For Me, There’s No Difference Between The Joy Of Life And The Joy Of Death

Time and place: 16.02.2004 at Hotel Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles

John Frusciante is the guitarist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers and additionally active as a solo artist.

Mr Frusciante, while reading articles about your person you inevitably have the following scene in mind: a music-obsessed vegan who is playing guitar practically 24 hours a day, listens to records and apart from that devotes himself to Ashtanga Yoga. How much of this is reality?
(laughing) Actually nothing except of the musical part. I’m eating meat again – if I don’t get my steak each day I can get pretty unpleasant. The Yoga is also done. In the meantime I prefer running cos it fits more my nature. Where I live is a good place to hop over the meadows [I guess John wants to say that it is a good place to run or do some sports]. I’m pretty agile. In a couple of years everything will be different.

Besides of the job as the guitarist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers – one of the most successful and active pop bands these days – you’re recording your own stuff tirelessly or do projects with musicians who are friends. Right before the death of Johnny Cash you were working with him among others as well.
You mean within the context of his interpretation of “Personal Jesus”? That was destiny. His producer Rick Rubin knew very well that I’m a fanatic of Depeche Mode because he is also working with the Peppers. Rubin had kind of a slow, dark Blues in mind but he couldn’t convince Johnny. As I knew Martin Gore’s original concept for the song by chance, it was pretty easy for me in the end to suggest him a corresponding version on the acoustic guitar.

You wanna release six solo records by the end of the year. Where do you take the strength from?
Obviously I carry a lot of energy within me – I love to work on music and to improve my abilities. That is no stress for me in the common sense. At least not anymore. As long as you’re in good health, take a bit care of yourself and are not using any synthetic aid in order to relax, everything’s fine. I’m lucky to know how that goes in the meantime.

Would you call yourself a music junkie?
No. To be honest that’s an inappropriate term. Music is nothing that literally enslaves me – but it’s the only thing that always stayed with me. You get back one to one from music what you’re investing in. You can’t maintain that of junk. You’re dedicating your whole life to it – with the result that it’s sucking out your blood from the veins.

Indeed nobody knows that better than you. After you quit the Red Hot Chili Peppers your four-years lasting fall into heroin addiction almost killed yourself. What’s your personal view on that period that must have hurt you a lot.
Oh, that never hurt me at all. You’re really mistaken. It’s vice-versa: I enjoyed the experience I made very much and don’t regret anything. I had a good time.

Should I take this for real?
Seriously. Despite all the problems and obstacles. Of course it’s no pleasure to get clean. Not to have a home and money. But in the end all these things are experiences that let me be that John Frusciante that I am now. I’m grateful for this period of my life. Someone who hasn’t made these experiences has no idea of how rough life can be. How it feels when every idiot laughs at you. When everyone meeting you looks away with a disgusted face. Just now where I can be a rock star for the second time I appreciate the privileges. A couple of years as a junkie without teeth put some things straight.

In what way did these extreme experiences particularly changed you?
My view on the world completely changed. For instance now I know how beautiful it can be to do nothing at all. Starring at a wall for a while until you discover all those hidden patterns and energy fields. Take your time for all the small things in life. Most people forget how exciting that can be. Recently I was looking at a painting of Basquiat for 20 hours – without a break. And without having put something away.

You really mean that you wouldn’t change anything at all in your life if you could turn back the hands of time?
No! For me there’s nothing more exciting than to be me at the moment – and I’m the product of my past. If I want that or not.

Then can you explain me why the only line you’re singing in “Regret” – a song from your current solo album “Shadows Collide With People” – is: “I regret my past/stay alone.” It couldn’t be clearer.
That’s a joke. (giggles) I liked the surreal aspect in it. As you can see in many of my lyrics I love to play with contradictions. The idea that someone could regret his past is a contradiction itself for me. You can’t reject something that helped creating the current Status Quo – otherwise you had to hate yourself automatically. And that would be a pure waste of time.

A similar surreal construction can be found in the title of your album. What you want us to say with it?
Often I try to use words in a way that leads reality to points you wouldn’t relate with it. I liked the idea of a shadow colliding with a real person – something that’s hard. In my reality something invisible has strength too. Strength can grow out of transparency as well, got me? Those contradictory pictures and ideas fascinate me.

Nevertheless: your lyrics seem to look back on and reappraise your past. Even though they trend to to be brighter and more hopeful this time.
I think it’s rather that I’m interested in arranging that period afterwards, transfer it to an useful pattern. I had many experiences that were just way too much for me. Just as I read a Aleister Crowley book many things made sense after all. I needed someone who had made the same experiences and explained them to me. Unlike me, Crowley is much more an analytically mind.

What does death mean to you?
Oh… I like the idea of death. (giggles) I think it will be fun. In my opinion death is something you should look forward to. Something exciting in every way. To be honest that is one of the main massages I want to convey through my music. People shouldn’t be afraid of death. This is not the end – rather a further life with different statues and realities. And so you get a completely different perspective on the things you have experienced and done on earth. All that stuff will be relative. It will be just like taking a trip.

