Location: Zagreb / Hipodrom / Croatia
Date: Wednesday, 08/29/2012
Good things come to those who wait! After more than six months of warming up for one of the biggest rock spectacles by one of the biggest bands of our time landing on stages near Slovenia, the heart was restless and the ears hungry for the kind of total party these L.A. aces used to conjure up– I’m talking, of course, about the funkadelic rock sensation Red Hot Chili Peppers. A band that literally embodies the spirit of rock’n’roll, the “sex, drugs & rock’n roll” credo, that can play funk and rap on top of three chords and reach for more atypical recipes too, and thanks to that very uniqueness and stubborn persistence they walked through the doors of the Rock’n’roll Hall Of Fame shrine this April. After repeated disappointments and cancellations of announced shows on this side of the Alps, skepticism had crept eerily deep into the subconscious, and resignation, should the Zagreb spectacle at the Hipodrom get cancelled too, would have been anything but welcome in lives already wound tight enough. August slowly, snail-like, tipped into its second half, and so the day of the show finally arrived, and a caravan of music-starved souls set off toward the Croatian capital. The concert was set for a warm, sunny, clear evening at a spot where horses usually test their strength, and this time the endurance test was meant for a crowd of more than 40,000 heads. One glance at the license plates of the parked cars and the endless columns of buses, vans, motorbikes and cars in the dusty forecourt of the Hipodrom made it clear we’d be standing shoulder to shoulder with Slovenes, Croats, Italians, Dutch and Hungarians, and among the music-hungry there were also folks from other corners of Europe and from the countries waiting in the EU’s anteroom. And there were a ton of them. Besides roughly 7,000 Slovenes, there were loads of locals and other music-loving wanderers.
I won’t waste words on the beefed-up security and the truly nonsensical demands of the nonviolent security guards, but let me just say Hipodrom Zagreb was guarded better than a presidential palace, and you weren’t allowed onto the Hipodrom grounds with backpacks or even the chains that kept your wallet safely hooked to your pants. The bravest left their personal belongings in an unguarded spot in front of the entrance, and despite the bad mood, getting through the gates onto the green was greeted with an exaltation that only the most fervent believers know. Passing through the portal, arched over with Petrol ads and R.H.C.P. asterisk signs, we all got a bag with a Tattoo sleeve inside, and on the grass in front of the megalomaniacal stage construction, hordes of youngsters decked out in their new removable body art started piling up. The more patient went straight off to quench their thirst with beer or water, buy a concert souvenir from the well-stocked stands with their pretty steeply priced shirts, or even snag a rarity from the discography of gems by the headliners of the night. Minutes turned into hours of waiting, and even before the first chords of the first opener, paramedics had to give first aid to some who had swum too deep into the pools of intoxication.
Around seven in the evening the first band, supposed to warm up the crowd, took the stage. The veterans of electronically inspired noise and chaotic disco As Able As Kane earned their spot on the tour with R.H.C.P. thanks to some pretty impressive stats. The band has been around since 1987, and unlike the melodic sweetness of mainstream rock, vocalist Paul Rawlinson, keyboardist, programmer and touring guitarist Simon ‘Ding’ Archer, guitarist Neil Robotham and keyboardist Tamsin Middleton (they had another member sitting behind the drums, but his name remains a mystery) from Manchester sowed a rather nasty mixture, digestible only for a handful of extremists of industrialized-aesthetic noise. Revolving Cocks, Ministry, Atari Teenage Riot, Young Gods and Laibach are just part of the spectrum that their repetitive string of canned standards draws from. I’d say this Frankenstein-style attempt at reviving stale corpses served up something I could hardly call a moment of perfect harmony with what we came to Zagreb for. The band’s 20-year break is palpable, and the fact is the speakers strategically placed on stage were meant more for intimidation and totalitarian propaganda than for relaxing the ears. As Able As Kane sound like a pneumatic hammer hooked up to pop-disco speakers, and instead of a conglomerate of a tight, well-oiled whole they offer a fairly primal racket of small ideas that, with a bit more careful polishing, could offer more than they do now. Songs like Concrete, Everything Is Real, Sharpshooter or whatever other gem from their latest studio effort Totalitarian Tip-Toe are a monotonous string of electronized wooden chaos that sticks to the ears roughly and robustly, and since this time the anvil on which fresh ideas for a new record were hammered out wasn’t in tune with my heart chakra, I chose to dodge the frontal outpouring of grotesque emptiness. The crowd was standing rather rooted to the spot and pushing toward the stage, but the truth is the gates to the grounds had only just begun to open, and throngs of young and slightly less young people were still streaming in, looking for their patch of space for a personal concert switch-off and the catharsis to come.
