AS anyone who’s heard John Frusciante’s solo outings will tell ya...the guy has buckets of talent. Unfortunately, outside the confines of a band he’s more like a leaky pipe than loose water cannon. His guitar lines just sort of dribble and form stagnant puddles rather than flow in a natural, logical fashion. With a band though, and specifically with the Red Hot Chili Peppers, he’s pure magic!

The success of Californication, RHCP’s grand 1999 comeback, was mainly down to Frusciante (then newly back from a seven-year drug-induced exile) and his mastery of the Stratocaster. And despite its overpowering pop stench and scarcity of funky cold ravers, so too was 2002’s By the Way. Stadium Arcadium though, is his crowning glory.

Sure, the other Chilis are in attendance but it’s the 36-year-old Frusciante who steals the show. A staggering feat considering the album’s sprawling scope (there’s a massive 28 tracks to sink your teeth into).

From lead single Dani California’s Purple Haze-inspired coda, the upmarket funk of Hump de Bump, Storm in a Teacup, Warlocks (featuring Billy Preston on clavinet) and the new wave-y Animal Bar to the title track’s neo-Floydian textures, Frusciante’s playing is faultless and fantastic. Even mellow tracks like Hey and If benefit from the guitarist’s exquisite touches. In short, RHCP’s ninth LP would hardly have been as extraordinary without Frusciante on board. It would have been a washout if Dave Navarro was still employed!

The “only” problem with the record is that despite CD 1 and 2’s “prog rock-esque” subtitles (Jupiter and Mars respectively), there doesn’t appear to be any real progression or for that matter, purpose to the sequencing. I mean, why does Desecration Smile deserve to kick-off the second disc when the stomping Readymade seems far more appropriate? Perhaps you could ask Anthony Kiedis and the boys...or even Rick Rubin.

But it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if it transpires that the concerned parties simply dumped the track titles in a bag and drew them at random. Come to think of it, it’s the kind of screwball thing that fellows who once crossed Abbey Road in nothing more than strategically placed gym socks would do!