Australian cricket. Be warned, it may take you days to digest and process this kind of experimental madness. And you never forget the sight of drunken men almost crying in a relentlessly grateful state.

What to expect of the headliner when half the audience leaves after the only support act? Well, the answer is, usually unfailingly - not alot. Having witnessed System of A Down frontman Serj Tankian's solo set at the Sydney Big Day Out the day before, I have to admit - as a solitary live artist, he just doesn't grab you. Sadly, this is also true of a longer, less blisteringly hot, intimate set. Oh, Tankian starts entertainingly enough. Solo, he is clearly a fan of a gimmick ridden theatrics, emerging directly after his chorus line-like black clad band in a white circus ringleader get-up, complete with top hat. Under a banner featuring the a re-worked Egyptian Eye of Horus, he encourages us to encourages us to Elect The Dead (also the name of his 2007 debut album). It's a somewhate confusing sentiment that sets the tone for the rest of the set. The old, incredibly politically passionate System frontman is still there, but in a slightly demented form, kind of like Hemingway past his brilliant prime. It's as if there's no one around to reign him in, and he desperately needs it. His band, appropriately is known as "The Flying Cunts of Chaos" - and his gratuitous use of the word garners him one of the biggest cheers of the night. Tankian's methodical madness is slightly less in your face solo, and based even more in a world full of metal harmonies. At some stages, 4 out of the 6 band members (of the FCC) are singing, and it makes for quite a pleasing sonic experience. Early on in the set he plays one of Elect the Dead's more eclectic tracks, Lie Lie Lie, a track sung like a circus ringleader he's dressed as with a serious sinus problem. The innocent enough "la la la"'s it starts out with turn into the sentiment "LIE LIE LIE" repeated over and over again in a strange and vicious fashion. From there, Tankian moves into 'Saving Us' a slow burning, almost bare acoustic sounding tune, that builds itself up into a frantic 4 man guitar and bass driven aural assault.

A fan of addressing his audience with the oddest type of candour, the sometime poet regales us with these words of wisdom: "the greatest love is that of unfulfilled love...you came to me in a dream in Paris...music belongs to the universe, not each individualist. I love you" before launching into the very pretty song Baby, a track coated in stagnant musings of lost love. Unfortunately, it was at this point the bogan sector piped up, drunkenly and aggressively screaming for Tankian to "TAKE OFF YER PANTS!" and "BRING BACK FANTOMAS!!" Regardless of these clearly audible bad apples, Tankian continues to wail, slither and entrance his faithful with a few tracks within the realm of an operatic metal universe of intriguing experimentation. Elect the Dead track Sky is Over emerges as an amazingly dramatic song in a set full of them, and it gives one the feeling similar to indulging in too much rich chocolate. At this point - you're kinda full.

Of course, Tankian then goes hell for leather. Political ranty Mcrant rant speeds headlong into historical territory, as Tankian repeatedly recites the WW2 sentiment (and song title) "PRAISE THE LORD! PASS THE AMMUNITION!", then launches hypnotically into its almost reggae theme, complete with a funky-as beat. Tankian dances joyously, using his hat like a kettle lid. And why wouldn't he? He is now singing the ABBA classic Money Money Money after all. I cannot explain how out of place, yet strangely fascinating this was. Tankian's voice seems rather well suited to the disco tune and the FCC have done a fairly impressive job of re-working it. There were grumbles in the crowd though, and I really can't blame them. This is a presumably very wealthy man who generally encourages us to believe in his "self righteous suicide", now jiving away comically like a drunk Greek dude at a wedding.

Much like Serj himself, the set and the light show swing wildly from light, airy and good natured (yellow and orange), to dark, moody and immensely introspective (blue and purple). Settling down to play the keys on closing track Honking Antelope, I can truly say this was the start of the most enjoyable part of his set, as Tankian wails about injustice, and manages to pierce your subconscious. The atmospheric encore was fitting - a cover of David Bowie's Space Oddity ("Ground Control To Major Tom"). The whole set I felt as though I'd be transported to faraway place I didn't really understand or care for a great deal. However, Tankian managed to redeem himself from whatever damage he'd previously inflicted with this performance. The remaining crowd were quiet and reverent, lighters were held defiantly aloft against burning thumbs, and it finally felt as though we were witnessing something special. And if nothing else, even if we didn't like it, he is gifted enough to leave us with something to ponder.

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