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When Roddy Bottum embarked on writing his remarkable autobiography The Royal We, the musician from Faith No More had a clear vision of the kind of book he aimed to avoid. “The kind that has pictures in the middle,” he notes, in a video call from Oxnard, California, where he is completing a new album with his band Imperial Teen. “I don’t care much for rock memoirs – they’re the most predictable, name-droppy, sub-literature experiences.”

The Royal We certainly isn’t name-droppy – Bottum leaves out the surnames of his bandmates. And while he details the team’s early days and early development, this is secondary to his “youth escapades” in San Francisco, “prior to the digital age, before the city’s decline.” Much of the emphasis is on his discovery of his sexuality, and how the associated hiddenness and shame have shaped his life. “From a young age, around 13 or 14, I engaged in sexual relations with men,” he states. “It was deeply forbidden, and that defined my life’s path.” In the memoir, events involving his seeking encounters in restrooms and parks as a teenager are described boldly and without regret. “I engaged with older men in secluded areas,” he records. “Initially with shame, later with pride. Get lost.”

“During presentations, I open with that segment,” he declares. “I am aware of the shock value in those words; it’s highly improper. But I’m not ashamed. In the era of Trump, my story must be proclaimed, to combat the prejudice, the anti-trans and discriminatory views.” He pauses. “I want to be provocative. Some of my family members are devout Christians, and I fully plan to disrupt their holiday meal with this publication. Since they will inevitably read it.”

The memoir opens on the teenage Bottum relocating from his birthplace Los Angeles. “San Francisco offered a sharp contrast to LA’s glossy surface,” he notes. “Cold. Gloomy. People with dyed black hair and white faces, individuals using hard drugs like meth and heroin. The LGBTQ+ scene in San Francisco stood in stark contrast to LA’s. It motivated me.”

Becoming Part of Faith No More

In 1981, Bottum became a member of Faith No Man, which evolved into Faith No More with Billy Gould and Mike Bordin, accenting their “powerful bass and drums” with “a sense of beauty atop that darkness. Most rock acts avoided keyboards back then.” They cycle through vocalists, including – briefly – Courtney Love, the memoir’s most striking figure, an bold instigator of turmoil setting apartments ablaze and alienating people constantly.

“Courtney and I both knew right away that we were soulmates,” Bottum says. Their non-romantic relationship briefly blurred into a physical connection, resulting in pregnancy and abortion; later, Bottum became a close advisor of Love and her husband, Kurt Cobain. Contrary to the negative stereotypes, Bottum describes Love as someone with wit, vitality and agency.

“Life was difficult for Courtney,” he agrees. “A divisive figure with immense strength, and highly intelligent. Such a character is fascinating to document. Her nature is caring and understanding, and few get to witness it. But we were very close and took care of each other.”

The Band’s Beginnings

The nascent Faith No More were, Bottum admits, “absolutely preposterous.” Their music revolved around insistent, weighty rhythms improvised while under the influence of multiple substances, including MDMA, while their frontman, alcoholic oddball Chuck Mosley, “didn’t have a good singing voice.” But they had aspiration. “The local music community preferred dark aesthetics, but we were fans of pop culture icons. In some crazy way, we imagined we were part of that mix. However, we lacked any pop charm or allure.”

But their sardonic rock-rap anthem We Care a Lot became a modest television favorite in 1988, Mosley handed over vocals to the photogenic Mike Patton (who did have a good singing voice), and by 1990 Faith No More’s third album was a bona fide, Grammy-nominated hit. As usual, The Royal We doesn’t linger over this triumph, shifting abruptly instead to their unsuccessful period on Guns N’ Roses and Metallica’s 1992 stadium tour.

“Heroin served as my coping mechanism for hidden truths.”

On the Road with Legends

It was, Bottum says, “the biggest tour that had ever happened.” But Faith No More were quickly distanced by the “poisonous” rock’n’roll circus they’d entered; in the memoir, he recounts an unsettling encounter with fans recruited for GN’R’s entertainment. “The sexism and arrogance from Guns N’ Roses felt overwhelming,” he explains. “They had that song One In a Million, with the N word and the F word [faggot], and that set the tone behind the scenes. I wanted no involvement. We resisted sacrificing our values for this negativity.”

The tour – from which Faith No More were dismissed two weeks early, for badmouthing GN’R in the press – marked a turning point for Bottum. “I had to embrace my true self,” he affirms, “to discuss my sexuality, to separate myself from this harmful atmosphere.” Against his managers’ advice, he came out in the pages of the Advocate the following year. “I stood alone as an openly gay man in rock music,” he emphasizes. “Freddie Mercury never publicly acknowledged his sexuality. Michael Stipe didn’t talk about it, nor Rob Halford, nor Bob Mould. It made me angry. It was essential to document my story, to encourage acceptance of LGBTQ+ artists. Many queer youth expressed how my openness impacted them positively.”

Personal Struggles and Sobriety

Bottum hadn’t even discussed his sexuality with his group, even though he travelled with his boyfriend on the tourbus. “They were accepting and would have supported me,” he notes. “The trauma of growing up gay during that time, the damage of the shame and homophobia.” He found immediate support from Cobain, the Nirvana frontman who was the proud antithesis of the misogyny and discrimination that had blighted the GN’R tour. “Kurt was a rare find,” Bottum says softly. “He embraced the idea of queerness for its rebelliousness. That likely strengthened our bond. He loved that I was gay, that that was a thing he got to be around. He stood out as extraordinary.”

Bottum became intimate to Cobain and Love, the trio bonded at the time by heroin addiction. Bottum