Band Members:

Mike Patton, Trey Spruance, Trevor Dunn, Danny Heiftz and Clinton “Bär” McKinnon.

Albums:

Mr. Bungle (1991), Disco Volante (1996) and California (1999)

I first heard Mr. Bungle on KTRU.

I feel… strongly… About violence!

Patton, as in Mike Patton from Faith No More, shrieks the last part, and I’d like nothing more than to punch someone right in the throat. Hell yeah, Baby! Bring it on. That som-a-bitch cut me off, BAM! Wreck his shit and get out and laugh.

“Up your face, Douche!”

The song that revs my engine so is titled Love is a Fist, and is the first song of Mr. Bungle’s I heard. It jumps from a soft, creepy dream to metal and back. Horns punch up the rhythm. It is 441 horses of extreme performance. And it reminds me of my first fight.

We (R_, J_, S_ and myself) were 15 or 16, running the streets and up to no good. A lawn decoration duckling was stolen and thrown into traffic. Tires screeched as a cherry ’68 Charger abruptly stopped. Two behemoths jumped out. Some hilarity ensued. Next thing I know, two punches had landed squarely in my face, and both times I landed squarely in the bushes. There was a strangely erotic mix of anger, fear, depression, emasculation, restraint and shart.

Qiyamat Qiyamat Insan al Kamel

Mr. Bungle is the band I’d have with me if I were stranded on a desert island, though, truth be told, it doesn’t really matter what music I had, cause I don’t have a clue how to make a power source for an iPhone out of a coconut, but I digress. To the masses Bungle’s jumping from genre to genre (surf to carnival to metal) in the span of a few bars causes convulsions. I’ll be the first to admit they are not a instant party hit. But, they are like sex with a white, you know you done right. I suspect it’s my ADD riddled attention span, or the crack, or both, but when Stubb (A Dubb) passes from the lilting carnival carousel to the frantic Ska/Punk my pee-pee gets hard.

Take a dump, Baby, squirt some gravy. Pour some sugar on me, Honey, make it brown and runny!

Do you understand me? Do you think about me when you’re peeing?

I think everyone’s had the urge to scream in the middle of a quiet room/situation (e.g. the library or during SAT’s or as the Gynecologist is digging for cancer). Well, that’s Bungle’s music, letting loose the Id: fucked-up, fantastic and frightening.

My girlfriend has grudgingly come to terms with my spazmatics, though at first it was acutely disturbing to her. You see, these outbursts, like Bungle’s changes, are seemingly random and quite often chaotic. By way of for instance, there was this one time when I started moshing with myself, as I was driving. She literally farted out a squirt of pee. She had strained so hard to mash the invisible break, you know, the one we all press when the driver is doing something stupid, that her foot punched through the floorboard.

Ave Atque Vale

For those of you who don’t know, KTRU is Rice’s student run radio station. I can’t get into the mainstream stations. First, too many GAWD-damned commercials. Second, when they are playing music, you hear the same songs over and over, most of which cause the hairs on my scrotum to jump ship. Don’t get me wrong, KTRU has it’s problems, mainly the shitty music they play. A close second would be the absolute void of any and all personality in the DJ’s. Sun-bleached dog shit is more engaging. All that being what it is, between all The Hits™ and droning PSA’s there is the occasional gem. Mr. Bungle is definitely one of those.

Next Time on OALA: Tub Ring