Niandra Lades and Usually Just a Tshirt Review

John Frusciante is primarily known every bit a guitarist for the Cherry Hot Chili Peppers, filling that office from 1988-'92 and again from '98-'07. Before long after his first departure, a collection of the guy'due south domicile recordings saw release on Rick Rubin's Universal subsidiary American Recordings. Due to the RHCP association, Niandra LaDes and Ordinarily But a T-Shirt's ragged, surreal atmosphere has likely confounded more listeners than it's thrilled, equally major label-funded records don't go much stranger. In a sweet development, Superior Viaduct has given it its first e'er vinyl issue in a gatefold jacket with printed inner sleeves; the bonus pre-gild 7-inch is sold out, but the meat of the matter is bachelor at present.

During the post-grunge and Culling/ Indie '90s, the once cool, calm and nerveless major labels were scrambling amongst uncertain waters, signing acts with reckless carelessness and funding a agglomeration of sub-labels and side ventures along the fashion; the economy was booming, after all, and nobody wanted to miss out on a potential Adjacent Big Affair.

These circumstances resulted in a few truly bizarre records receiving corporate funding. A pair of examples: in '92, Reprise issued Pop Tatari by Japan'due south Boredoms, which gave hole-and-corner noise rock the Carl Stalling treatment, and two years afterward Geffen released Zero Tolerance for Silence, a solo dissonance excursion by noted and normally well-mannered jazz fusion guitarist Pat Metheny.

Niandra LaDes and Commonly Only a T-Shirt also came out in 1994, and if information technology was improve received than Metheny'due south curious i-off stylistic left turn, the overall response, seeing that it was the debut solo anthology from the former guitarist of one of the well-nigh pop rock bands of the era, was nonetheless somewhat muted.

Only on the other hand, this unambiguously druggy swoop toward the fringe was an utterly different brute from the Chili Peppers' funk-tinged Alt-arena rock, and to a fractional extent can exist accurately assessed as Frusciante's reaction against information technology. Just drink up that cover photo of the artist in drag, taken from Toni Oswald's moving picture Desert in the Shape; it'southward far from the sorta thing the jockish segment of the Peppers' fanbase would've been eager to deport to the cash register.

Likewise, the potential receptive audience for the record was likely averse to ownership unheard due to indifference of disdain for RHCP; I did hear Niandra LaDes shortly after it came out, and it registered as a turn for the twisted from a fella whose former band I'd long held at arm's length. Other reactions witnessed ran the gamut from utter disdain to a smattering of positivity.

American Recordings abetted this situation by reportedly and (unsurprisingly) doing next to nothing to assistance guide Frusciante's work into the appropriate meaty disc players, so perchance the initial impact was just about correct. Subsequently, its stature has grown, simply intermittent out-of-print status has kept it from attaining full-blown cult stature. It has drawn comparisons to Syd Barrett, Skip Spence, and Captain Beefheart.

Those are large shoes to make full, merely delight go on in mind the drug-bent ambiance mentioned above. Information technology's also a record of two abode-recorded sessions, Niandra LaDes essentially song-based and Usually Just a T-Shirt more than abstractly experimental. "As Can Be" makes it immediately articulate simply how twisted the tune-oriented half of the program can be, in part through the acidic nature of the guitar but more and then due to the unrestrained way of Frusciante's singing.

Fifty-fifty when delivering a reminder of his so-recent tenure in RHCP, as "My Grinning is a Rifle" does early in the set up, the sheer eccentric intensity of the vocals counteracts whatever accessible momentum. Yet, the numerous shifts in the relatively brief "Head (Beach Arab)" do underscore Niandra LaDes as more than a journey through the strung-out loner zone, a signal driven home further by a bold remodeling of the Bad Brains' "Big Takeover."

"Curtains" brings a switch to piano and with it a plough toward glammy pomp, and the audio-visual strum and tape-speed manipulations of "Running Away into You" conjure the psych artful of the Butthole Surfers applied to the solo-and-calm impulse. The "production" here is considerably more than merely pressing the play button, only it's still a stripped-down thing, which works in its favor, especially during the focused folky tunefulness of the faced-paced "Mascara" and the slower emotive strum-fauna "Been Insane."

From there, the instrumental "Skin Blues" moves from the coffeehouse to the opium den in under 2 minutes, while "Your Pussy's Glued to a Building on Burn" emphatically returns to bad trip psychedelia. "Claret on My Neck from Success" is rather plainly nearly his experiences with RHCP, and "Ten to Butter Claret Voodoo" wraps upward the Niandra LaDes half of the disc past becoming increasingly warbling and warped.

The 13 untitled pieces constituting Usually Just a T-Shirt are surely more than formless fucking around, but originally, mainly through the shift from songs to something nearer to abstraction, they could exist reminiscent of the addenda often featured on CD-era releases, fifty-fifty as guitar gems "Untitled #6" and "Untitled #7" sit in the eye.

Superior Viaduct'south reissue separates Niandra LaDes and Usually Just a T-Shirt's halves by LP, then information technology's much easier to requite each the deserved attention. Is Frusciante'due south starting time one as proficient as Oar, The Madcap Laughs, or Trout Mask Replica? Heck no, but it is a fascinating tour of a wild mind that holds upwardly well to contemporary listening.

GRADED ON A Curve:
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