Published on Dec 31, 1998
I still remember discovering the wondrous joy that is the Red
Hot Chili Peppers in 1989, after playing their album Mothers Milk
at the college radio station. Filled with a fervor about a group I
hadn’t felt since I discovered Black Flag and Husker Du, I rushed
out to the music store and picked up a few of the band’s older
albums, including their self-titled release from 1985.
To say I was a tad disappointed with this particular selection
would be a grave understatement. There were only touches of the
manic funk/rock that I had fallen in love with on Mothers Milk. I
had no idea what to call the sludge I was listening to.
Today, fourteen years after this album came out, it’s still a
tough one for me to listen to – and it does not rank among the best
work of Anthony Kiedis and crew. It might have brought them enough
money to buy some new tube socks, but that’s about all I can say
for its artistic (and aesthetic) merits.
While the basswork of Flea always seems to be on the mark, it is
the songwriting that is the most painful throughout The Red Hot
Chili Peppers. Check out the opening track, “True Men Don’t Kill
Coyotes” – what the fuck is this supposed to be about? Nah, on
second thought, don’t explain it to me; I don’t want to know. But
there’s not much of a rhythm section provided on this track. Things
don’t get better with the next tracks, “Baby Appeal” (the less I
know about this one, the better) and “Buckle Down”.
In fact, the only glimmer of hope I heard on the whole album
came on the fourth track, “Get Up And Jump,” a song which offered
some hints of promise for the Chili Peppers.Unfortunately, that’s
the only sign of hope for the rest of the album. Tracks like “Mommy
Where’s Daddy,” “Out In L.A.,” “Why Don’t You Love Me” and “Police
Helicopter” all serve to distract the listener instead of sucking
them in. Rule number one: You don’t alienate your listeners.
I’d like to say there’s some redeeming value to The Red Hot
Chili Peppers, but “Get Up And Jump” can be found on What Hits?!?,
meaning you don’t have to wade through all the rest of the sewage
to get to the decent material. (Of course, that’s not the only
track from the debut on that greatest hits album, or on Out In
L.A., for that matter.)
The sad truth is that this album is hard to qualify even as a
“for-the-fans” release, and would be well-served to be forgotten
about. Lord knows I’ve been trying since 1990.