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“I'm Tom Bowman and I cover the Pentagon for NPR.”
Stand up for independent news coverage today by donating early for public media giving days, coming up on May 1st and 2nd, give now at Donate.npr.org. This is Fresh Air, I'm Terry Gross. My guest flea co-founded the multiple Grammy-winning band The Red Hot Chili Peppers in 1982.
He's a songwriter and the band's bass player known for his fast, percussive grooves. They started as an L.A. punk rock band when L.A. in New York or the punk capitals. They're lead singer initially rap more than he sang.
flea's just released his first solo album called Honora and it's a big departure.
Various styles of jazz figure into it.
“flea's stepfather was a jazz musician and listening to his music starting when flea was seven,”
change flea's life in ways he's still grateful for. But flea's stepfather was also addicted to heroin and alcohol. And that made home life unpredictable and sometimes dangerous, leaving flea afraid to go home. He spent as much time as he could on the streets and with friends, often doing things that could have had serious consequences.
On the new album, in addition to bass, flea plays trumpet, the first instrument he learned to play. The album also reflects how flea started studying music theory about 10 years ago. Honora includes original compositions by flea, as well as covers of songs by George Clinton and Frank Ocean. Tom Yorke of Radiohead sings on One Track, Nick Cave sings "Witch a Tall Lignment." The arrangements feature strings, brass, and woodwinds.
When I recorded this interview with flea last week, we talked about his childhood, his relationship with his stepfather, the chili peppers being wild, and how flea and his music have changed. He wrote a memoir in 2019 titled "Asked for the Children." Flea, welcome to fresh air, congratulations on the new album. So, let's get to your music.
I want to compare where you started from in terms of your recordings and where you are now. So, let's start by listening to a brief part of the Redhux chili peppers first demo record. Well, cool.
And this is never mind, you're of course featured on bass.
Come on! Wow, Terry, good call on that one. Okay, well, let's compare that to frailed from your new album, Honora. Okay. With you featured on trumpet and bass.
So, what do you think?
“The 20-year-old who would have thought of the music from your new album?”
I would have been really happy with myself making music that I cared about, being a student of music, continuing to just love music. And when I listen back to, you know, not the song Nevermind that you played from a first demo tape, and the feeling that I had making it, and the feeling that I had when it, you know, we went around with that tape playing it for people with our cassette tape, trying to get booked into clubs,
to get gigs. It's a similar feeling that I have now with the record that I just made on of it. It's a feeling that I haven't really had since back then, and it's a feeling of, I've made this music that is really, you know, obviously it's a collective, you know, the chili peppers made the music, but we made music, and I had a feeling that we are filling
this place, an empty place in the world that hasn't been filled before. We've created this thing that is ourselves purely, so it can't be anybody else, and we're filling this new place, and it's a really beautiful feeling. And that's how I feel about the music that I've made with Anara.
It's the same thing, like I feel like I'm making music that occupies its own ...
and that feels good to me.
“Does the change in music represent the change in you?”
You're older, you're not in your 20s, you're in your 60s. Yeah, constantly, yeah, I mean, of course, even though back then, you know, when I made that music when I was 20, I think I was 20 years old when we recorded that in 19 or 20, I was listening to, you know, a serial jazz music all the time, I grew up with jazz music, and I was listening to jazz music back then, but of course, I've changed, and thank God,
I've changed. I was a lunatic. You know what I mean?
Yeah, I know what you mean.
