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20th September 1991, BAM (USA)
thanks to Gizem for typing it out
click the thumbnail for scans

They are as archetypically LA as Kareem hook shot, a Koufax curve, a stall on the Santa Monica freeway, a “sig” alert, an earthquake, a fad diet, a New Age healing process, siliconed bazooms, and lipo-suctioned backsides. They are the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Spending an afternoon with these legendary yaboos could have sent a scribe racing for the asylum not all that long ago. It’s probably a bit of an understatement to say that their reputation as crazies, capable of anything, precedes them. But this time around, hanging out with the quartet in the offices of a photographer friend is a leisurely way to pass a few hours, talking music and sociology, while reveling in the company of newly mellowed (or on their best behavior…who knows?) former maniacs.

It may seem a bit redundant to describe the spectacle that is this seminal band to any California resident; the band has been packing West Coast clubs and halls for almost eight years now. But, in the words of Carly Simon, nobody does it better. By combining the ferocity of hardcore/skate/speed metal with the unlikely sinew of classic George Clinton and Jimi Hendrix, the Red Hot Chili Peppers created a unique marriage – a bond, it should be noted, that has failed for many of their contemporaries. Eschewing the traditional bassist-as-timekeeper in favor of bassist-as-primary-instrumentalist, and then completing their calling card by adding a wildly flailing drummer pounding out classic funk beats at punk velocity, the Peppers formed a brand new beast, one that was always decked out in bizarre, post-hippie regalia…that is, when it’s even dressed at all. If this brew hasn’t always been captured successfully on tape in the past, a lot of it may have been the age-old “great live/ can’t get it in the studio” dilemma that’s been the downfall of many an electrifying band throughout rock history. But this time around, with a newly found emphasis on the recording process, courtesy of Rick Rubin – the man originally behind the Beastie Boys and Danzig, Public Enemy and Def American, and Run-D.M.C. meeting Aerosmith – the band just may finally change all that.

We’ve gathered to discuss Blood Sugar Sex Magik, the Peppers’ debut Warner Bros. LP, which hits the stores the third week of September, and which will be followed by a worldwide jaunt to sell it to the masses. Decked out in their customary threads – best described as “Southern California minimalist” (and which is rapidly reaching Southern California chic status – shorts, baseball caps, combat boots, etc.) – and hopping around to the booming strains of some old King Crimson, the Peppers seem thrilled as can be at the prospect of once again launching their singular, anarchic blend on an international public. Their last tour and album took the Peppers to heights that many a cynic thought they’d never reach; this time threatens to turn them into rock superstars.

And why not? Coming on the heels of Mother’s Milk, their first gold record, momentum is on their side. Not to mention a sense of liberation, thanks to a split with EMI, their previous label, with which they had a decidedly adversarial relationship toward the end. That split, of course, was followed by a huge bidding war between the major labels. It looked as though the band would end up with Sony, which offered millions…but Warners eventually upped the ante considerably. The Peppers should also be somewhat delighted by the vindication that comes from seeing nearly every garage band in America currently coming alive with a Chili-derived sound.

“Every interviewer asks what I think of all of the copycats,” says lead singer Anthony Kiedis. “I’ve finally gotten too tired to respond to it. After all, I can’t control what other people do. Let them imitate us if they like.” Bassist Flea agrees. “It’s flattering, really,” admits the man who does have a last name (Balzary). “If the imitation comes out of inspiration, how bad can it be?” Drummer Chad Smith, however, is a bit vexed by all the “inaccurate” comparisons. “I read an article that said Faith No More and Extreme are like us,” he complains, “just because of the funky bass playing and crazy lead singers. But they don’t sound like us. We didn’t corner the market on that shit at all.” And guitarist John Frusciante – who never removes his battered Strat during the interview, not even when we venture down the road to eat lunch at a small Thai restaurant (that’s either dedication or mania) – thinks “so many of those people miss the point with us. They copy the thumb-slapping or the silly faces, but they miss the essence of what we really are.” Which is? “We’re just trying to create the most powerful music in the world. That’s all.”

Even though I recently coined a phrase in the LA Weekly, and crowned these clowns the unwitting fathers of the so-called “Asshole Rock” movement, I can forgive ’em. I mean, they didn’t plan to have every frat kid with a hyperactive thumb ’n’ thyroid ape their image and sound. This is, after all, a band whose first gig consisted of one song, “Out in LA,” written on the night of the gig. Besides, the new album should move these guys even further away from the clan of imitators. “The showing-off by each of us on our instruments as individuals is over,” explains Smith. “With Rick behind the boards, we decided to approach these songs as songs, rather than as showcases for ourselves as players. We’re a lot more into one groove on this record.”

Indeed, a new, peace-loving, Pepper mindset is all over Blood Sugar Sex Magik. In fact, even though the band has used acoustic guitars in the past, and has, on occasion, added a quite ballad to the normal frenzied mayhem this group so loves to generate, never has the entire mood of one of its albums seemed this somber. They have to think about that one. “Perhaps it was the house where we recorded the record,” offers Flea. “We literally moved into this abandoned mansion in the Hollywood hills one week before we started recording, and didn’t really leave until we were done. Rick Rubin had built a little studio in the house, and we just lived there and worked, among the ghosts.”

Among the what? “The ghosts.” It seems that even elite Hollywood has haunted mansions. In fact, during a recent photo session shot at the said house, an image showed up in some of the frames that the photographer can’t explain, and which can only be linked to spiritual phenomena. The image was most evident in the photos shot on an outside bridge where the ghosts presence always seemed the strongest. “I heard the sound of what must have been the lady who used to live there, moaning, for about four seconds or so, like she was getting fucked or something,” says Frusciante. “It was totally amazing!”

Twenty-seven songs were cut for the new project, and then the weeding-out process began. In addition to the original material, the band cut a few covers, including several by the legendary guitarist who initially fused hard rock and funk together back in the ‘60s, and whose material the Peppers have covered in the past. “We did do a couple of Hendrix covers for this one, but they didn’t make it onto the record,” says the Peppers’ own semi-legendary guitarist, “‘Castles Made of Sand’ and ‘Little Miss Lover.’ They were good, but not so exceptional as you’d want them on a record.” In other words, they were a little too faithful to the originals, and not thoroughly Pepper-ized. Also missing from the American version of Blood Sugar Sex Magik is a torrid rendering of the Iggy & The Stooges anthem, “Search and Destroy” – which, for some reason, will make it onto the British vinyl version of the record.

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