This past Friday, I spent the afternoon sifting through an embarrassment of riches in the new release pile. Many of them were quick to pique my interest and made me eager to slow down in the week to come and really sit with them. I’d argue that in 2026’s short existence, this has been the best week for new music yet, and I’m choosing to believe two or three will wind up being end of year contenders. Though among the reliable successes of Courtney Barnett or Snail Mail, I found another record that caught me off guard. Given my relationship with said artist, it shouldn’t have, but I was also not immediately sold on the promotional materials. In short, there wasn’t any way to convince me that Flea’s record would have a strong emotional impact.
And yet, it didn’t take long for me to dig into a nostalgic bias for the Red Hot Chili Peppers long time bassist as “Honora” broke into the seven-minute whirlwind of poetry and jazz fusion with “A Plea.” In general, I find it hard to connect to direct emotional calls to action like this. It may be why the initial choreography video that came across my YouTube page didn’t grab me. And yet, through headphones, I was reminded of one thing. For any belief that RHCP’s best days are behind them, it remains hard for me to not love Flea.
The more I learn about this record, the more I notice a deeper passion that he’s bringing. This isn’t Andre 3000 blowing on a flute or banging on a piano for a half hour. This is a concerted effort reflecting several decades of classical training. He’s there, of course, on bass, but he’s also there on trumpet, blowing like he’s never been allowed to on his main band’s records. It could be that their Southern California blend of funk with jam band elements often favors aggression, or that it clearly takes a lot of effort to stay in harmony with three other musicians while finding new ways to slap the bass. If nothing else, “Honora” was a chance for him to embrace his Chet Baker side by giving into jazz fusion. What could’ve been masturbatory white noise ended up being one of his most methodical outputs in almost two decades.
When I was younger, I had the typical teenage dreams of being in a band. The bass was an especially alluring instrument for some reason, and I’ve long gravitated towards music that features more prominent collaborations with the deep tones. Given that this was the late-2000s and I was into punk and third-wave ska, it made sense that my idols, in the loosest sense, were the bands who tried that 10% harder, or at least let you know they cared about bass. I’m talking about people like Roger Lima from Less Than Jake, Fat Mike from NOFX, or, in the “I’ll never be that good” camp, there was Matt Freeman of Rancid. The list would evolve as I got older to feature other genres (I’m big on Anna Butterss and Charles Mingus lately), but there was one figure who transcended radio and felt one with the zeitgeist.
For context, I would consider “Stadium Arcadium” the last great RHCP album. The Rolling Stone review at the time said it was equivalent to other bands’ greatest hits collections, and I choose to believe there’s truth in that. This is an album stacked with obvious radio-ready jams and a ton of deep cuts. It’s not necessarily their most cohesive project, but it captures them at their most expansive and curious. I would love to say anything since it captured my heart, but when “I’m With You” failed to develop replay value, I kind of gave up. I would jump in on their later albums, but by then they were clearly a legacy act who wouldn’t play a song past “The Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie” from 2011.
It could be that I was in high school and had the time to dig into individual tracks more thoroughly, or that I had a bass teacher who was an even more of an avid fan. Whatever it was, the band opened up to me, and suddenly Flea was leading me into worlds of other heavyweights like Charlie Pickett. I admit some of that was extratextual brought in by said teacher, but Flea was a student of technique, and it made learning his riffs that much more fun.
During that period, we were more focused on the albums “Californication” and the all-time classic “Blood Sugar Sex Magik.” If you had to ask me what a great, undeniable bass album was, it would be their 1991 record that spawned five singles and the band at their absolute sharpest. I’d argue that if you could digitally remove Anthony Kiedis’ vocals from later work, the band would be even better, but at this point, they were lockstep with each other. John Frusciante’s riffs were psychedelic catnip one minute and passionate acoustic ballads about drug addiction the next. What was this horny, demented world that, despite conventional structure, sounded boundaryless and challenged the very notion of what a song could do?
