Smile From the Streets You Hold is the toughest album to listen to that I’ve ever come across. Yes, I’m counting noise-rock albums by bands like Wolf Eyes, Prussian Blue’s hate-spreading kiddy pop, and anything by Metallica. John Frusciante, obviously all ***ed up from his steady, five-years running addiction to heroin, created his second solo album for the main purpose of getting enough money to buy more smack. It’s a testament to the talents of the man that in those drug-riddled times, the barely coherent Frusciante could spawn an album that wasn’t completely horrible. Hell, it’s actually pretty good. This album is with many faults, and it will take time to thoroughly enjoy it. Some can handle the journey, others find Frusciante’s stream-of-consciousness screams and the shoddy-at-best production to be too much to handle. Those who can make it through, however, will be handsomely rewarded.
The best word to describe Frusciante’s sophomore album is raw. Those three letters neatly describe almost everything about this album, from Frusciante’s vocals--they range from demented screams to whispery croons--to the production, where coughs, bong hits, and River Phoenix can be heard underneath the tumult. Most songs consist of simply Frusciante’s vocals and his guitar, though varying at points at songs like “A Fall Thru the Ground”, which is an awe-inspiring track that takes full use of electronic bongos, female backing singers, a pulsating bass beat, and Frusciante’s effect-layered guitar. Better yet, the man decides to sing coherently throughout, and all the beauty isn’t lost within the lo-fi production. Too bad the song ends too soon at only two minutes.
There are many other highlights to be found, however. Opening track “Enter A Uh” is easily the track that causes the most derision of this album, being an eight-minute extended piece that features Frusciante going from tortured screams--seriously, his singing in the first two minutes is so violent that it could put Lord Worm to ***ing shame--to whispery falsettos, accompanied only with his guitar, strumming out a riff that could manage to be pretty catchy if it wasn’t for the madman screaming over top. There’s no way in the world that this song could be any good--it doesn’t help that it’s eight minutes--and somehow, you get suckered in. Suddenly, Frusciante’s singing seems less violent, less scary; it seems almost natural. You don’t even notice the production anymore; you just turn the music up to meet your needs. Lyrics like, “You see me now/While ago/You could shred this size only/You are a blender uh” are completely incomprehensible, but great at the same exact time. The feeling is almost impossible to describe, and not very many people can even enjoy this song as much as I or this album’s few supporters do. Some can just get it.
Other songs are somewhat more accessible than “Enter A Uh”, even though most don’t ever reach that level of greatness. Smile From the Streets You Hold is littered with one to two minute tracks, and, while short, most can hold their own against longer tracks, with Frusciante just doing more with less. “Life’s A Bath” is an extremely beautiful acoustic ballad, “Poppy Man” proves that, despite being hopelessly drugged up, Frusciante is still an extremely accomplished guitarist, and can prove it at will. “Estress” is easily the most uplifting track on the album, with Frusciante’s vocals seeming almost positive, despite being just as gruff as they are on the rest of the album, and his guitar work is in a higher pitch and less layered with effects, making the song feel almost sunny. Being the closer to this extremely depressing album, you leave Smile From the Streets You Hold not totally feeling like you want to ***ing kill yourself, or at least a little happier than you were when you went into the album.
Despite me showering this album with positives so far, there’s no way I could be objective and give this a five. This isn’t an album that’s exactly fun to listen to, nor is it one that you can pick up at any time and enjoy, like a Bob Marley or a Matchbox Twenty album. It’s too morbid, way too depressing. The listener either has to be prepared for something extraordinarily avant-garde and off the wall, or just be horribly depressed. The inaccessibility of the album isn’t the only fault, either. Smile From the Streets You Hold is way too long at nearly sixty-two minutes, and other extended pieces like “I May Again Know John” and “Breathe” are a chore to get through. But don’t worry; the good easily outweighs the bad here.
But maybe the same reasons that I’ve been praising this album are proof enough for you to NOT get this album. I’ve never heard an album that polarizes people more than this one, even though I’m not going to go the lazy Pitchfork route and slap a zero on this album. This is an album than can make diehard elitists come themselves and get hard scrutinizers pissed off really quickly. I can barely even form a reasonable conclusion on this album. All I can say is to listen yourself, and make your own conclusion.
