The Red Hot Chili Peppers: Gods of Sex and Funk
Last modified: 23:38:20 CET on 08 Nov, 2010 |
October 1991, Guitar Player magazine (USA)
thanks to Cristina Rivera for typing it out
click the thumbnail for scans
"This is not a commercial studio,” says John Frusciante as he ascends the creaking staircase. Right—as if anyone could mistake the ramshackle Spanish-style mansion for a conventional recording facility. “We rented the place for a few months and moved in our own gear. It cost the same as if we’d gone into a regular studio.”
“The house is haunted,” adds the guitarist. He indicates a candle-lit alcove off the second-floor landing. “I was sleeping right here about a week after we moved in, and I heard the sound of a woman having sex, but there was definitely no woman in the house. And other people who worked on the project have seen things.”
The beautiful but decaying hacienda in Hollywood’s Laurel Canyon has been the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ home for the last two months. “We sleep here, eat here, and every day we just wake up and start recording,” says John. “It’s a chance not many artists get—to not have to think about bills, answering phones, or shaking hands we don’t feel like shaking.”
Frusciante leads the way through a huge parlor, stopping to strike a single chord on a piano that probably hasn’t been tuned since talkies came in. As the sour notes echo against the bare walls and hardwood floor, he outlines the band’s recording procedure: “We all play together facing each other downstairs in the living room. The board is in the next room over, and we mike all our amps down in the basement.” John indicates a cement deck on the grassy hillside behind the house. “That’s where we recorded our rendition of Robert Johnson’s ‘They’re Red Hot.’ We ran cables up there, and Chad played drums with his hands. I think our version is almost as freaky by today’s standards as Johnson’s version was by his.” The tour concludes in Frusciante’s bedroom, bare except for mattress, ghetto blaster and CDs, a few of John’s paintings and scribbles on the wall courtesy of bassist Flea’s young daughter. “I recorded the acoustic guitars right here, and Anthony does all his vocals from his bedroom. Instead of looking through a window at three sweaty guys frowning in the control room, we’re looking out at trees and flowers.”
Judging by the assortment of rough and final mixes I heard, simple, well-focused living and a no-nonsense producer have done wonders for the Chili Peppers’ music. The band’s fifth album (tentatively titled Blood Sugar Sex Magik) is a giant step forward for the group, a record that’s paradoxically rawer yet more sophisticated than any of the Peppers’ previous work.
Producer Rick Rubin’s unapologetically blunt approach makes no concession to prevailing rock production strategies. He captures all the blood and sweat of real musicians pounding the hell out of their instruments. The true-to-life instrumental tones aren’t pumped up with digital steroids, and every song blasts from the speakers with naked, soulful ferocity.
But for all its audio vérité viciousness, the new material boasts a new level of ensemble sensitivity. Once-hyperactive parts have been pared down, revealing remarkable interplay and dynamics. Flea, 28, largely abandons his trademark jackhammer slapping for fresh, understated lines, while John reveals a mature, egoless style that belies his 21 years. For the first time, the Peppers scale the heights of funkiness attained by their longtime models, groove bands such as P-Funk, the Meters, and Sly & The Family Stone. But the Chilis haven’t sacrificed their over-the-top humor and intensity.
The Peppers may now be the foremost practitioners of that near-extinct species, body music that moves to a human heartbeat. “Nothing was recorded to a click,” insists Flea, and it shows: the group’s organic tempo fluctuations and near-telepathic polyrhythmic interplay evoke the great groove traditions of the ‘60s and ‘70s, but with a relentless ‘90s edge. Those who have previously dismissed the Chili Peppers as abrasive, unmusical clowns are in for a big surprise.