After a half-hour bloody baptism of the masses with the sounds of As Able As Kane, the prep for the next act began. As the evening’s second surprise, two young aces of a new-age classical that breathes with rock lungs strode onto the stage – the duo of exceptional cellists and entertainers 2Cellos. The Slovenian-Croatian pairing consists of Luka Sulič and Stjepan Hauser, and the YouTube phenomenon caught the crowd’s ears with a punchy, outstanding rendition of Smooth Criminal, written, recorded and danced up in the eighties by the King of Pop Michael Jackson. With that big trump card the duo kicked off their Zagreb set, while many who hadn’t heard the youngsters before wondered what else we could expect. In just over a year of making music, the young duo has already recorded two albums of covers, which under the fingers of two virtuosos get tailored so well that the two lads can slip them on elegantly. Damn! After the 2Cellos album came Welcome To The Jungle, and of course Smooth Criminal, and they even recorded some little Christmas tunes. Stats don’t matter, but the fact is the two lads broke new ground decisively, wholeheartedly and without any holding back for tomorrow. The bows glided across the strings, and despite the minimalism of the instruments, you have to admit two cellos can hold their own even in the vast expanses of a stadium arena. The next surprise was With Or Without You. The crowd joins in with the sound of the cellos and starts singing Bono’s words, and the Hipodrom breathes in sync in a spirit of total captivation and harmony. Thousands of phones go up in the air, and the half-dark of Zagreb’s temple of pleasure is lit up by the odd lighter too. 2Cellos flirt with the crowd and give a 110 percent combination of passion, music and a perfect feel for manipulating sound. The spell continues with more punch, as a third member of the band sits down behind the drums (his name unfortunately slipped out of my field of vision), and like balm for my rocker soul, the tones of my beloved AC/DC and their hit You Shook Me All Night Long slide out of the speakers. Nothing’s missing, and since success in chamber music can only be paved if the fingers are well greased, Luka and Stjepan dare to recreate not just the rhythm and melodic structure of the originals but also little extras, like Angus’s outstanding lead guitar. I can’t accuse them of cheesiness, and certainly not of half-heartedness either! After the last chords fade on one of the main pillars of the album Back In Black, there’s an unexpected leap back in time to the Bon Scott era with Highway To Hell, and since the guys are obviously well-read, after the legends of Australian rock they take on grunge and reach for Nirvana’s well-worn standard Smells Like Teen Spirit. Well… I’m not saying anything, but Lithium would have suited me better, that little voice that tickles the cerebellum. The cello bows groan and fray, and thick beads of adrenaline-soaked sweat roll down both musicians’ foreheads. A bow, then off the stage to thunderous applause, but the surprises keep coming. As a prelude to the main event and proof that R.H.C.P. had really made it to Zagreb, they return to the stage with a special guest of honor – drum ace and virtuoso of skins, cymbals and sticks Chad Smith – and for the big cherry on top of an outstanding stage performance, they play the big hit from the aforementioned album by rock giants AC/DC, the title track Back In Black. The crowd lends its vocal cords, and the trio on stage, despite how few they are, fills every gap in the souls and ears of the audience. 2Cellos earn a ton of points with me too, and I say we’ll have to keep a very close eye on these two exceptionally talented lads, because they can hold their own without reservation even against the more established and notorious Apocalyptica!
