IN REVIEW: Red Hot Chili Peppers - "Return of the Dream Canteen"

 

As the story goes, Red Hot Chili Peppers' reunion with twice-estranged guitarist John Frusciante was so inspiring that the resultant recording sessions yielded almost fifty songs, with the band hoping to drop a forty-song box set on their fans in lieu of a regular album. Ever in need of an editor, the band was mercifully told not to do that by their label; after some back-and-forth, a compromise was reached where the band would release two overblown albums spaced six months apart and give a proper home for 34 of the songs from those sessions (while saving two for bonus tracks and the other dozen or so for an as yet unknown fate). The first half of this behemoth saw light of day in April as Unlimited Love; looking back on my notes, the ever-present problem with the Peppers having too many ideas and not enough editorial willpower was my main gripe with that record, so what am I supposed to do with another, equally hefty batch of songs from the same sessions?

It's very difficult not to perceive Return of the Dream Canteen as a collection of leftovers; try as the band might to assure listeners that this album should be considered an equal to Unlimited Love (going so far as to hold certain songs off of the former to spruce up the latter), they aren't doing themselves any favours with what is officially their thirteenth album. That cover, to start with, has got to be one of the ugliest I've seen all year, even if it does convey the trippy mess that lives beneath the illustration; looking at that rainbow vomit while listening to lead track Tippa My Tongue sets the album up as a psychedelic funk journey that hearkens back to the band's chaotic '80s run, a time before Frusciante was even in the group. Following this silly but nonetheless respectable intro, we get to an obvious holdover in Peace and Love; a more restrained Anthony Kiedis performance keeps things from getting too goofy while his bandmates conjure up a heat-seeking radio missile that still manages to work in some psychedelic flourishes and another in the long, long line of Flea's funk bass clinics.

If Return of the Dream Canteen were a focused exercise in psych-rock funk, it could be the most intriguing Chili Peppers record in a long time, but that's not really what they're interested in; with Reach Out, some of the band's more questionable ideas start to appear. Smashing together off-kilter verses that seem to find Kiedis doing his best Kate Bush impression (with decidedly mixed results) with hard edged rock choruses, Reach Out doesn't seem to know what kind of song it wants to be. Eddie, what's billed as a heartfelt tribute to Eddie Van Halen, is held back from greatness by Kiedis' ham fisted lyrics ("Please don't remember me for what I did with David/You know I'm talking David Lee"?) and a dreadfully middle-of-the-road instrumental (minus, of course, Frusciante's gold star solo). This is followed by Fake as Fuck, which features an annoying back-and-forth between bland mid-tempo lite rock and fiery, fleet funk; like Reach Out, this song tries to force disparate sonic ideas to co-exist, but can't be bothered to work out proper transitions, resulting in a clunky cut/paste feel.

The funk returns with Bella and, even though this song sounds like the very definition of "Red Hot Chili Peppers funk song" (complete with California references!), it's done with the kind of swagger that reminds us why this band is still one of the biggest in the world; I can even forgive the cranked-up goof factor of Kiedis' delivery on the pre-choruses, thanks in part to the addition of horns that set the song apart from typical Peppers funk of the past. Roulette follows, taking the Peppers into a bizarre AM radio vibe but highlighting the Flea/Chad Smith rhythm section and featuring some pleasant acoustic strumming and Kiedis at his most tuneful, resulting in another of the clear candidates for "we kept this one off the first one so the second could have hits".

It's around this point that Return of the Dream Canteen veers sharply off the rails and starts to feel like less a companion album and more a dumping ground for the band's lesser material; My Cigarette is a one-note failed experiment that replaces Chad Smith with a drum machine for some ungodly reason (maybe he refused to play on this song because, you know, it's really bad), while Afterlife plays out like it's trying to turn the same trick as Bella but can't quite achieve a proper melody or summon much of their classic charm, and that opinion was formed before I heard Anthony Kiedis attempt to scat. Settle in, there's only eight songs left!

