Jupiter and Mars: Musings on "Stadium Arcadium"

Today marks the 10th anniversary of Stadium Arcadium, the 9th studio album released by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It's my favorite record of all time - beating out the likes of Abbey Road, Kind of Blue, and The College Dropout - and is arguably the best representation of the Chili Peppers' eclectic musical style. It went Double Platinum in the US, birthed 3 consecutive number 1's on Billboard's Alternative Rock chart, and won 5 Grammys, including Best Rock Album. It's a monolithic achievement in modern music, the ultimate rock and roll statement of the new millennium.

...but why?

Well...that's a difficult question with a variety of answers. It's easy to make judgments about music (hell, I made a pretty massive one in my opening paragraph), and it's basically impossible to be unbiased in the process. But I feel I'm (pseudo)qualified to tackle this album. Because it's my all-time favorite? Perhaps. Stadium Arcadium sings in my soul, still as lush and vibrant as ever, a decade after I first heard it. So these are my personal feelings, 10 years later...

I was a high school junior at the time - a pimply, long-haired 16-year-old who never went anywhere without an iPod Shuffle (remember those?) and a Vonnegut paperback. It was a Tuesday, and my pal Brandon and I left campus during lunch to drive to Best Buy. We both needed a copy of the album. Immediately. We were already fans of the Chili Peppers, but the overwhelming radio saturation of the first single, the acid-rock "Dani California," propelled us quicker across town. Speculation dominated the drive over. Would the album rock hard like its single? Or mellow out, like many tracks on its predecessor By the Way? A week or so earlier, the record leaked online, but we refused to investigate. Why ruin the surprise?

Disc 1: Jupiter

And surprised we were. In a really, really good way. The first thing I noticed was that it was a double-album, with its discs being named Jupiter and Mars. How cool is that? But as we started listening on the way back to school, I forgot about the album art and instead got lost in sound. We only had time to get through the first 3 tracks - "Dani California," the power-pop ballad "Snow (Hey Oh)," and my immediate favorite, the freaky-funky "Charlie." After school, I put the CD in my stereo and dug in deeper. That first time through, the standout tunes were obvious: "Hump de Bump" has one of the most inventive drum solos ever recorded on a rock album, "Hey" is a rhythmic ballad with imaginative harmonies, and "Readymade" hits hard with an unexpectedly slick guitar solo.

As time passed, I listened to the album ad nauseam. In the process, I fell in love with the band all over again - with Flea's melodic bass, Smith's in-the-pocket percussion, Kiedis's soaring vocals, and Frusciante's screaming guitar and soothing harmonies. The way these elements weave together, with nuance and musicality and sheer charisma, is astounding. On this album, the band ceases to be 4 well-rehearsed musicians, instead becoming a solitary, enduring entity. When critics talk about "musical chemistry," this is what they mean. For years, I don't think a week went by without re-listening to the whole damn thing. I was, and still am, enraptured.

Disc 2: Mars

A lot of Stadium's success stems from its bold excess. Every melody is multifaceted, every solo is a symphony. And while this seems like too much of a good thing (minimalism is still very much in fashion for many musicians), the album surprisingly fails to collapse under its own weight. The style is so eclectic, the musicianship so impressive, that it never feels overblown. And when it starts inching in that direction? The band strips things down. The first of these breathers is the title track, built around a simple guitar lick that seems to echo forever. "Slow Cheetah" is another great one, particularly notable for a scintillating triangle groove and an ethereal outro. But I think the best chillaxed tune on the record is "Hard to Concentrate," with its primal rhythm and affectionate lyrics. I mean, any song with lyrics like "All I want is for you to be happy, and / Take this moment to make you my family" is surpassing Hallmark-levels of schmaltz, but it's so sincerely delivered that you love it anyway. 

Yet these breather tracks are simply counterweights on an album driven by electric funk and reckless rock. "Torture Me" is frenetic ska-punk, "She's Only 18" has arguably the album's deepest groove and most blistering guitar solo, and the hit single "Tell Me Baby" is a fiery rap-rock anthem. But if I had to narrow it all down to my three favorite songs, which is hard, they'd be: "Animal Bar" (a psychedelic toe-tapper with thunderous percussion and a mesmerizing, echo-chamber chorus), "Wet Sand" (arguably the greatest Chili Peppers' song ever recorded, with captivating lyrics and blazing guitar heroism), and "Death of a Martian" (the album's bittersweet finale, notable for its closing string of surreal spoken-word poetry). 

Thankfully though, Stadium Arcadium is much more than just a collection of great songs. It's a fully formed, wholly realized musical statement. An album, if ever there was one - challenging our ever-shortening musical attention spans, expanding our senses and expectations. For me, what started as the humble soundtrack to my last 2 years of high school has become an ingrained fixture of my life. It's the musical compass by which I still navigate the choppy waters of modern rock. It is easily one of the best albums of the 00s, and probably one of the best of all time. 

It strips my mind, makes me feel better, and sweeps the echoes of yesternight's fallen freckles away.