How can you be so sure about that?
Because I know what I’m talking about. I looked across. Several times. For me there is no difference between the joy of life and the joy of death since then. Both are reasons to be happy – not to cry. It would be different if someone would commit suicide because he’s not doing well. That is not exciting, it’s an act of running away which might lead him to a fucked up place in the world of death as well. But if you do your best in earthly existence then you can look forward to the next dimension. And maybe you can even examine the tracks you left on earth up there.

Alright then let’s trace them back. You seem to have a musical background in your family.
Yeah, my dad was a concert pianist. A specialist of Beethoven and Chopin. At home we always had classical music playing. I grew up with this music. My mother was also related to the world of notes. At least considering her spare time. She loved to sing.

But this had no influence on your decision to pick up the guitar at all, or?
At least not directly. The first one that was really fascinating me was Cat Stevens. I was four years old and suddenly got a warm feeling in my body while listening to one of his songs. For the first time in my life I noticed that music can change the atmosphere in a room indeed. That music made the world more beautiful. At the age of six came the next turning-point. I got a Rock’n’Roll compilation from the fifties as a present. Containing “Louie, Louie” among others. The Kingsmen version of this song was driving me insane…and with me my parents. (laughs)

On your album the line “my radio is my heart/we live as one” can be found in the song “Time Goes Back”. What does radio mean to you?
Well, there were periods in my life where radio was indeed very important to me. Where I felt as if it was an organ in my body. It seemed as if I can command the radio station what to play next – and not vice versa. Now I don’t listen to the radio anymore.

In the end it was punk-rock that got you to be active yourself. What exactly was so fascinating about it for you? Was it the pain? The energy?
Hard to say. (thinking) It was the life-style connected to punk that was attracting me as a teenager. These guys appeared to be honest. Their art was very important to them, the centre of their existence. These bands meant what they sang.

Do you remember the moment when you met the Chili Peppers for the first time?
I bumped into Anthony before one of their early Chio (?) shows. He had parked his car right next to me and my friends and explained to us that he just went quickly on a contemplative excursion. In fact he just shot up directly in front of a police station which came out later.

It says that you were an extremely shy guy back then. Right before you joined the band in 1988 you was supposed to rehearse for Frank Zappa’s band but decided not to go right before the rehearsal.
That had nothing to do with my undoubtedly reserved personality. While waiting it came to my mind that I didn’t want to do that. Believe me I was prepared. The whole 15th year I was spending with learning Zappa’s music note for note. On request I could have even played that crap backwards. 33 complex instrumental tracks just out of my head. For me it was a big challenge – just because his music was known to be so damn difficult.

So what was the matter?
Everyone knew all these stories about how dictatorial Zappa acted as a band-leader. And that you had to play what he commanded you to. That had too little energy and sex for me. I was desperate to find my own voice. To discover myself – even with trying out cocaine. Zappa hated that. He hated drugs most. But I was dreaming to be a rockstar, to f**k with groupies and lock me away when ever I felt like.

You were doing both things later. How did it feel for you – an 18-years old die hard fan without any previous experience in a band – to play with your heroes suddenly?
It was overwhelming in every respect. Now I would say it was too overwhelming. (laughs) I didn’t even smoke pot back then. At this point my only achievement was to join the Chili Peppers. For me personally this already felt as if the world was eating from my hands though. That is not a healthy point to start with if you know what I mean. As stress and pressure set in – which is usual in a musician’s life – I mentally failed (collapsed) soon.

Just four years later in 1992 you quit in a confused state of mind. Besides drugs you devoted yourself more and more to painting. And eventually you even stopped playing guitar. Obviously you love extremes.
(laughs) You can say that. Painting – especially the study of Marcel Duchamp – was an absolutely important and healthy experience for me because it taught me a lot about balance and perspectives. I wasn’t able to use this knowledge as a painter. But now as a musician it has an effect like a miracle. I always try to fall back on visual concepts while writing a song.

How many songs per month do you write?
There are months when I don’t write a single song. Then there… (reflects) I assume that I wrote about 600 songs within the last three years. I started a list after the last Peppers tour so I don’t lose track of it. You can’t force inspiration.

Do you consider your solo efforts as an opposite pole in a way to your work with the Chili Peppers?
I don’t know if that’s the right word. Doing things exactly the way I have them in mind leads me to an excellent initial position for the next Peppers album. That’s the only way to clear my memory in order to get completely involved in a new concept. But it feels completely different for sure. Writing with the Peppers is a pretty slow, strictly organized and well-discussed process. The tracks are literally cut into pieces, analysed. On the other side my solo stuff just happens. They appear in my head, all of a sudden. Sometimes I even got the feeling that a certain song writes me and not the other way round.

Is this a painful process?
No, it’s fun. It’s like an old friend visiting me and with whom I have a nice conversation by chance. Writing songs is my private way to get in touch with the gods of music. Actually I’m just a medium. The more you are able to switch off your mind the better it will get usually. It has to flow you know. For me music is a group of good spirits – it’s my friend.