Yeah, I mean, I was a street kid, and I was, you know, emotionally, and in so many ways, 19 going on 10, you know, and I continue to try to grow as a human being in all the ways, you know, emotionally, spiritually to be a more considerate of my fellow human beings. I mean, in every way, so it all feeds into the music and it all feeds into the way that I interact
“with other people. And yeah, I mean, I'm a different person, and I think this is something”
I think about a lot, and the way that just like as a parent, you know, I have three kids, one is 37, the other one is 20, and the other one is three, and I've been a different person for each one of them. You know, I've been a different kind of parent. Oh, right, and a different stage of your life, because here you have a far apart. Yeah, it's cheaper. They're all 17 years apart, and 17 years, if one is willing to, you know, feel the pain and suffering of being a human being,
you're going to grow. So, I'm grateful for growth, and I'm grateful for humility. I'm grateful to be a student. So, I want to play some more music from your new album, Honora, and this is called Morning Cry, and it's the track that's like most obviously jazz. You know, it's not like influenced by jazz, it's not jazz and funk or jazz and something. It's just jazz. And it's asked to me, tell me, if I'm wrong, very influenced by Ornette Coleman. I'm very much so. Yeah, and I, you know,
I had the great fortune to play with Ornette Coleman on a number of occasions, and he was very kind to me, and I've admired him since I was a very young man. You know, you think like, you know, when we started with chili peppers, we were listening to Ornette constantly. And I still, you know, play, whenever I get the chance with his son, Danardo, who's, you know, very welcoming and,
“you know, to me. Do you want to say anything by way of introduction of the song and how you wrote it?”
I'm sure, yeah, because it's actually something I remember quite clearly is waking up one morning and feeling an abundance of sadness and being moved to tears by circumstances in my life. And at the same time, I had a line in and I was just like crying. And at the same time, I was lying, you know, that in that kind of ethereal state when you wake up kind of in between being asleep and being awake, and I was to myself, you know, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it,
bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, bit it, and I was just singing that to myself, and also feeling, and it's funny, because it's not really a sad sounding melody. Not at all, so I understand it. But it's what, you know, there's the strange workings of my mind, I don't know. But it was, yeah, right in the morning, just woke up and was doing it, and that felt really, it felt nice, and you know, I went into my music, I got up,
went into my music room, and scratched it down on a piece of paper, and there it was. Okay, so let's hear "Mourning Cry" from "Flee's New Album Honorer" . That was "Mourning Cry" from "Flee's New Album Honorer". We need to take a short break here, so my guest is "Flee" of the Red Hot Chili Peppers,
but after recording, I don't know, about 14 albums with the chili peppers. This is his first
solo album. We'll be right back. This is fresh air. You start playing trumpet as a child, and then you kind of gave up trumpet more or less for the bass after the Red Hot Chili Peppers formed. Your stepfather was a jazz musician,
He played bass.
what's some of the music that your father and his friends introduced you to?
“Straight ahead jazz, "B-Bop," the music exemplified by Charlie Parker and Fats Navarro”
and Flonius Monk. They played jazz like that, and my stepfather came into my life
when I was about seven years old, six or seven, and the first time that I ever saw him play
with his friends in New York. His buddies came over to the house, set up an living room, and they started throwing down. They played fast. They played furiously. They played with our great tenderness. They played with great violence and physicality, and it was wild. You describe it like it was punk rock. Well, I'm music is music, but there's a song like "Nervous Breakdown" by Black Flag.
“And they're both very fast, very aggressive. They both have a beginning and middle and”
an end, and they are both played by people yearning with every fiber of their being to make sense of the world that they live in. But I love both, and I'm studying. But not only way, so yes, when I was a kid, and I heard them playing that jazz, it just blew my mind and changed
my life forever. So you were born in Australia and live there for the first four or five years of
your life. When you were around four, your family moved to New York where your father got a job, and he sounds like he was a very briefcase, follow the rules, working men, dinner at the same time, every night kind of guy, except for when he drank, and he loved you, but he also gave you the
“belt when you stepped out of the line. They divorced when you were seven, and your mother”
wanted to live a more Bohemian life. So she married your stepfather, the jazz bass player, Walter and Junior, and what was he like as a man? You described him as sad, and he was also addicted to heroin, and he was very moody. Can you describe what it was like for you as a child to grow up with somebody who's music you love to introduce you to great people and great sounds, but who also could be like a scary person, he could be an irresponsible person, an inattentive parent. It was difficult.
You know, when my mother and Walter, when they got together, it was really exciting at first, because, you know, my dad was very much by the rules, and every day it was kind of the same, and they were the strict, you know, codes of conduct that you did not break, or you got to
belt. You know what I mean? You didn't mess up. You never embarrassed yourself. You never embarrassed
the family. You played by the rules. And my dad was like a very, like, kind of prototypical, fifties, responsible men. You know, you were called, you were your suit, and you get drunk at night. And my father was an alcoholic, all of his life. But Walter, it was really fun. He was playing jazz music, you know, he just like a hippie, he wore dashi kies, and he was like, "Cool man, far out. Yeah, take this cannibal, utterly record." You know, and it was really exciting for me as a kid.
