After an 18-year hiatus, and six years of greatest-hits-style reunion shows, Faith No More returned this year with Sol Invictus, and while it’s not a jaw-dropping comeback on the lines of Alice In Chains’ Black Gives Way To Blue or the Afghan Whigs’ Do To The Beast, it’s still a worthy piece of the band’s discography, even if it takes some time to show its charm.

Recorded by the same five men that recorded Album Of The Year, Faith No More’s long-awaited comeback sounds like it could have been written (though maybe not performed with such conviction) right after its predecessor, meaning those thirsting for the sublime funk metal of The Real Thing or the manic genre collage of Angel Dust are in for disappointment. Taken on its own terms, though, Sol Invictus is a polished piece of groove-heavy and soul-influenced progressive rock music, one that sports, to its credit, the finest production of any Faith No More album since 1989. It’s warm, dry, and smooth, as befitting the record’s title. Recorded piecemeal and at a leisurely pace in Gould’s home studio (well, mostly — Patton recorded at his own home), with minimal input from forces outside of the band, it’s the most relaxed Faith No More record in terms of both tempo and attitude.

Patton pulls out a refined cast of characters from the rogues gallery that is his voice box, although he sticks in his middle and lower registers, suggesting that middle age might have shaved off some of his top octave. Still, the younger Patton might not have managed the subtle crooning of album highlight “Sunny Side Up” (one of the band’s catchiest tracks, bar none) or the bellowing fire horse that is the last half of “Cone Of Shame.”

Not to be outdone, the rest of the band plays it loud and, at times, surprisingly mean. Guitarist Jon Hudson is still sort of a non-entity, albeit one with a great chord vocabulary. He’s still a fine second melodist behind Bottum, and the two play nicely together on “From The Dead.” That said, there was a period of time where the album might have been recorded with Jim Martin, before the band decided that working with him would be too uncomfortable. As a result, while Sol Invictus is satisfying, it does carry a big old “what if?” in the guitar department. Gould and Bordin, though? They still have the low-end chemistry that was always the band’s spinal column. “Superhero” and “Separation Anxiety” are some of their most burly romps together and will be fine additions to further Faith No More set lists.

The very best thing about the album is that by Faith No More standards it’s pretty concise. Like many rock bands in the ’90s, Faith No More hamstrung themselves by trying to fit as much material as possible onto their earlier albums, and in so doing, sacrificed consistency. At 10 songs and just under 45 minutes of music, Sol Invictus is more easily digested in one sitting. That said, there’s still fat to trim. The title track and opening song is a vocal-less synth intro and, to quote a former editor of mine, the road to hell is paved with intro tracks. “Black Friday,” meanwhile, is almost great but still feels somehow undercooked. Worse is “Motherfucker,” a limp piece of hype work with a spoken-word vibe at the beginning — it’s probably the single worst song in Faith No More’s Patton era.

In contrast, however, “Matador” is one of their best songs, channeling the operatic madness of Angel Dust’s second half without any of the sonic excess. It’s painting with every sonic shade the band can muster, but it paints inside the lines. To some, that defies everything that made the group great to begin with. To everyone else, Sol Invictus is a fine reunion record, but one that leaves room for a superior, more adventurous follow-up.