Red Hot Chili Peppers
– Unlimited Love
Unlimited Love is the sound of a band stretching out, but not straining. John Frusciante returns, and you can feel it immediately—not just in the guitar tone, which slips and slides and flares like a satellite catching sunlight, but in the band’s general vibe. They’re relaxed, almost meditative, which doesn’t mean boring—it means they’re no longer in a rush to prove anything. There’s a comfort here, like four old friends jamming in a room they’ve known for decades, but now with cleaner floors and a fresh coat of paint.
Rick Rubin is back behind the boards, and so is the band’s weird alchemy of funk, rock, and something just short of psychedelic jazz-fusion. Flea and Chad Smith are still locked in like twin engines; the bass doesn’t just move—it speaks in riddles. And Frusciante, well, he plays like he’s dancing with ghosts, pulling melody out of air, chasing mood over speed. Kiedis is Kiedis—sometimes weird, sometimes wise, sometimes saying things like “black summer” as if it’s some coded message from a forgotten coastline. His presence, as always, is more about rhythm and delivery than lyrical depth, though he surprises here and there with moments of clarity.
This isn’t a greatest-hits album, nor is it trying to be. It’s a sprawl—17 tracks of vibing, stretching, and occasionally soaring. It plays like a long drive through strange terrain: not every view is jaw-dropping, but the air is good, and the company knows what it’s doing. At its best, Unlimited Love reminds you why this band mattered in the first place—not just for their hits, but for their ability to shapeshift, surprise, and still sound unmistakably like themselves.
Choice Tracks
Black Summer
A slow burner dressed in apocalypse robes. The guitar line is pure Frusciante—eerie, haunting, strangely beautiful. Kiedis croons with a sense of loss, and when the chorus opens up, it’s like catching a glimpse of something holy through smog. Melancholy never sounded so cool.
Aquatic Mouth Dance
Here’s the band in full funk mode, horns and all. Flea runs wild, like a kid with a spray can and no curfew, while Chad Smith drives the rhythm like he’s double-parked. It’s goofy and groovy, and somehow, it works.
These Are the Ways
This one shifts gears hard—starting like a dirge, then slamming into a punk-funk freakout. It’s unhinged in the best way, a reminder that the Chili Peppers still like to kick doors in just for fun. Kiedis yells like he’s got something to prove. Maybe he does.
The Heavy Wing
A slow climb to one of the album’s most emotional peaks. Frusciante takes over on vocals for the chorus, and it hits like an open wound. The riff is simple, repetitive, hypnotic. There’s pain in this one, and they don’t try to hide it.
Unlimited Love is what happens when a band stops chasing hits and starts chasing the feeling. It meanders, sure—but that’s part of the charm. They’re not sprinting. They’re gliding. And for a band that’s been everywhere, that glide sounds like freedom.