And also, like, the rules went away. Like, all of a sudden, I would get up in the morning, go out in the street, no one asked where I was going. I went and did whatever I wanted all day long. So, you know, there's a freedom in that, but also, you know, a lot of troubles in that, because you're getting in trouble, because there's no, you know, there's no rules. And, you know, you kind of left to figure things out on your own. But it turned ugly with my stepfather.
And he was a drug abuser, he was an addict, he was an alcoholic, and he was prone to these wild fits of violence, where something would set him off, and he would just like start destroying the house, smashing all the windows, breaking everything, everyone like begging him to stop, you know, kids being, we be terrified, we were running out in the street, you know, and it grew violent and
His violence extended to, you know, to us.
my mother and, you know, and with my sister. And he'd be both of them? He did, he did.
“Did you feel like you were supposed to be responsible on stop him? I'm not saying you should have”
been responsible. That's a good, that's a good question, but I don't remember really feeling that way. I mean, I think I would have done anything to stop him, but I remember just being, you know,
scared. And I remember thinking that that I wanted to try to do my best, but my best was always
like when he would stop to try to create this feeling of levity and love and trying to bring joy to the house. You know what I mean? By like being cute and funny or whatever I could do to try and make it better. Kind of like a performance. Yeah. And I, and I have often wondered, you know, choosing a life as an entertainer, that I, you know, that there's sort of this dichotomy between the two things. I can a really healthy way. I love the art form. I pursue the art form. I want to like be great
at it, lose myself in the beauty of this thing and use it as a bridge to touch people's hearts, to make the world a better place. And that's like the healthy part, but then there's this other
part that is unhealthy, that is that same thing I did when I was a little kid. It was like,
“"Love me, please." You know what I mean? And I think that that and this is actually kind of”
tying that together right now, thinking about it. That all goes together, you know. And so that was difficult with my stepfather. And I, you know, if he was very complicated man, he introduced me to music. But, you know, there were many times when it was scary to be in the house. I would sleep in the backyard. I would, you know, I'd remember coming home and it would be like there be cops in the yard with their guns drawn or with the neighbors complaining to your mother
call them. Yeah, I mean, yeah, it was a big neighborhood embarrassment. You know, it was a crazy guy,
you know, the crazy guy that lives on the street. I remember being out, how are we in trick of
treating and seeing, you know, like being a few blocks away and going, you know, my costume, like going to knock on someone's door to ask for candy and seeing all the kids like running home. And you're like, there's a crazy guy shooting guns out of the window, you know, if one's going home, like kids, I knew from my school and like, oh, I'm going to go home too. If there's a crazy guy shooting guns and running home, and it was my stepdad, it was the crazy guy shooting the guns,
you know, and, you know, and, um, that's kind of horrifying. Yeah, absolutely horrifying.
“And, uh, were you afraid to be at home within more than gone? If that's what he was doing?”
And, of course, it was, you know, a lot to deal with as a kid. But, um, it's, you know, it all shaped me and it's all a part of who I am. And at the same time, and this could not be understated, is it when I saw my stepfather played music. And I didn't really understand it at the time, even though I understood it, um, in a way that's been a part of me, my whole life is that when I saw him play the bass, he played with such aggressiveness and with such intensity
that it was, I would see him get into the sort of animal state beyond thought, like this primal just attacking this instrument, one with it, sweating, breathing, grunting, you know, playing this instrument, um, like completely gone in the music. And I knew that he was using all that pain and anger and fear and anxiety that had made him act like he did, um, using it in a really healthy way and turning it into something beautiful, transmuting all this pain and anger into
something beautiful, this like metamorphosis, this alchemy, which is, you know, music's greatest gift, um, for him and for all of us who have enjoyed so much music that is made by people expressing that pain and fear, um, and hope, you know, in sound. Is there, like, a particular track that stands out to you from your own work, either from the new album or from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, where you feel like you did the same thing, where you took, like, pain that you were
feeling and turned it into beauty, whether it's like beauty expressing anger or frustration, sadness, is, is there anything that really expresses that the most in your mind from your own music? When we recorded the track, when I played the trumpet for the track, Willow weep for me, I remember feeling a great deal of sadness, and when I played that song, I remember feeling that, like, let me, please, you know, let me let go of this and express it and into something beautiful.