The next section isn't quite as off-putting, thankfully; Shoot Me a Smile doesn't scream out for repeat listening, but it's at least got all of its parts in the right place and carries itself along on a nice, breezy melody. Handful, meanwhile, aims for a somewhat darker vibe and pretty much achieves it; Kiedis' simplified delivery fits the song well (and those subtle horns are back, gradually becoming less subtle). Then, current single The Drummer arrives, and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it; as Flea and Smith pound out an energetic rhythm, the accompanying sounds and vocals seem at odds with it, as though some spare ideas were jimmied into the song. It's weird but not in a way that's thrilling nor offensive; as Red Hot Chili Peppers singles go, it's simultaneously their most interesting and forgettable in years, if that makes any sense. From here, we get the moody, tom-heavy Bag of Grins, a promising tune that offers a nice and heavy chorus payoff that slots in with, say, These Are the Ways; it's a welcome highlight at this point in the proceedings, and one that brings some much needed intrigue back in time for the album's final leg.

What a shame, then, that this final leg is so scattershot and half-baked; La La La La La La La La, a sparse piano/synth ballad that shines a burning bright spotlight onto Kiedis and some of his most head-scratching lyrics (working in references to Christopher Colombus, Happy Meals, Cheech and Chong, Indonesia and Norman Lear, all with little to no context), combining to form what is surely one of the Chili Peppers' most severe left turns but ultimately also one of their most ill-fated ideas. If smooth pop isn't doing it for you, though, don't worry; Copperbelly is next and is much more Peppers-by-Numbers, with its funky waltz feel and heavy chorus. It's designed to scratch the nostalgia itch once more but is destined to be forgotten by the time it's over, its unremarkable performance practically screaming "B-side". Ditto Carry Me Home, which attempts to conjure up some blues-infused emotion but ultimately sounds like it was abandoned after about the second take (even Frusciante's scorching solo feels tossed off). Closing out this 75-minute slog (which, I remind myself, was originally conceived as about three hours of music meant to be dropped on our heads all at once) is In the Snow, which brings back that infernal drum machine and stays in its own soup of beige slop (with a clumsy Kiedis spoken word section for good measure) for its six minute duration, which is not the kind of reward one should get for sitting through such an overlong, undercooked project.

Ever since their proper breakthrough over thirty years ago, this band has been in the business of quantity over quality; even said breakthrough, BloodSugarSexMagik, could stand to lose about four songs' worth of bulk. I can at least commend their 2022 albums for covering more sonic ground than the bloated, risk free Stadium Arcadium, which needed far less than half of its 28 tracks to get its point across. While we're at it, let's not forget that this is the same band who, in the wake of releasing one of their dullest and coolly received records (2011's I'm With You), gleefully packaged and doled out that record's leftovers one 7" single at a time, costing the average fan about $75 to collect. 

As easy as it is for me to say this could have been a much better experience had the Chili Peppers been more diligent, stuck with the best dozen songs across both albums and released a truly great comeback album (or, if they insist on two albums, put out the funkier stuff separately and make both albums more cohesive), we all know that this band is just not equipped to regulate what they're putting out. Return of the Dream Canteen has highlights, to be sure, but it also has plenty of songs that should have been relegated to actual B-sides or, worse, stayed on the cutting room floor entirely. Knowing that there are still about a dozen songs or so unheard from these sessions triggers a morbid curiosity in me, because I kind of need to know what wasn't good enough for this.

It's great that they're so proud of all they've accomplished, and I truly applaud the level of collaboration and inspiration that exists within this band; however, that doesn't change the end result, whether that refers to my opinion, theirs, or that of hardcore fans. Red Hot Chili Peppers are a well-established institution, too big to fail, not unlike a massive fast food corporation; they'll keep churning this stuff out whether it's fit for consumption or not, and the masses will happily consume it no matter what it tastes like or how sick it makes them.

October 14, 2022 • Warner Bros.

Highlights Peace and Love • Bella • Bag of Grins