The temperature began to climb fast, and the field was running out of room to let loose, because the main moment of the concert was drawing near – the show by the giants of my younger years, who managed to survive what immediately buried countless other bands. The death of their first guitarist was the junkie rock bottom of this exceptionally talented lineup, but they picked themselves up and carried on with the exceptionally gifted guitarist John Frusciante. Jack Sherman and Dewayne McKnight “happened” along the way too, but it was Frusciante who marked the entry into the golden age of creating. A golden age that was at the same time soaked in hard drugs and self-destruction also led to Frusciante leaving the band at the very peak of its popularity after the release of Blood Sugar Sex Magika and falling into a whirlwind of delirious self-wringing, and the interim was filled by Dave Navarro. The band was on the brink of collapse several times, since the band’s charismatic singer Anthony Kiedis also walked the dark paths of intoxication, stubborn and gloomy, and after the dance with demons came a period of recovery and seeming normalization. Frusciante returned to the lineup, only to leave the band again in 2009. The question that remained unanswered for me until the Zagreb night was: “Can Josh Klinghoffer fill the void in the shoes that the unstable yet outstanding Frusciante left him as a dowry?”
I didn’t have to wait long for the answer, because after a half-hour break the stage filled up: Chad Smith behind the drums, the injured Josh Klinghoffer walking on with the help of crutches, and, along with a touring percussionist and keyboardist, the hyperenergetic bass oracle of the band Michael Peter Balzary, better known as Flea, and the grand wizard of stagecraft Anthony Kiedis. The first to break new ground is the opening track of the latest album, the song Monarchy Of Roses. The injured Josh sits on a stool and gives it everything he’s got, and both the left and right sides of the stage buckle under the seismic tremors of the massive bass that in Flea’s hands speaks a polyphonic language of pure organic inspiration and total playfulness. Chad rules behind the drums, full and uncompromising, and Anthony, despite the fact that he’s nearing the big five-oh, gives almost as much as he did years ago in his golden years. Decked out with a mustache and a short Rammstein-style haircut and crowned with a cap saying OFF, he uncompromisingly tops off the rhythmic foundation with his unmistakable vocals, R.H.C.P. skip any needless overtures and, with only brief on-stage jams in between, move straight into a run of songs that had the bulk of the crowd on its feet from the very first second. The audience sang at the top of its lungs and let itself be swept away at once by the stage show of the legendary Chilis, and part of the magic was also the outstanding projections that adorned the otherwise tastefully minimalist stage. A return to the album Californication followed, with the first trump card of that outstanding creation being Around The World, and all 40,000 throats in the endless sea of pleasure-hungry souls confidently join in with Anthony’s vocals. Snow (Hey Oh) is just the overture to the heart opening up and tears starting to flow alongside the sweat on faces when the chords of Otherside ring out. “How long how long will I slide / Separate my side I don’t / I don’t believe it’s bad / Slit my throat It’s all I ever had” are the chorus lines that slip out of the very center of the heart and fill the gaps in an auditorium saturated with nostalgia. Everything works perfectly, only Josh is struggling, with effort and a broken leg he injured in the Czech Republic, to cope with the pain, and even more with the expectations of the audience, which keeps comparing him to his mentor, friend and above all the architect of the sound that put the band on the pedestal of rock giants. Even so, the concert unspools like a well-oiled ball of thoughtfully placed milestones from a rich past. The crowd gets novelties like the latest single Look Around, which tells the familiar story of emotions, well-known melodics and also the somewhat more mature and calmer passion of men built of funk. Next come the provocative and artistically white-hot Throw Away Your Television, the kerosene-fueled dance standard Can’t Stop, spiced up by the outstanding, gloomy sharp diamond of Californication Emit Remus, and the old pearls that never fade don’t go missing for an inch either – Me&My Friends, the fragile and