Thursday, October 10, 2002

Hi Samurai Nut Jobs:

I just got the new Spin in the mail. There's a letter about the Chili Peppers article saying that there isn't enough stuff about the record.

Um, like, totally duh--Rocky, or whatever your name is. Do you want to know why?

Try writing an article about a 16-song career-topping concept album when the record label (WARNER BROS.) won't even give you a copy of the record. When you "get" to hear 9 songs--including three that don't end up on the record--ONCE, on headphones in a hotel room--out of order, not even finished mixing.

I was fortunate that the producer let me come to the mixing studio to hear it once all the way through, later--after the piece was mostly done--and I only wish I had been crafty enough to smuggle in a tape recorder.

I wanted to write the whole article about the soul of harmony, the brain of John Frusciante, and the heart of Flea. But you can only do what you can do.

It's never very good. I always hate it. It always hurts. But then a year later you read it, as Ken Layne recently said, and you say, hey, not bad. That writer's OK.

Sometimes I think I am wasting whatever talent they gave me back in Babyland, wasting it on bullshit. I am quite certain that I am.

But it feels like my path. Walking through the Valley of the Shadow of Bullshit eventually teaches you who you are, or, more importantly, who you want to become. It clarifies you. It does not have to taint you in any permanent way.

So fuck it.

I'm gonna do my column-esque writing here on my blog, if I can't do it for a newspaper or magazine. Maybe it'll even be more fun. Of course, I don't know if I can do any real reporting--if anybody would talk to me for a fucking blog. We'll see. It'll work out.

Whenever I eat a hot meal, afterwards I understand that everything will all work out. Food is good food.



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