For anybody who grew up in metal in the late 80s/early 90s, Mr. Bungle were a disruptive enigma. They were spoken about with reverential hush tones as being a fiercely non-commercial bloodletting exercise so that Mike Patton could express his disdain at the unfeasible success story of his main band Faith No More. The bigger his day job became, the more he retreated into the anarchistic unpredictability of Mr. Bungle. For those of us being seduced by metals more avant-garde fringes, Mr. Bungle was an overtly enticing forbidden fruit. 

They released three distinctly odd albums during the nineties and made it over to these shores twice. But come the dawn of this century Faith No More had split up and Mike Patton was free from the confines of major-label dominance and therefore able to be as downright experimental and weird as he liked (and he did, go check Fantomas out). In other words, he no longer needed Mr. Bungle as an outlet for his musical eccentricities and accordingly, the band was benched.

Fast forward 20 years and the most unconventional of acts has taken the distinctly conventional route and reformed. However, this is Mr. Bungle and nothing is quite what it seems. In a move that is pure Mike Patton, they have re-emerged as a thrash metal band vowing not to go anywhere near the material that made them so influential and revered in the first place. To be honest, this rejection of their entire back catalogue has not dampened any of the curiosity and furore surrounding their return. The Ritz is absolutely heaving with a potent mix of metallers, jazz enthusiasts and inquisitive onlookers.

Pittsburgh's post-doom toilers Spotlights have been handed the coveted opening slot and they politely but diligently set about providing fifty minutes of dreamy din. They are effortlessly heavy and Sarah Quintero bass rumbles like a symphony of Pneumatic drills. What is interesting is how laid back and almost lethargic their performance is. They don't throw themselves into the creative process like other acts, instead the wanton heaviness unveils itself in a slow creeping manner.

Mario Quintero's vocals are thin and quaveringly introspective. It feels disarming to have noise this corrosive coupled with delicate vocals, but it works. It is those constant juxtapositions that make Spotlights such an intriguing and enticing proposition. It's doom, but doom refined and peppered with brooding contemplation. Given the shared vocal workouts between a married couple, the Sonic Youth comparisons are never far away. But this is Sonic Youth covering Sunn O))). There is a punk DIY aesthetic at play, but it is much less immediate than the New York trailblazers. Instead Spotlights majors in transcendental wistfulness, concocting a pensive sound that exists at the evil malevolent end of ambient. Hauntingly addictive. 

Thanks to the beauty of Setlist.FM it's common knowledge that Mr. Bungle's current show consists entirely of everything on “Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny Demo” and a plethora of genre-busting covers. However, being Mr. Bungle, nobody really knows what we are in for, and expectation reaches fever pitch as the intro of a distorted version of Strauss's “Also sprach Zarathustra, op. 30” booms out. In summary, What we get is an evening of irreverent antiestablishmenteranism that purports to be a metal show, but happily skips off into the nether each time he gets too close to conventionalism. The entire set leans into eclecticism never allowing us to stay within the same genre for long.

The thrash of the Easter Bunny stuff is remarkably well done, in the main because of the involvement of thrash royalties Scott Ian and Dave Lombardo. The former dispenses riffs at a tumultuous pace, whilst the latter pounds away with both power and breakneck speed. However, where the evening really heads off into the confines of the bizarre, is when they chuck out a host of curious covers. Seventies slow-burner ‘I’m Not in Love’ invokes the first singalong of the evening, and it is befuddling to watch Anthrax’s guitar powerhouse dispense a note-perfect version of the 10cc classic. They do not attempt to give it a metal makeover, instead Mike Patton leans into his lounge core persona, crooning as if he had a job on a cruise ship.

The inclusion of ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’ (yes that ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’’ from Grease) is an equally eccentric left turn. It is a given that Mike Patton has an impressive vocal range, and these detours into the world of torch songs allow him to showcase the fact that his golden larynxes are still very much in one piece. ‘Summer Breeze’ completes the triumphant of unexpected oddities. And it is performed in a laid-back surf core manner, completely bypassing the fact that it is pissing down here in Manchester.

Mike Patton may well be staring down the barrel of his 60th birthday but he is still a Bonafide goofball subvert. He is in uncharacteristically good spirits but still manages to be his antagonistic self; knowingly causing division with questions about the result of the FA Cup final, telling us we all should be at home watching Corrie and staring down audience members every opportunity he gets. His hair is tightly braided the result, he later tells us, of alien abduction. The hyperactivity of prime-time Patton has been scaled back. Instead, he happily plays with his table of toys, inserting into the mix unconnected whistles, samples and animal sounds as he sees fit. He also consciously upends the conventions of band introductions, turning it into a dad joke gameshow with wit sacrificed at the altar of the pun 

The beauty of any Mike Patton project though, is his innate ability to steer close to the wind but not into it. The musical abilities of everybody involved in this iteration of Mr. Bungle save it from being an incoherent mess. The eclectic nature of the show is consciously seditious, but it doesn't stop it from being deliciously entertaining. The greatest moment doesn't involve Mr Patton at all. Scott Ian and Dave Lombardo jamming out the extended intro to Slayer’s ‘Hell Awaits’ is a hair-at-the-back-of-the-neck moment for any thrash connoisseur. Witnessing Scott put his unique mark on Kerry King's immaculate refrains is just utterly breathtaking. They are doing thrash with their tongues permanently stapled to the cheeks, but it doesn't stop it being absolutely incredible and beautifully rendered.

They relent slightly towards the end of the set and give us a solitary track from Warner Brothers years, ‘My Ass Is on Fire’ from their debut album. Its stuttering experimentalism and use of angular time changes means that it sticks out like a sore thumb for the rest of the set. It's a joy to hear but it illustrates beyond doubt what a different show it would have been if they'd decided to go down the pure nostalgia route. No matter how unconventional the band some conventions are indisputable, and the encore is one. We get a frantic cover of Sepultura’s ‘Territory’ and then a blissfully nonsensical stream of consciousness from Mike about the London eye and aliens sending us a message via the medium of song. That “song” turns out to be Eric Carmen’s timeless ‘All by Myself’ recalibrated as Go Fuck Yourself. Puerile juvenile nonsense but exquisite in its enjoyability.

Mike Patton’s career has never been predictable and is unfathomable whether the culmination of this tour will signal another full stop for Mr. Bungle, or whether it is the beginning of a lengthy resurgence. Who knows, probably not even Mike. But the truth of the matter is a very happy audience spills out of the Ritz knowing one thing for certain, they have witnessed Mr. Bungle live and for tonight that's more than enough. 

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Mr. Bungle + Spotlights