In ‘The Royal We,’ Faith No More Co-Founder Tells All — But Skips His Band

It’s fair to expect a memoir by Faith No More’s co-founder and keyboardist to include a wealth of revelations about the influential San Francisco band. But if that’s what you were hoping to get from Roddy Bottum’s new memoir, The Royal We, you might leave sorely disappointed.

In his debut book, one of hard rock’s few gay icons does take a no-holds-barred approach to telling the story of his upbringing in Southern California and, in particular, life on the artsy fringes of 1980s San Francisco.

Yet, although Faith No More’s success was a huge part of Bottum’s life, I left The Royal We with almost no idea how the band actually worked together — on tour, in the studio, writing songs or on a day-to-day organizational basis once they graduated from van life. One is left with the impression that, while Bottum is willing to tick boxes here and there about tours, hotels and vehicles, he actively withholds insights about his bandmates.

What the 62-year-old does detail well in this memoir are his harrowing struggles with heroin and the loneliness he long battled because of his sexuality. Bottum shares some genuinely perturbing stories of sexual encounters he experienced with adult men while underage, growing up in Southern California. His journey to coming out in the pages of The Advocate is a fraught and sometimes frightening one. That interview he gave to Lance Loud, he reveals, was sold to the British rock press without his consent.

The Royal We shines when Bottum vividly takes the reader back to pre-tech San Francisco: the grime, the venues, the underground bands, the bike messengers, the “anything goes” of it all. Local legends like Frightwig and the Dicks feature fleetingly, alongside lesser-known characters from the old-school punk scene. Bottum is refreshingly frank about his own misguided cultural appropriation during that era. (There were dashikis and white-people dreadlocks involved, he admits.)

Later, Bottum very effectively captures the dichotomy of functioning as a gay musician in a rock world that was inherently homophobic. One of the high-points of the book is when he writes — and you can practically feel his skin crawling through the page — about Faith No More’s increasingly reluctant participation on a 1992 Guns N’ Roses and Metallica tour. His tales of rampant misogyny are a disturbing reminder of just how awful the pre-grunge rock world was for everyone who wasn’t a straight male meathead. In this section in particular, it’s impossible not to imagine how more of these music industry anecdotes could have opened up the book’s scope.

Throughout the book, Bottum revels in his lifelong friendship with Courtney Love, who fronted Faith No More for a short time. He actually devotes more pages to Love — and, consequently, Kurt Cobain — than to Faith No More’s actual frontman, Mike Patton.

Once the book reaches its final chapters, as Bottum wrestles with death, grief, sobriety and finding a path forward, it’s easy to forgive the omissions about his band. Perhaps his inner life ultimately has been more impacted by Courtney and Kurt than the musicians he worked with. His disinterest in discussing Faith No More in any depth would certainly suggest as much.

The most frustrating quirks of The Royal We have to do with Bottum’s refusal to adhere to certain writing rules. He, by his own admission, cannot remember when things happened, so the years that most events occurred are glaringly absent, even though many can be easily found with a Google search. Friends and family members die on one page, only to emerge alive on the next. Worst of all, Bottum refuses to include people’s last names. (Love is referred to simply as “Courtney” throughout.) This can be a source of confusion with some anecdotes, especially when it comes to matters relating to Bottum’s boyfriend Jim and his bandmate, guitarist Jim Martin. This choice feels like one Bottum has included willfully — almost a “you figure it out” middle finger to the reader. (He readily explains repeatedly that being a contrarian fuels many of his actions.)

Despite these issues, The Royal We is a mostly easy, compelling read. It’s a swift 252 pages full of youthful folly, alternative culture, unchecked rebellious instincts and an undercurrent of oddly formed faith that things will work out the way that they’re supposed to. Bottum’s seemingly lifelong refusal to succumb to planning — or frankly, giving a crap about much of anything — is often astonishing to behold.

Could we have used some (any?) details about the recording sessions for Angel Dust, arguably Faith No More’s greatest album? Absolutely. Would more rock ‘n’ roll dirt have been a fun addition? Undoubtedly. The overriding sense that The Royal We is not the whole story can’t help but leave the reader wanting more — especially when Bottum so carefully picks and chooses when to let rip his most searing vulnerabilities. It’s a truly wonderful thing when he does.

While this memoir doesn’t always adhere to the rules of the format, that is in many ways a fitting reflection of the way Bottum has lived his life. If he ever writes a follow-up to fill in the gaps, it will surely be worth reading, just as The Royal We is.

‘The Royal We’ by Roddy Bottum hits shelves Nov. 4, 2025, via Akashic Books, Ltd.