“All my life has been a search for my highest self and a journey to the depths of spirit. Too often distracted by the competitive world, tripping over my own foolish ego feet, but driven by the beauty, I keep trying, and I stay the course, trying to let go and feel the truth of the moment. This burning thing inside has kept me always curious, always seeking, yearning for something more, always on the endless search to merge with infinite spirit, using whatever tools available…”
-Flea (from Acid for the Children, page 4-5)
I was never an enthusiastic fan of punk rock. While rock and roll itself is about rebellion, attitude and upsetting the system, it is also about love, positive social change and non-destructive partying. Punk rock, to me anyway, with its unskilled, atonal musicianship, ugly anger, nihilism, and hateful, anarchistic slam dancing, (I always found it funny how anarchists’ main desire is to destroy the very society that protects them and allows their free existence on this Earth; I mean, when you look at it, what real survival skills do urban punk rock anarchists possess? They are usually quite thin, pale, and not likely to know how to defend themselves against any serious, life-and-death threat. I’ve never met one who even knew to bathe regularly; although to be fair some of them do not have regular lodgings. Without government structure and the protection provided by law enforcement, they would be the first ones killed and cannibalized in a post-apocalyptic world. Someone like my Mom, who could kill a chicken with her bare hands and have it cooked over an open fire and ready in less than 2 hours, is the kind of person you want on your side in such a situation. But I digress…), seemed to me to be devoid of soul and any deep meaning. Sure I like The Ramones, Blondie, The Offspring and The Clash, watered-down new wave acts with the attitude (which I am not completely against) but the repulsiveness is turned way down. For the most part when it comes to punk I say “No, thanks! Give me ‘More Than a Feeling’ or ‘Layla’ any day!”
I had the good fortune to spend the last half of the 90’s working in music retail. It was the last great rock and roll era, before the recording business became a TV game show. And one of the gems of that decade, an album that went on to become a 4-star classic, was Blood Sugar Sex Magik by the California punk band The Red Hot Chili Peppers. Now that iconic band’s bass player, known as Flea, had penned a memoir titled Acid for the Children.
In Acid for the Children Flea (born Michael Peter Blazary) gives us a series of anecdotes and essays in four parts (that to me seemed almost arbitrary) that cover his life from his birth in Australia until his early 20’s and the formation of what would become RHCP. The book is more a mosaic than a biography; instead it gives us vignettes and leaves the reader to piece it together (I was not surprised by Acid for the Children’s structure when I saw in the acknowledgements section that David Ritz is the book’s editor. I have read a number of the celebrity biographies he has co-authored, including those of Don Rickles and Paul Shaffer, both of which were collections of reminiscences rather than a linear narrative that flows easily with a beginning, middle and end).
The chapters are short, some only a paragraph long, and the author’s direct and honest style wastes no time getting to the point of each section. He often jumps back and forth as if it were written with his stream of consciousness (which to me is not necessarily bad; it gives us a sense of the writer’s creative and thought processes) that make it a little confusing at times, but then again this is a book about a wild, alternative lifestyle and filled with interesting characters from out of mainstream society, so I assume that is part of the whole point he is trying to make.
I have great affection for non-fiction books that bring me into a world that is unfamiliar. Acid for the Children, which its title implies, has multiple chapters and innumerable long passages that deal with serious drug usage in great detail that were to me both fascinating and bone-chillingly horrible, and delves heavily and effectively into the almost dualistic lives of the denizens of Los Angeles punk rock street kid culture. It even includes something I usually find missing in music memoires: Details of how the subject practiced and became skilled at their craft. Previously I only found such specifics in Steve Martin’s Born Standing Up (another outstanding show biz memoir).
Flea knows how to paint a story using words, both artfully and technically, not so surprising when you look at the list of the author’s favourite books at the end (a list that includes preferred and influential movies and albums; something I felt was unnecessary). Unlike other rock autobiographies like Mötley Crüe’s The Dirt (an interesting read but with frustratingly poor writing), Acid for the Children has a soul and something to say other than every person in the L.A. music scene is an incorrigibly insane partyer.
Overall I was glad to discover that Acid for the Children wasn’t a name-dropping tell-all, but rather smart and sincere, with a clever sense of humour. And it is an enjoyable read, even if you are not a fan of RHCP, or of music at all.
*Please Note: The preceding review is of and advanced, uncorrected proof of the book Acid for the Children by Flea. The final published version may vary.*
Curtains Up reviewer Andreas Kessaris’s new book The Butcher of Park Ex and Other Semi-Truthful Tales (MiroLand) will be published on October 1. Pre-order here.
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