I don't, you know, it's always a thing with me, like, I mean, for the Chili P...
shows for the last 45 years, it's like, I can't tell you how many zillions of time I get in and I'm like attacking my instrument and, you know, letting the rhythm throw me around like a rag doll on stage, um, that I'm, you know, hoping for healing and hoping for letting go of pain and anger and fear. So I want, I want to play another track from your new album, and this is a song, I was very surprised that you recorded it. It's, it's, which is Tau Lyman, which Glenn Campbell
had the hit of, um, written by God, I'm blank out of his name. I've Jimmy Webb. Jimmy Webb, yeah.
And I'll be honest, about two things. I've never particularly liked this song, even though like,
every songwriter loves this song. I always want to say, like, tell me why, um, and also the
“first time I, I heard it, I thought, wow, this is just leguabrius. This is weird. Who's singing?”
And I thought, who's singing it? I haven't, I haven't heard fleecing, but he sounds like, it sounds like not his voice and so much older than he would be. Um, and then when I found out that it was Nick Cave singing, I listened again and thought, oh, I actually really like it, and then I made me question myself, like, oh, are you liking it because you like Nick Cave and it's like a brand name to you too, do you know what I mean? Like why, and I was, no, I'm liking it because I know how
to listen to Nick Cave. Hmm. I know what's behind that voice. I know why it sounds how it does. Because Nick is so good at a narrative. Do you think it's because of that? Like he's the mood. It's, and it's the mood. And just the, when you know it's him, you know more about the life he's led about the aesthetic that he's developed and also what sounded luxurious to me initially
“just started to sound moody and a really interesting way. And I, I think the drummer on this album”
is great. Oh, it's, that's Deontony Parks and he's a brilliant one of a kind drummer. So why did
you decide to record this song, which I've never liked, but I kind of like it now? And why, why Nick Cave?
Well, my reason for recording, which Italian minutes, because I've always loved that song since the first moment I heard it, the version that I know strangely enough is not the Glenn Campbell version, but the meters version. And I, you know, I'm a big fan of the meters. And I, I remember the first ever chili pepper tour, which was in 1980, like first real tour in 1984. And, you know, we're sleeping in a van, driving in a van, playing clubs, every place that'll have us all over
the country. And, you know, you've been your cassette. So you know, you make all your cassettes at home. And I had one, my meters cassette and had their version of which Italian been on it. And I remember just, you know, I listened to it over and over again. And I didn't, I just love the song.
I love everything about it. And, you know, it's something that's always in my head. And then
I recalled in my, you know, I'm a big Nick Cave fan. And I've only had a few times that we've spent time together. And the last time that I had, you know, hung out with him and spoken with him, he was speaking about his admiration for Jimmy Webb as just, you know, one of the greatest songwriters to ever live. And I agree with him. And I was listening back to that conversation started playing itself in my mind. And I was like, oh my god, maybe Nick would want to sing on this. And I sent it to
him. And he responded. He's in the UK. I mean, I, he responded within a half hour, said that's really scary for me to take that on. That that song is so powerful and commands demands so much, you know, to do it right. And, uh, but I'll give it a stab. I'm leaving on tour in two days. I'm going to go
“right into the studio and try to get it done. I think either the next day of the day after he”
sent me the tape of it done. And I was just devastated and floored by what he did. And we'll never, ever forget it. Okay. So let's hear it, which is Tom Lime and Nick Cave singing. And this is from Feliz New album Onoram. I am alignment for the county. And I drive the main role. Searching in the sun for another role.
I sing in the wild.
I know, I need a small vacation. That was what your tile I'm in. You heard Nick Cave singing.
It's from Feliz New album Onoram on which he plays trumpet and bass. Getting back to your step father. Who was the jazz musician who was addicted to heroin and alcohol. He gave you a lot of freedom. And your mother was a little inattentive. You think that she wasn't really interested in children.
