Open Letter to the Red Hot Chili Peppers

A short piece for anyone who's grown out of their favorite music.

This is as close to blogging as I'll ever get. Enjoy.

08.31.11

2:23pm-2:49pm

I don't want to listen to it.

I don't want to ruin all those wonderful memories.

Those formulating moments. Those little flashes of life you can still almost feel when you sit down and really think about them. Moments when you were still a kid.

Moments when your life was simple.

Even now I can vividly remember driving home on C470 after a game of drop-in hockey at one in the morning long before I could be out for any other reason at one in the morning, windows down, screaming along best I could with “Don't Forget Me.”

I didn't care about anything else in that moment.

I was happy.

Really. Fucking. Happy.

That sticks.

That feeling.

I don't want to soil those memories.

I don't want to view my past through the lens of my present.

I don't want to listen to it.

Somewhere in my brain, there's a little collection of neurons that fire whenever I listen to the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

I don't have much say in it.

I loved their music so much. Still do, in a way.

Bob Marley said music should hit.

But, of course, when it hits it causes no pain.

Your music doesn't hit me anymore.

And that causes me pain.

Your music has been such an integral part of my life.

You have been such an integral part of my life.

I have so many stories and memories that you contributed to.

You were a soundtrack.

If any greater force is watching me, they had to listen to a lot of your work.

I hope they liked it.

I know I really did.

I know I don't anymore.

At least not as much.

You guys aren't bad.

Just...dated.

Don't get me wrong.

Your music touched me. Greatly.

I will cling to your greatest work for the rest of my life.

But I can't promise it won't gather dust in-between listens.

Get stuffed in a shoebox somewhere.

Put on an external hard drive.

I'm sad to say it, but like so many first young loves, I'm ready to move on.

Unless, you grab my attention again.

Unless today's new single, all cued up on my only Firefox tab, shows me something different.

Makes me believe again.

And if I do, I will apologize for doubting you.

I will pull my foot out of my mouth.

I will eat my crow through a double-wide smile.

But I don't think that's going to happen.

With all the media we're exposed to on a constant basis, I think we viewers and consumers of content have a pretty good idea when something's past it's prime.

The signs are all there.

I'm concerned.

But you have been through this in the past.

You've continued to evolve and expand your style.

I hope you can do it one more time.

John Frusciante is an amazing man. Amazing artist. Amazing thinker. Amazing writer. Amazing visionary.

Better guitar player.

I will miss everything he brought to your music.

I fear he was the most interesting voice in your art.

His singing was really good too.

I await his next work with anticipation.

I await yours with anxiety.

And that's what these next moments are all about.

Nothing lasts forever.

The past is just that.

I hope I can still love you.

My ears and mind are open.

But that's always a relative proposition.

I am going to listen to you with purpose.

I am giving you my full and complete attention.

I hope it is not for the last time.

This could be a very sad moment for me.

Or it could be fine.

Nobody knows.

The fun of art is living through its history.

I don't want to listen to it.

I am pushing play.