Funky mothers of mayhem

John Lennon once said that every truth is universal. So, I assume other people also get disappointed whenever they buy an album from a great band like, say, the Rolling Stones or REM (or other groups with long shelf lives) and end up comparing the new release to early masterpieces. Of course, "Steel Wheels" or any album made after "Tattoo You" would sound like a geriatric Stones record compared to majestic musical statements like "Beggars’ Banquet," "Let it Bleed" or "Exile on Main Street." The same way that "Document" and "Out of Time" stick out in the REM discography. Since fans always love a dose of the old stuff, it has become a case of a band competing against itself. (According to Joni Mitchell, painters have it easy compared to musicians: "Nobody told Vincent Van Gogh, ‘Paint A Starry Night again, man.’") Artists from Joni to Mick Jagger’s band of emaciated gypsies had to deal with crap like that. The Red Hot Chili Peppers (hugely influential, sock-wearing, disaster-flirting, French-kissing, p-funk rock band) is in the same boat.

Does "By the Way," the latest Chili Pepper record hold a candle to the classic "BloodSugarSexMagik"? The answer right after a short chronicle of my love affair with the Peppers.

It was the twilight of the poodle-haired glam bands when I first heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Stevie Wonder and Jimi Hendrix covers. It was like finding diamonds in the sewer. Don’t get me wrong: I really loved Guns N’ Roses and the bluesy and brilliant decadence of "Appetite for Destruction." It was the other bands I loathed: the Wingers, the Dokkens, the Ratts, the Motley Crues, the pits. Aqua Net, torn pants, pink guitars, stilted songs about "sex, drugs and rock n’ roll" lorded it over MTV and the charts until that day came. Nirvana released "Nevermind" and the heavy metal posers in spandex were cut down by Kurt Cobain like — in the words of Tom Petty — "chaff before the sickle." It was the start of the early Nineties rock renaissance with the rise of bands like Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Rage Against the Machine, and, of course, the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

I remember going to the mall with only P150 in my wallet enough to buy just one cassette tape, and there lay titles that my Walkman was raring to swallow: Pearl Jam’s "Ten," Soundgarden’s "Badmotorfinger," Nine Inch Nail’s "The Downward Spiral," Alice in Chain’s "Dirt," the Singles soundtrack, Rage Against the Machine’s and Temple of the Dog’s self-titled platters, as well as Nirvana’s grunge atom bomb. For no special reason at all, I chose the "BloodSugarSexMagic" enhanced cassette tape.

How good that album is for me? Well, if I could go back in time (and if this were a strange world where Borges is god), I would lend money to my younger self so I, er, he could buy the P375 CD. It’s that good — from Power of Equality to Sir Psycho Sexy to the throwaway Robert Johnson cover. It’s Dr. Funkenstein, James Brown, the Sex Pistols, Jimi Hendrix, the Headhunters all rolled into one. I tried copying every bass note Flea made on that album and it was a magnificent failure.

That said, I’ll make the verdict that "By the Way" does not even approximate the red hot riot of "BloodSugarSexMagic." Nothing at all edgy about it. It’s even a far cry from the darker and deeper and much maligned "One Hot Minute," featuring Dave Navarro on guitar. It could be considered the logical follow-up to the stark and pop-oriented "Californication." But "By the Way" is a different and more melodic opus altogether.

Be prepared for a watered-down Red Hot Chili Peppers sound. There is the first single By the Way, with its catchy "Steak knife/card shark/con job/boot cut" rap. Universally Speaking, a psychedelic romp with a celesta-like solo, is another noteworthy track. But one of my favorites is Dosed, probably the next hit, with its shrill yet melodic guitars that slither through the track, complementing lines like "I got dosed by you/Closer than most to you." Which pale in comparison to wittier wordplays like "With birds I share this lonely view" (Scar Tissue) or "Twisting and turning, your feelings are burning, you’re breaking the girl" (Breaking the Girl) but proof enough that Anthony Kiedis is an underrated lyricist.

You might want to skip cuts like Can’t Stop (which sounds like a saccharine remake of Give it Away) and Cabron (a big Latin-flavored joke). Salvaging the album from mediocrity are fresh tracks like On Mercury (ska reminiscent of Fishbone) and the ballad Tear with a great horn solo, probably by Flea who once sessioned on trumpet on Jane’s Addiction’s Idiots Rule.

Overall? More restraint on this one. No jaw-dropping technical excursions. No evil Flea solos or syncopated grooves — like those in Naked in the Rain, Aeroplane, Funky Monks, etc.

Frusciante toyed a lot with effects in this album as compared to the raw, dirty, straight-to-the-amp Fender Stratocaster he employed on "BloodSugarSexMagic." There are even shades of U2’s The Edge in Don’t Forget Me, Throw Away Your Television and The Zephyr Song.

The funny thing about "By the Way" is that it’s closer to the Beatles’ "Revolver" or "Rubber Soul" than to a Sly and the Family Stone or James Brown record. But you might want to get hold of a copy, since it’s the most, uhm, "mature" RHCP disc to date.

The day I dread: Listening to a Red Hot disc and getting the vibe that Anthony Kiedis and company are hoarsely repeating themselves, duplicating past glories — like U2, another band on the brink of losing relevance. Maybe one day the Red Hot Chili Peppers will mutate into a Red Hot Chili Peppers cover band, an absurd imitation of itself — and be the best at it. Like the Rolling Stones. Which would be tragic.

Rating: 3/5

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For comments, suggestions, curses and invocations e-mail iganja@hotmail.com.