Jane’s Addiction
Nothing’s Shocking

It starts like someone plugged a live wire into a fever dream. Nothing’s Shocking kicks the door open wearing a thrift-store crown and a bad attitude. Jane’s Addiction didn’t just arrive in 1988; they arrived like a cult in heat, equal parts sex, smoke, and sermon.

Jane's Addiction - Nothing's Shocking (1988)

Perry Farrell howls like he’s channeling ghosts he doesn’t believe in. His voice isn’t technically perfect, but it’s the cracked mirror this record needs—half-lust, half-lament. Dave Navarro’s guitar isn’t content just making noise; it creates whole landscapes. Half the time, it sounds like it’s melting. The rhythm section—Eric Avery and Stephen Perkins—builds scaffolding out of jazz, funk, and gutter punk. The result is unstable in the best possible way. It teeters, sways, and somehow never collapses.

There’s no patience for genre rules here. One song grinds through heavy rock like a rusted tank. The next floats like incense smoke in a basement club. You don’t listen to Nothing’s Shocking for comfort. You listen to it to feel something sharp. It’s voyeuristic, sweaty, confrontational—and maybe a little dangerous. The band knew they wouldn’t last. That tension is baked into every track. It makes the whole thing burn brighter.

Choice Tracks

Mountain Song

Everything here is loud, raw, and rumbling like an earthquake that’s been held back too long. Avery’s bass is the backbone—massive, relentless. Navarro claws at the walls with jagged riffs while Farrell rides the chaos like he’s trying to outrun it. No gloss, no filters, just muscle and desperation.

Ocean Size

An opener that sets the room on fire before anyone’s even found their seat. Navarro’s riffs crash like waves—but with teeth. Farrell sounds like he’s preaching from underwater. It’s equal parts fury and awe.

Had a Dad

There’s something primal in the way it moves—half tribal rhythm, half therapy session. The beat stomps, the bass throbs, and Farrell spits lines like confessions you’re not supposed to hear. It’s heavy with resentment, but catchy as hell.

Ted, Just Admit It…

The epic center of the album’s weird little universe. Slow-burning, creeping, nearly cinematic. It mutters about media, murder, and madness—and then explodes without warning. The “sex is violent” mantra lands like a punch to the solar plexus.

Summertime Rolls

A love song filtered through kaleidoscope lenses and lingering smoke. It’s sweet, strange, and oddly serene. Farrell’s voice glides instead of growls. The whole track is like a memory that may or may not have happened.



Nothing’s Shocking snarls, slinks, and soars. Jane’s Addiction mixed funk, punk, metal, and madness into a fevered cocktail of sex, beauty, and decay. It’s messy, loud, and vital—an album that didn’t fit in and never tried to.