Often, bands of a certain distinction (or age), talk glibly about ‘coming full circle’. This circadian spiel is usually prompted by a slump in sales; i.e. ‘we’re getting older, but we still want the adulation (income) we received when we were rock’s impudent younglings’.

And so, the sir Chili of Peppers have reached this aforementioned milestone, it’s been 20+ years since their socks were placed so precariously on their cocks, 20 years since the start of their non-more-debauched binges of heroin, cocaine, women, tattoos, more heroin… but now they’ve ‘rediscovered themselves’, and its all camomile tea and jogging.

And as everyone knows, bands produce their best work when they’re young, dumb and full of…doodoo?; so why then, does the Red Hot Chili Peppers critical and commercial reverence increase with each forehead wrinkle? The answer: because they’re invincible. Think about it, it’s 2006; the music world is preoccupied with young men in tight jeans; whose balls are still bouncing from the drop. Then there’s the Chilli Peppers, men in their forties, hair down past their shoulders (a hark back to their younger years) still frequently running amok, still dressing up their videos, still responding to the name ‘Flea’. Pre-teenage girls have their topless middle-aged torsos on their walls.

So, after over two decades of dodging the grim reaper, battling heroin additions and fighting to maintain credibility, the Chili Peppers decide to throw a star-shaped spanner into their works with a 28-tracked double album loosely based on a cosmic-zen-mediation programme thing, apparently; one disc called Jupiter, one called Mars. Hmm. As your dad will tell you, the double album is often the poisoned chalice to end a career, a sluggish messenger of bloated ego: “Is this song good enough? Sure! We’re multi-platinum rock gods!’ But despite pompous preconceptions, Stadium Arcadium is another example of the Red Hot Chili Peppers succeeding when they shouldn’t.

Stadium Arcadium is another example of the Red Hot Chili Peppers succeeding when they shouldn’t.

As with their critical / commercial breakthrough album, BloodSugarSexMagik, the Chili Peppers’ disregard for brevity is sheltered by their zeal and respect for their craft, and, well… each other. There can be no other bands in the world that can sing the line: “We are the ones that make you feel better…” without the listener wanting to throw boiling chip fat into their faces. Similarly; Anthony Kiedis wrote the lyrics to ‘Hard To Concentrate’ for bassist Flea, as a salutation for finding a nice girlfriend; “Finally, you have found… yourself.” They shouldn’t be able to get away from such shameless lovey-doveyness, but Stadium Arcadium is their most relaxed, open and maybe even their most accomplished album to date.

It’s the Chili Peppers’ reluctance to stick to a specified genre that keeps their music fresh; listening to their average 70-odd minute albums rarely seems like a chore, and with Arcadium, even Flea’s trustly slap bass is again hauled in from retirement on 2002’s By The Way. On another musical note, John Frusciante’s coveted guitar antics sometimes reach Clapton masterbation territory, yet there will be few who can resist the urge to air-fret during Readymade. It’s the Chili Peppers’ ear for the song that keeps their uncouthness in check.

It is perhaps fitting that Stadium Arcadium, the Chili Pepper’s most ponderous and overwrought album, was made sober, but this newfound sense of piety is not without its drawbacks. There are inevitably moments where, despite good intensions, songs fall shy of recommendable; lyrics often come half formed; ‘If’ is reaching, ‘Wet Sand’’s chorus sounds like a heartfelt pub sing-along, and recent single ‘Dan California’ was famously stolen from Tom Petty… But, as with the better double albums (I’m thinking of The White Album here) the band’s failed experiments are often more interesting and loveable than their successes.

In summary, Stadium Arcadium is marvellous 28-track strong album that should be a grandiose mess, made by a band that, by rights, shouldn’t be credible (or alive). The Chili Peppers, as they claim, may still be the only ones who can make you feel better; shirtless-ly shimmying their way through middle-agedness, they’re still one of the most interesting and unabashedly likeable bands on the planet.