“I think that it was, uh, you know, she was just wrapped up in her own stuff. I mean there were times”
when she showed Karen interest and in ways that were really significant for me too. Like she knew
that I love to read. And it was always like a U.S. of books. You need books. And we didn't have
much money. But there was always money to go to the bookstore and buy new books. And, um, you know, and that was, you know, a huge thing for me. But you know, most ways from when I was 11 years old, I was a street kid. I was running wild. So what were some of the advantages and disadvantages? Of having no boundaries. Of having, like, complete freedom because your parents weren't sending
“any rules or boundaries for you. Um, and you did things that could have really gotten you into a”
lot of trouble that would have reshaped your life. Yeah. I mean, look, from a young age, I was, you know, stealing things, um, from other people, from companies, from stores. I was, from your mother. Yeah, from, from my mother. Yep. I would just sneak into, you know, her bag still at five, twenty, you know, whatever she had. I was, uh, on drugs. I started getting high when I was 11. I didn't stop doing drugs until I was 30. And so, you know, I was high. And I, you know, it's,
a lot of, uh, there's a lot of pitfalls out there. Um, there's many times when I was unkind and
“thoughtless, and there were times when people were very unkind, very thoughtless with me, from, you know,”
other people who I was running around and mistreat with who also were not getting good moral guidelines.
Or, you know, you know, and I feel lucky in a lot of ways that, um, I did always feel a desire
to be good. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be kind. And I messed up without doubt, but I was always trying, um, but the, there's advantages in that one, I had to learn how to survive. I'm a survivor. I know how to survive in the street. Um, two, though I didn't have a strong sense of family at home. And, you know, occasionally, we had 11 to death in this, but it was pretty, there, it was, it was fleeting, very fleeting. Um, I looked for family with my friends that I found,
like, for instance, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, um, particularly me and Anthony, and Hello, we found, and Hello, you know, is we all had families, and I guess I can only speak for myself. Like, I would, it would be bad for me to speak for someone else, that that I, I really looked for family and the feeling of family with my friends. And in that kind of searching and trying to create a family, we had bonds, and I felt bonds that were very significant, um, like a blood bond.
And so like when we started a band, um, there's this thing there that it's not just musicians playing notes that work together to play songs with rhythms and harmonies that we like. It's this other thing. It's this like you can't, with us. So you actually have like three or at least three separate music spaces in your life. When, when you're coming of age, you've got your father's jazz, which you love. You have the Red Hot Chili Peppers, which starts off as a punk band.
Kinda. Yeah. And then you have school orchestra and marching band. And that was like a different
Kind of discipline probably.
competition for playing Hayden's trumpet concerto. I did. I mean, that's that takes some discipline. Yeah. And I didn't, you know, I really, you know, if I really would have had discipline,
“I think I could have gotten a lot better. But it came pretty naturally to me.”
But did you love it? Did you love me? And I loved it. Yeah. That was the thing I loved it. I loved playing in an orchestra. I loved playing, um, I played in the LA Junior Philharmonic for a while. So one day I got real stoned and went there and made a mistake. And the guy put me out of the first
chair into the Junior chair. And I was embarrassed and never went back.
In marching band, did you were a uniform? No. My, our school didn't have it. Like all the other schools had to big epilets and the big fur hats and, and all that stuff. And we didn't. We just had t-shirts and said Fairfax band on them. Yeah. And we were terrible marchers. We just kind of walked out into a, into a clump in the middle of the fields. But we were good though. We were good. We used to play Sir Duke by Stevie Wonder, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, but at, which was to see if you want us tribute to Duke, Wellington. And, um, and yeah, we're pretty funky. I remember us beat like I remember feeling excited about the music.
If you're just joining us, my guest is Flee co-founder of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, after we're many albums with the Chili Peppers, he's recorded his first solo album. And it's called honor. We'll be right back. This is fresh air.
Describe what you were like on stage in those early years of the Chili Peppers. And how you're
background in gymnastics, surfing, and other sports may have figured into what you were able to do on stage.