shattering Under The Bridge or the lift to a higher level of funkadelia with Higher Ground. It’s hard to bring even four hearts into harmony, yet the Chilis brought into harmony as many hearts as there are souls in a mid-sized town. That the foundation of success is bare, uncompromising rhythm is proven by Flea and Chad with musical interludes of perfectly controlled musicality, and the well-oiled concert machine of the Red Hot Chili Peppers also serves up fresh surprises that set one show apart from the next. One such outstanding moment was the excursion to the album Blood Sugar Sex Magik with the song Suck My Kiss, after which at least my soul shattered into a thousand tiny pieces that, with the help of the full moon reigning in the sky above Zagreb, glued themselves back together into a transcendent experience, and the grandeur of the first part of this exceptional concert was crowned by By The Way. The stage empties, and the crowd demands more with chanting. “We’re here to serve you!” are the words with which Flea gave his acknowledgment to the audience after returning to the stage, following a rhythmic performance by Chad Smith and the touring Brazilian-born percussionist Mauro Refosco, who with eruptions of precise strikes on the skins whipped up the throng of music-hungry hearts below the stage. Then both cellists of the exceptional opening act 2Cellos step onto the stage, and after an intense psychedelic jam session the contours of Californication emerge from the musical ejaculate. Anthony joins the band, having shed his excess outer layers earlier, and shares his twenty-year-old’s body with the world, though the wrinkles on his face give away the cruel fact that the tooth of time hasn’t spared even the indestructible Peppers frontman. The sensually unbuttoned verses and choruses of dreams about californication hint that there was precious little left on the menu, and after Factory Of Faith, the cherry on the cake of concert pleasure is an explosive, bombastic and extremely convincing rendition of Give It Away, after which the giving is over for tonight. Anthony leaves the stage with a last farewell and a bow to the audience, and to the sounds of an extended final jam session Flea bows on behalf of the band to a crowd of endless proportions, and after the standard handing out of sticks and picks to the audience, darkness fell on the boards of the Zagreb stage too, where one of the main spectacles of this year had undoubtedly just taken place.
The fact is that all appetites were sated, though it’s also true that the guys could have played a few more songs. We missed Scar Tissue, and maybe a Soul To Squeeze, and Hendrix’s gem Fire, and we could go on. It’s true that these almost 30 years of creating were rich, wild and fruitful, and that R.H.C.P. would have to be superheroes to meet everyone’s expectations, and a dozen albums is a bag from which, with a bit less effort, they’ll keep picking those twenty-odd songs to earn their bread night after night. With honest joy in their hearts the crowd headed for the exits of a venue where a new, reborn faith in miracles had sprouted, and few would have dared claim that the stage synergy of the freshly reunited foursome lacks what makes the future brighter and safer. Ideas clash, time passes, and the Red Hots shook the dust of aging off their shoulders for at least a moment and took at least me back to the best years – even without Frusciante, who after leaving got a diligent, conscientious and above all talented successor – so after the show I made a sacred vow: next time their tour brings them to Europe, I’ll surely come to admire them again, even if it won’t be so close to home. That’s my solemn word, and I know I’ll never regret it if I keep it!
author: Sandi Sadar Šoba
photos: Nina Grad
2CELLOS:
1. Smooth Criminal
2. With Or Without You
3. You Shook Me All Night Long)
4. Highway To Hell
5. Smells Like Teen Spirit
—encore—
6. Back In Black
RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS:
1. Monarchy Of Roses
2. Around The World
3. Snow (Hey Oh)
4. Otherside
5. Look Around
6. Throw Away Your Television
7. Can’t Stop
8. Emit Remmus
9. The Adventures Of Rain Dance Maggie
10. Me & My Friends
11. Universally Speaking
12. Red Hot Mama (funkadelic version – outro jam for Universally Speaking)
13. Under The Bridge
14. Higher Ground
15. Cosmic Slop (funkadelic version – jam, Flea on vocals)
16. Suck My Kiss
17. By The Way
—encore—
18. Chad & Mauro jam
19. Californication
20. Factory Of Faith
21. Give It Away
22. Final jam
