Many believed that the reunion of Jane's Addiction - one of the most influential American bands of the last 20 years - would turn out to be just a flash in the pan, and sure enough, the paths of Dave Navarro and Perry Farrell have again diverged. The first to put himself back in the game is the mysterious Los Angeles guitarist, after enlisting the obscure Steve Isaacs as the frontman and retaining the rhythm section of the last incarnation of Jane Tossica. The result is "ONe," the much-anticipated first work of Dave's new band. In this work, he reaffirms the hard rock skills that made him the legendary guitarist of the Lollapalooza generation more than 15 years ago. His Panic Channel has indeed crafted a more than dignified work, undoubtedly indebted to the alternative and grunge of the '90s (moreover, offspring of albums like "Nothing's Shocking") but sufficiently lively and powerful to make its mark, in a period where many neo-rock groups seem to use guitars more as accessories, or fashion show gadgets.

Navarro in this respect is always a master, and it is immediately evident, with the opening explosion of two particularly inspired tracks: "Teahouse of the Spirits" and "Left to Lose," where the usual funk-addiction stylistic alloys are transfigured into ineffable grunge-psychedelic moods. Excluding the single “Why Cry,” a somewhat pandering and MTV-friendly episode with its retracing of Hoobastank-Incubus lines, the whole trademark of "One" is thus a lush hard sound, supported by effective guitar bursts: the results of this choice are excellent in "Awake," "Night_one," and "Blue Bruises," where Isaacs also shines with a fitting emphatic vocal tone.

An undoubtedly less explosive and sophisticated mix than in the past, but always enjoyable. Less convincing, however, are those moments when Navarro retraces the paths of the psychedelic ballads that made the legend of Jane’s Addiction, in mythical tracks like "Summertime Rolls" and "Then She Did": Ballads like "Outsider," "Bloody Mary," and "Listen" feature sumptuous guitar phrases and dreamy atmospheres that—despite a hint of self-indulgence—almost renew the miracle, but lacks that certain something given by Farrell's unsurpassable shamanic tone.

Navarro can, however, be satisfied with the work accomplished and confirms himself as a musician worthy of applause: unlike his former comrades Red Hot Chili Peppers, now reduced to aping the Foo Fighters in horrible videos and tiredly recycling their motifs.

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