Rockol.it review of TROWFTD
12th March 2001, Rockol.it (Italy)
translated by me
It’s a stupid demand to fill the mouth with the given colour – an absolute metre of projection – a calculated judgement with a source closer to the object being judged. In this case, the judged object is the third solo album from John Frusciante and it should not be judged, but explained instead. The motivation – which should always be of mathematical kind – should be looked for, trace after trace, segment after segment and, in the end, inevitably, you’ll stumble upon the differences and similiarites with John’s work with Red Hot Chili Peppers, and the air will fullfill with the fantastic that makes up a constellation of a Frusciante’s day.
And it’s strange, but faster and linear reasoning will lead you straight forward with no obstacles, without making you even realise it, into the pensive life of an 18-year-old boy who has found himself, without even realising it, in one of the greatest groups of the alternative rock scene.
John Frusciante has left his friends Flea and Anthony during the BloodSugarSexMagic tour, having reached the peak of success. A person of his kind, lost in the ethearal sadness caused by who knows what kind of feelings was not able to deal with fame in ways other than being indifferent. Frusciante, the solitary boy of the band who likes to play his old instrument and toy with the brushes on canvas had the need, and only the need, to publish an album with a title that symbolises his purification, with a rather dull cover refering to its linear feeling of cold.
The need of feeling the souls that are being taken away in the morning, protagonists of the suspicious book chapters and, in between the done and the undone, as if they were scultures done by Michelangelo, as if they were parts of certain operas. And there’s pain, disappearing and the tension that’s paralysing the body in the mornings, promising us only what we already now. These are the sensations that were certainly accompanying John Frusciante during many of his nights and, perhaps, they’re also the moments of our most intimate parts of existence. And all of it has been gathered onto a CD, through the chords of a guitar and sad face of John Frusciante, his simple haircuit, his modest, ripped and non-matching clothes, a scarred body; the eyes lost in the distances of untouchable of the space and a perfect smile made out of fake teeth.
In Going Inside, the most listenable song on the album, Frusciante is talking about those forms of life surrounding him, that penetrate his flesh, spirit and his head, showing him the right road to take, in a life at the edge of a course. “You don’t throw your life away going inside, you’ve got to know who’s watching you and who besides you resides in your body.” Welcome back, in and out of the band.
—Valeria Rusconi
