Pulse Of Twin Cities
Pulse Of Twin Cities
NOTE: You will find that some information in this review is anything but correct. I was the one who was trying to correct the writter, but he never actually edited his review.
Former Thelonious Monster/on-off-on-again Red Hot Chili Peppers axeman John Frusciante isn’t kidding with the title of his fourth solo effort since 1995, The Will To Death. Though he’s still in his thirties, the talented six-string-slinger has spent much of the past decade battling a ferocious heroin addiction, a habit that eventually led to his simply walking off a Peppers’ tour and disappearing for months. Thankfully, he’s come out on the other side clean and at his most musically creative since his ground-breaking debut with Anthony and Flea on 1989’s Mother’s Milk.
The Will To Death and Inside Of Emptiness are two of a four-part series of solo work John’s releasing this year—and a smart move it is, too. These songs are thick, haunting, aural vignettes forged at an anvil of pain and self-loathing, so don’t expect much of the old RHCP frivolity. Frusciante wisely decided to parcel the piece out in perfectly timed batches, making the albums not only a more comfortable listening experience, but leaving the listener waiting for—and wanting—more. An old showman’s trick, to be sure, but hey, why fuck with a formula that works?
The most interesting thing about these albums is the way they really high-light the man’s superb guitar playing—no ass-thumpin’ Flea bass or Anthony Kiedis histrionics to deal with here—and allow him to spew verbally (his voice ranges from a likeable mid-range to a shocking, high-octave holler that recalls the vocal antics of ‘70s Dutch prog-rockers Focus’ front man, Thijs van Leer) about his addictions, his depression, and his eventual Phoenix-like rise from the ashes. All subject matters his pals in the Peppers—who have been continually plagued by junkie guitar players throughout their career, starting with the OD death of co-founder Hillel Slovak shortly before JF joined the outfit—have surely long tired of.
That freedom that may go a long way towards giving him some much-needed closure on the issues that drove him to the rig in the first place, and the very fact that he’s suddenly become so prolific can only bode well for his future as a clean, worldly-wise, killer guitarist/songwriter—solo or with his mates. A pair of (admittedly) fan-centric releases that manage to both shine a well-deserved spotlight on one of the greatest guitar geniuses of the alt-rock movement as well as serve as a dire warning on the dangers and consequences inherent in the genre’s very lifestyle. Fascinating and soul-soothing—and definitely miles above that terrible Jimmy Page cut-out-bin insta-classic Outrider.
By Tom Hallett
