Remember the extra-crispy-funky Chili Peppers? The naughty Chili Peppers? I'm talking about the Mother's Milk Chili Peppers? I'm talking about the Blood Sugar Sex Magik Chili Peppers? I'm talking about the Chili Peppers whose songs seemed to be named after some stripper ("Apache Rose Peacock") and be about Anthony's penis or his observations and escapades under the influence of some very intense California-grown pot or some other harsher, nefarious substance. The "Give-it-away-give-it-away-give-it-away-give-it-away-now" Chili Peppers of the early 90s that included Anthony "Sir Psycho Sexy" Kedis. And the mighty Flea who slapped his bass as if he was the bastard son of Bootsy Collins. And Chad Smith whose drumming rivaled any hip hop backbeat. And let's not forget the prodigiously talented John Frusciante's fiercly epic guitar work. Remember those Chili Peppers? Those Chili Peppers had a raw energy and sticky sweet sexiness that leaped out of my speakers and into my panties. Those Chili Peppers were sublime. They were really good. Now, they're just al'ight. What happened? Detox. More detox. Babies. Marriage. Mortgages. Haircuts. Grammys. These are all good things; however, in the midst of all this goodness, the Chili Peppers lost something. They lost their edge. The fire in their bellies appears to have gone out. Listen to Mother's Milk then listen to Stadium Arcadium and you'll know what I'm talking about. It's great to have the Chili Peppers alive and well and no doubt benefiting from their success, but did they have to sacrifice their edgy brilliance in the process? Perhaps that was part of the deal - the cost of getting older and a bit wiser. Or was Kurt Cobain right when he quoted Neil Young in that "it's better to burn out than to fade away"? Then again look at where Kurt is today.
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