Music

A Band, A Brother, A Book Gathering Dust

My Brother’s Obsession With The Red Hot Chili Peppers

Some things just go together:

Peanut butter and jelly.

Milk and Oreos.

My brother and Red Hot Chili Peppers?

No, no!

I’m not a cannibal, and this isn’t some bizarre dish I cooked up. Please don’t report me to the police for fratricide!

I’m referencing my brother’s relationship with the funk metal band, and how much they meant to him, especially as he was growing up.

When my brother was in high school, he picked up a copy of Scar Tissue by Anthony Kiedis, the lead singer for the Chilis. This fueled an obsession with the band that led him to travel two days overnight from New England to Louisiana to see the band live.

But we’ll get there.

First, we need to talk about a turtle.

Yertle the Turtle

“Hey Bill,” he said one day as we hung out. It was summer, and I was home from college, and Ben was off for the summer.

We’d always make grand plans and then end up screwing around for hours at a time, doing nothing.

“Yeah?”

“You ever hear the song ‘Yertle the Turtle’?”

“No,” I replied. “Let me guess, Red Hot Chili Peppers song?”

“Yeah, but hold on, you’ll like it.” He opened up his phone and pulled it up. I was immediately accosted by this guy saying, “Look at that turtle go, brooooo…” before the typical funk beat slammed in. Every once in a while, this goofy guy would come back, repeating the turtle line again and again.

It was really over the top too. I remember specifically how cartoonish it felt.

I looked at him. “Who is that? Is that guy in the band?”

He laughed even harder than normal. This was obviously the question he was hoping I would ask. Now he’d get to share the trivia he’d learned: “Nah, dude, he’s their drug dealer. They owed him money and told him he could do vocals for the band, so they let him be on this song.”

“That’s nuts!”

“Yeah, man, it’s all in here if you wanna borrow it.” He held up Scar Tissue. The copy had been dogeared to bits, and the cover was bent.

“You sure you don’t need it?”

“Nah, man.”

“It might be a while,” I said. My brother shrugged his shoulders, and I took it.

Funkadelic, Indeed

I’m listening to Funkadelic as I type this out, specifically “One Nation Under a Groove.” As I listen, I’m reminded of when George Clinton, the frontman for that band, produced Freaky Styley, the second Chili Peppers album.

I read that in a book.

Yes, that book.

It’s only been two years since I finished Scar Tissue.

That’s right: He lent it to me over ten years ago, and I carried it around for years before I cracked it open and read it.

I remember when I first told him I was actually reading it.

“Oh man, you’re reading it! Awesome!” He seemed overjoyed, completely unfazed that it had taken me so long to get to it.

“Yeah, man. It’s good. A little unbelievable at parts, but interesting.”

“I always thought he exaggerated a bunch, but I definitely think Kiedis lived a pretty involved life,” he agreed.

“What did you like about it most? I mean, I know you recommend it a lot.”

There was a pause. A sigh. Rain drizzled outside, and I looked out the window. My brother responded: “I think it’s the fact that he kept singing, kept making music. No matter how hard things got.”

It made sense. Ben had always wanted to live, eat, and breathe music ever since he was young.

And he was always sharing it with me at every opportunity.

“Music Is My Aeroplane”

Another, different summer.

This one was earlier. I was going to college in the fall, but it was still a ways off, like the island you kept rowing towards. You felt you’d never get there.

We’re driving to Walmart in the truck my dad let me use sometimes. He referred to it as my car, but it wasn’t really if I could only use it on specific days of the week, was it?

What else do you do in a small town in the summer in the evening? Answer: Drive to Walmart and walk around in circles.

At least, that was the plan for my brother and me tonight.

“Hold up.” My brother plugs in some weird accessory in the cigarette lighter and fiddles with my radio. Our best way of listening to what we wanted to before Bluetooth was easily accessible.

Some chill quiet guitar before a bass line and chorus screeches in from nowhere.

I smile. “Chilis?”

“Of course.” He smiles. But as it starts hitting, I start tapping along to my steering wheel. I’ve never heard this song before, and it is grooving, with an incredible soaring chorus that, after you hear it once, you can sing along with.

Before long, we’re both belting it on the way to Walmart:

Another Day, A Longer Drive

I’m on the phone with my dad, calling home from college. It was a more uncommon occurrence than my family typically liked, but I was trying to be better, play the role of the good son and do it more often lately.

My father was complaining: “Yeah, your brother decided to drive down to New Orleans with his friends to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

“Yeah?” I smiled. Good on him. He’s been talking about that band long enough. About time he sees them.

I looked over to see Scar Tissue again. It felt like it was looming over my life.

I’d get to it one day.

“Yeah. Apparently, one of the kids he was with didn’t realize that they didn’t have a diesel car.”

“Wait, what?” I snapped to attention, bursting out of thought.

“Yeah. He jammed it into the gas tank, filled it up, and then thankfully mentioned off-hand that it was really hard to get the diesel pump in.”

I was almost silent, other than a small gasp that expelled from my lungs.

It was enough. My father heard it, then laughed. “They barely made it to the concert in time before they had to drive all the way back again.”

“Did they have a good time?”

My dad laughed. “I can’t imagine they did, but…” he paused momentarily. “You know what? They’re young enough. They probably did.”

Giving It Back

“You finished it?” My brother smiled as I gave him back the book.

“I did.”

“What did you think?” He asked.

“I loved it, Ben. Honestly, I wish I read it earlier.”

“I get it, man. It’s long, and life gets in the way.”

There was a brief silence. Then I said, “Hey, I wanted to ask. How was the concert? When you saw them live? I never got to ask.”

He stared at me, then off into the distance. His lips curved into a smile, shook his head. So much was inside of him he’d never be able to express specifically. No answer would get out exactly how he felt.

He said this. I think it was as close as words would get:

“Incredible. Yeah, was it a ton of hours overnight to get down somewhere for a few-hour concert? Sure. But was it worth it? Of course.”

I could see more deeply.

I knew what he truly meant.

It wasn’t about seeing them live.

It wasn’t about Anthony Kiedis.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers were what my brother wanted to be.

One day, he wanted to be on stage. Rocking for an audience. Playing for someone else who drove twenty-four hours plus to get there.

Here’s hoping he’ll get there soon.

I’m Bill. I write about music and spirituality.

I’m listening to 1001 Must-Hear Albums Before You Die in a Year and documenting it on Youtube.

Give me a follow if you like my vibe.