What is it about Anthony Kiedis that makes me shit blood?
You know what it is? He's like that one stoner frat guy who transcends cool to such a degree that he doesn't have to move his mouth when he talks (with a slight lisp), doesn't have to wear a shirt (ever, because he has negative body fat), can wear a kilt to class, can smell like ass (and that's somehow deemed 'sexy' by girls who will never fuck you, not in a million years), thinks he can rap and so every other suburban dickweed mistakes him for someone who can rap, can fuck dudes but not be labelled 'fag' because he's just, you know, he's koo-koo krazy (!) and he listens to P-Funk and those guys smoke a bunch of weed and so, like, they're open-minded and shit! (reference 'Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On' or 'Pot Sharing Tots' or 'Maggot Brain'), can shoot smack and still look like he just pranced up to the tiptop of Mt. Ranier without breaking a sweat, can have a hippie/degenerate-dad named Blackie Dammit who made indie movies in the sixties...it's just not fucking fair.
The whole California punk-hippie thing gives me hives, it's true, but, on second thought, could it be that The Red Hot Chili Peppers simply stink to high heaven?
Nope, no they don't. Not at all. Despite Kiedis' public persona (I'm not acquainted with the guy, after all...he could be one helluva straight-up fella for all I know), he's in fine voice anymore and I can't say enough about John Frusciante (genius), drummer Chad Smith (perpetually hot), and, of course, Flea carrying a significant amount of melodic burden on bass. Their harmonizing on 'Stadium Arcadium' is all Smiley-Smile Beach Boys and weirdly beautiful behind all the angsty-funkmatizing.
My favorite track is 'Strip My Mind' , which is goose-flesh raising 70's AM radio psychedelia-lite. Not quite sure what it's about necessarily, but the man-chorus and the Frusciante-solo makes me wanna go smoke a bowl and reflect. Not that I do much of either of those things.
The track that reminds me that socks-on-cocks was edgey-cute for a nan0-second but is a concept that hasn't aged very well is 'Warlocks', which manages to showcase all of the Kiedis quasi-funky vocal quirks that made you hate him in the first place. But again, nice work Frusciante...
I 'spun' myself to the bone this last week: Back-to-back gigs, standing for hours and hours drinking Miller Lite after Miller Lite, fielding requests for reggae and dancehall which are genres I know next to nothing about, trying to scrape together a set consisting of Shaggy, Shabba Ranks, old Blondie and Toots & The Maytals...
So far this week I've learned that a truly successful 80's set consists of six songs:
'Mickey', Toni Basil
'Take On Me', A-Ha (NOTE: why?)
Madonna (anything but especially 'Dress You Up'...again...why?)
'99 Luftballoons' (the German version really sets it off. Why?)
'Come On Eileen' (ohmifuckinggod...WHY?)
Lisa Lisa And The Cult Jam (but then again I mostly 'spin' in Brooklyn...that's why)
'Freedom', George Michael (some sort of mass pagan ecstatic release takes place whenever I pick this)
Hasn't aged very well:
Peter Gabriel/Genesis (anything)
Yes (their 'Owner/Lonely Heart' new wave moment was a lot of clatter but to what end?)
'Electric Boogie', Marcia Griffiths (clears the floor immediately)
Patti LaBelle (oy.)
'Puttin' On The Ritz', Taco (could've predicted that)
Red Hot Chili Peppers (apparently undanceable)
Jody Watley (clubgoers wish they liked her more than they actually do)
Rick Astley (pure camp)
Boys II Men (not so hype)
...but nobody doesn't like Prince. If I play 'Kiss', I'm guaranteed a cattle drive to the dance floor. But a d.j. who leans too hard on Prince is one lazy d.j. as far as I'm concerned. However...
I was rocking the 12" version of 'Erotic City' at a breast cancer benefit yesterday in Park Slope and the pushy little she/he in charge of the operation gripped my forearm and huskily whispered to me, all on the down-low:
"You need to play some dance music or some reggae, 'cuz we need to pack the dancefloor, 'mkay sweetie?"
...and then she trucked off like a the husky little Prince-oblivious Italian-American manchild she prides herself to be.
If you can't swivel your ass-shanks to 'Erotic City' (especially the 12"), then you may want to consult your neurologist or pop a fistful of Paxil...do something...because that's just wrong.