Over Thirty Years Later and I Still Love Mike Patton
I had crushes all the time. My first was John Travolta/Danny Zuko in Grease. I made my dad take me to see it twice. When Olivia Newton-John’s Sandy storms off after Danny tries to make out with her I thought, “Kiss him! Kiss him, you fool!” Or words to that effect. I was five. A year later it was Mandy Patinkin as Che Guevara, taking a cork out of a bottle with his teeth in an ad for Evita. Stand back, Buenos Aires! I had a type.
As I got older, some of my friends gravitated toward boy bands like Menudo, then New Kids on the Block. My best friend Kerri still loves them. I loved tormenting her with Leper Messiah or Shine on You Crazy Diamond Parts I-IX. Musically, I had a type.
Enter, Mike Patton, stage left. I probably first laid eyes on him in a Metal Edge or RIP article about his band, Faith No More. (“Why don’t they call themselves ‘No More Faith?’” Kerri asked.) I was 16, he, 21. I was chubby and frizzy. He, equal parts angelic and demonic, with long, chestnut hair and abs that young men magically acquire without sit-ups. His voice spanned octaves, he sang in multiple characters, and seemed to live in multiple dimensions.
How to describe Mike Patton aside from “hot guy in a band?” I’m still not sure without tumbling over my words. You might know him from “Epic,” which, as is typical in the music biz…
