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EDMONTON - The CIA reportedly used the music of the Red Hot Chili Peppers to torture a confession out of an al-Qaida terrorist.
I'll talk, I'll talk, stop the funk!
So I guess that means there were 14,000 masochists at Rexall Place last night - enjoying every minute of it. This is a funky band, of course, the kind of band that plays the kind of funky grooves that make you want to say things like "hit me!" and "ow!" and "have mercy!"
Their very name speaks of something you wouldn't want to chew a whole lot of all at once. One might say it would hurt so good ... or maybe one wouldn't.
Anyway, I'm sure these musicians are nice guys. The last thing they need is to be a party to Geneva Convention violations. They just want to get funky, to play their non-violent music for their fans.
The band's been through a tortuous route to the top, laying claim to that elusive musical nexus between punk and funk and are now able to enjoy complete freedom to do whatever the heck they want.
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Mellow pop ballads? Sure. George Clinton funk jams? But of course! Throw in a Clash cover? Why not! If the terrorists hate freedom as George Bush says they do, there can be no greater band to be afraid of than the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The Chilis were a whole lot better last night than they were in the same building back in ought-three - an "off night," some observers figure - living up to their legend with a spectacular display of spirited performance and a beautiful stage show to back it up.
A weak link last time, vocalist Anthony Kiedis was in top form last night. He hit his stride early, jumping in after an instrumental jam and leading the band in a slow-burning opening of Can't Stop. The energy level kicked up a few notches in Dani California - the hit single from the band's new double album, Stadium Arcadium - the crowd singing along to the entire thing.
The song ended with a blistering guitar solo from John Frusciante, the Chilis' secret weapon. There would be many more fantastic feats of fretboard fireworks from this guy last night, including the surprise of him taking the mic for a Simon & Garfunkel tune. Didn't expect that.
While there were plenty of mellow moments that brought out the Bics, the band didn't hold back the rock. Bloodsugarsexmagik pumped out the bottom end, while songs like Charlie showed off the band's wilder, crazier side. Introducing Readymade, bassist Flea said the song reminds him of "the great Canadian grizzly bear ... and its mighty power," and also, something about sex. The funk always comes back to sex.
Now a word about the light show. Usually one doesn't focus on such trappings, but this one was incredible, on par with stadium shows by the likes of Pink Floyd or U2. The Chilis themselves stayed in tight quarters, usually occupying no more than a fraction of the available stage space, which allowed intimate communication between musicians you usually don't see in an arena show.
Above and around them, however, flowed a mind-blowing circus of psychedelic colours and effects. Rows of lighted bars extending from the back of the stage up along the ceiling functioned as a giant TV screen. Four other movable screens showed sharp images of the live band or whatever other effects the crew selected - sometimes it looked like an enormous neon Andy Warhol painting.
And one couldn't help but notice that the lighting crew outnumbered the sound crew five to one. Sound was easy - four guys, no synths, no sequencers, just the basics: voice, guitar, bass and drums.
But what guitar! What bass! This is the legendary Flea we're talking about here, slap bassist supremo, devoted student of funk from the old school. He's as much a music fan as a player, that much is clear.
At one point, Flea sent a song out to a woman who was "paying close attention" to the great - but very strange - opening act, the Mars Volta. He added, "Smart girl."
And so, speaking of unfettered freedom, it was good to see these Martian Voltic weirdos again. With eight-piece band to fully flesh out their wildest nightmares, the band's over-the-top Zappa meets Zeppelin schtick went over far better here than they did opening for System of a Down last year. Metal fans can be dumb, it has been said.
Once again, singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala and his boys trod the fine between brilliant and stupid (as set out by Spinal Tap), infuriating the listener one moment with long stretches of self-indulgent noise, dazzling us the next moment with impossible displays of musicianship and the keening, almost soprano falsetto of the lead singer.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: This band is what happens when you give drugs and amplifiers to jazz musicians.
Bonus points for the introduction: "We're Sum 41 ... are you happy?"
So happy it hurts, Cedric.