No, I've never shot up coke or stolen baskets of food from grocery stores or stage-dove at punk rock shows or even picked up a bass for fun. But I can still relate to Flea's new memoir Acid for the Children chroniclign the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist from his childhood home in Australia to his teen life in California to finding a kindred spirit in Anthony Kiedis.
Why? It's not just that I'm a zealous RHCP fan (Blood Sugar is the best album and I will fight you on this) but what I read about Flea's coming-of-age story is something I can relate to, even though I never thought me and this wildly talented musician and actor had much in common....other than our unwavering line for the funkiest of grooves.
In his breezy writing style, Flea writes about being an outsider by way of his introverted behaviour, preferring books over partying. Facing a tumultuous childhood, Flea disappeared into books by authors such as Tolkien and Vonnegut. "While reading, all my confusion and hurt dissolved, and when I reentered reality, I was a little bit better of a person, a little bit more capable of learning from y missteps."
Hells to the yeah! When you're bookcore, that kind of sentiment resonates with you.
While I might not be in touch with heavy drug drug culture that Flea eventually found himself in, I could see myself in how he described friendship, extending upon a belief I've long had about the value of strong social connections: "Friends weren't just friends for me. For kids from stable loving homes, a true friend is a beautiful thing and part of an extended family. But for someone like me - and it's no coincidence that all the kids I became close to also hailed form broken homes - a friend introduced the possibility of true family."
When Flea met Anthony Kiedis, the singer for RHCP, in Fairfax High School, he found a kindred spirit, and the way Flea describes the bond is something out of a dreamy poem: "...when he started writing lyrics over my bass lines his artistry gave me new life. My heart grew a couple of sizes. The color of his words, the sharp sound of the syllables cracking together. Both his lyrics and my bass lines pulsed together, same as the heartbeat of our friendship."
Flea also found salvation in playing and watching basketball, another pastime I turn to more than most. He writes how the flow and rhythm and just even the boxscore of the games gave him comfort and stability during a childhood bristling with an alcoholic father and an indifferent mother. And he worked on his jumpshot relentlessly, instilling discipline in the young musician that would eventually lead to the same kind of craftsmanship he brought to his bass and trumpet lines.
There's lyricism within so many passages of this memoir, too many to cite, and it's refreshing to see Flea's voice come through as he recollects those highs and lows of growing up in L.A. What my main issue with Kiedis's Scar Tissue was how it felt like he wrote with someone else who helped massage the grammar and sentence structure. But in a musician's memoir, I'm not looking for crisp non-fiction; I'm looking for personality to come through the pages, even if the writing is a bit rougher than what I'm used to.
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