Not only that, but I absolutely loved that it was an album of mutual respect. Frusciante may get credit for some amazing riffs, but now and then they’d shift to Flea, and a new personality would take center stage. Following the barn burner opening of “The Power of Equality,” “If You Have to Ask” features one of Flea’s best riffs on the album, just because it sounds like a literal flea jumping from string to string with the occasional fret muting for impact. Then, out of nowhere, it ends with a lengthy solo that keeps the funk alive, but sounds more upbeat and silly. It could also be that this album sounds very live in the studio to me, but there was a kinetic force that carries through the rest of the record. For the sake of context, my favorite Flea song is “Mellowship Slinky in B Major,” and it’s quite possibly the band at their kookiest and best.
Given how little time I’ve spent with any new album since 2011, I don’t wish to suggest they ever “slumped.” I chalk up unfamiliarity with my interests lying elsewhere. Even so, as they enter the legacy act phase, it’s easy to overlook what made them unique in the first place. Even now, few bands have achieved a similar status while featuring a funk jam core. It’s doubtful that a group so ribald and profane could compete on terrestrial radio or have a similar longevity. I’m sure hundreds of bassists like myself would cite Flea as a big influence, but I wonder who the new icon is going to be. Maybe I am just not looking. It could always just be that.
Which is all to say that listening to “Honora” is like feeling rejuvenated for a passion you’ve long ago forgotten about. Even if I still listen to “Blood Sugar Sex Magik” a few times a year, there’s little recognition of Flea in an ongoing sense, other than he was good, he is good, he will always be good. That’s great and all, but when was the last time I felt the drive of a man who was so in tune with bass that he continually reinvented what riffs could be played in stadium rock? Again, it was probably before 2011. The selected RHCP cuts on the radio would suggest so. In fact, it’s weird how many more nights in the past decade I’ve spent talking about him as an underappreciated actor than musician.
Thanks to “Honora” and a composition-first direction, I am constantly thinking about Flea’s playing both bass and trumpet. Without aggression driving him, these riffs are allowed to be loose, free of time constraints. Even if many of these end up being covers of Funkadelic, Glen Campbell, or Frank Ocean (really) and feature vocals from Nick Cave and Thom Yorke, there is still an authorship to the project, where it’s not a literal retelling. In fact, the Ocean cover of “Thinkin Bout You” is largely subdued, mostly used as an excuse to play trumpet in a very sensitive and hushed manner. The orchestration is beautiful, and Flea allows for a peacefulness to wash over everything.
Admittedly, I haven’t listened to the record enough to say that any bass track here will endure in the same way as his “Stadium Arcadium” output, but this is the type of left-field passion project that I like to see more of. Where I went in assuming it would be too self-indulgent and driven by egos around bloated melodies, there’s an actual heart here. Flea doesn’t let me down and in fact, has enough surprises in store for me to smile along. It maybe helps that I’ve gotten into 60s jazz, but even then, this isn’t a complete retread. It’s full of ideas and hope for a more lucrative output as a solo artist. Like Andre 3000, I’m not sure if there’s a comparable marketability here to their youthful pursuits, but it gives me something new. It makes me think of how much more there is to a figure who already seemed versatile whenever he picked up his instrument.
It didn’t take “Honora” to remind me why I love Flea. Even if my days of rock band dreams are done and have been for well over a decade, I still listen to him and remember that passion for pushing past simple chords. There’s room to play and really develop your own voice. RHCP may not be my favorite band, but I’ll always listen in the hope that Flea, Frusciante, and drummer Chad Smith can impress me. They have rarely catered to conventions, and it’s why they continue to endure. No matter what criticism I can lob at all of them, I still will tune in and watch them play, for to see Flea still innovating is a real testament to what music can do. I’m praying we get more like “Honora” in the near future. It’s too good to just be a one-off lark.
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