John Frusciante
The Empyrean

Sometimes we forget that art is indeed technique, yes innovation, but it is above all emotion.

“The Empyrean,” according to its creator, is an album to be listened to in a dark room, lying down, possibly under the stupefying intoxication of some hallucinogen.

It's amazing how music can change the atmosphere and perception of what surrounds us, and I believe few works have the capacity to do so as much as this album. The power of the sounds transports the mind to another world, starting from the moderately long opening suite “Before the Beginning” where, on a steady rhythm, the guitar screeches and screams for eight minutes, reminding us why Frusciante is ranked among the best guitarists of his generation.

The work, as can be inferred from the title, deals with the divine, and takes the form of a concept album, in which John unleashes every kind of musical impulse. The guitarist's tenth effort, recorded between 2006 and 2008, during one of the most stressful periods of the Red Hot career, is, in my opinion, his most mature and complete work, although it lacks the raw delirious tracks of “Niandra LaDes” (which was, however, influenced by a very different extramusical context in Frusciante's life). What is not missing, already in this album, is an electronic beat at the base of “Dark/Light”; a foreshadowing of our future musical inclination, which continues to this day.

The piece is divided into two parts: “Dark” and “Light”. Noteworthy are the organ, sometimes ecclesiastical, which returns later in “Heaven”, and the bass line of “Light”, which however, as I see it, drags on excessively, especially in light of its repetitiveness.

In his personal Empyrean, Frusciante also shines in terms of vocals, ranging from the harsh screams of “Unreachable” and “Heaven” to the warmth supported by the strings of “One More of Me”; passing through the whispers of “After the Ending,” which speak to everyone, but seem to speak only to you.

The album proceeds without excessive jolts until “Central,” the best piece of the work, where guitars and percussion loom over energetic and distorted vocals, in a seesaw that also brings the violin into play here, before the final climax, led by bass and drums, paves the way for the guitar solo. This in turn is first accompanied and then overshadowed by the voice, then shares the stage with all the instruments already employed, in an explosion of sound that in a continuous pursuit finally leaves space for a thread of violin, almost in a whisper.

The same violin then takes a leading role in “One More of Me,” along with the rest of the quartet, creating a velvety carpet on which Frusciante first displays a warm singing akin to Mario Biondi, and then breaks the calm and unleashes the storm by letting out a scream in the style of Robert Plant.

One could spend time analyzing every single track of the album, but I truly doubt that it would honor it with words. The record fills and empties, burdens and lightens, depresses and lifts, in a frantic surge where the individual piece loses meaning in favor of the entire work; the mere description of the combination of instruments is not able to convey the journey that the power of “The Empyrean” initiates and concludes in the listener's soul.

I hope that someone, if inspired by this review, listens to the album (perhaps following the instructions to the letter, unlike me), and can discover the eclecticism of a passionate musician who knows how to speak to the depths of each of us, without even needing to use words.