“Well, um, I think, you know, from the jump, all of us literally jump. We wanted to be from the, from that point,”
from the first time we stepped on stage, we were intent on being a wildest band that ever existed on this planet. And we wanted to express that in a way we dressed, the way we moved, the way we spoke, we wanted to be shocking. We wanted to cut a hole in the smoggy skies of Hollywood. We wanted to be a beam of cosmic light that came out of our net Coleman saxophone. We wanted to, you know, we just wanted to be wild. And so
whatever, you know, I was always a very physical person. I always played sports. I love to dance.
I love to move. I found extreme freedom in movement. And like that thing I talked about earlier about that state of enlightenment, getting beyond thought. I often had that from physical movement. And so that was just a big part of the whole operation, you know, um, and for all of us, you know, for all of us. And we, we love movement. We love dance. We invented our own funny dances. Um, just to feel free, to feel alive, to be excited. And to, you know, we're entertainers. I wanted to do the thing.
So one of the things you did, and this is kind of famous, um, you, the band was dressed. I think it was all the band that what you were dressed in was just a sock over genitals. Yeah, socks on. It was what we called it. That was something like, you know, hello and Anthony and I, uh, uh, we would do that at home, like to be funny, you know, um, someone to come, well, I think it may have been Anthony, like, came like walking out of his room with, you know, with just a sock. And, um, you know, we're all laughing.
“And hanging out and we all did it. And, um, yeah. And I can't, I think I remember the first time we”
did it, we used to play the strip club. Perfect place. Yeah. Yeah. We played this strip club on, uh, on Santa Monica Boulevard called, um, damn it. I wish I could remember the name of it. But anyways, we played that. I remember one time we were playing. And, um, and, uh, at the, at the, and we went off stage and we'd get me to do the encore from a screaming in yelling. And, Anthony, I, I probably said sock man, sock man. And, uh, we're like, I look great, great idea.
And so we, uh, you know, put on socks, stripped down, put on socks and came out and played. And, uh, it was met warmly. And, uh, I think on that, on that particular show, we were opening up for another band called Royad Rogers and the whirling butt cherries. It was just, it was Hollywood in the early 80s. Let me tell you, stuff, people were just doing weird stuff to be weird. Like, it was really embraced. There was this underground scene. And I'm, you know, I'm saying these things that some
people might find repugnant and that's cool. You know, I get it. But, um, we grew up in Hollywood. We ran around on the streets in Hollywood. We were so used to, like, I lived in West Hollywood, where it was nothing. Like, I would, when I was a kid, I would go walk down the street and I would see, you know, guys come, I'd be on my way to school. And I'd see guys gay leather guys walking out
Of a, of a gay club, you know, making out in the street dressed in nothing bu...
And like, like, that's why I grew up. That's where I'm from. Um, and I embraced it all. You know,
I mean, I, I never, um, you know, I've always, um, embraced it all. Did you do the socks
thing at punk clubs, too? Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Then we, then if I just became like a thing,
“like, it was so fun. And then we did it all the time. Did you ever get plastic for it?”
Like, in, in decency. Yeah. Once in, um, green bay Wisconsin, um, we played a show. And I can't remember if we did socks or we went completely naked. But I finished it with socks. Maybe a sock fell off. I don't know. But, um, we played a show in this club. It was mid-winter in Wisconsin. So snow everywhere freezing. And we play the show. And then like, we walk off stage and there's the cops. And you know, like, out to the car. You guys are arrested for indecent exposure. And
like, okay. And we walk out. And, you know, they're kind of like put us in single file and we're walking to the cop car. But I mean, Anthony, look at each other. And, and one of us is like, let's make a break for it. And, um, we see this like the club is kind of removed, like, you know, an outskirts of town, and we see these woods. And we just bolt. And it's a mid-winter and snow. And we are wearing nothing. But socks, you know, they knickers walk out there. And I socks in the freezing cold.
And we just bolt out the middle of the night, said midnight into these woods naked. And we just run. And we get away. And we run and we were like, run it for a while. We're like freezing. But we're like laughing. And aesthetically, you know, we just played a gig. We ran away from the cops. It's like, these times when you're like, oh, my God, I'm so happy in this moment. Like, a few times,
“I remember that like consciously in my life. Another time was like hitchhiking in a pouring rain”
in the UK once, like three in the morning, all alone. I think, well, I will never be this happy again
in my life. Like, look at me. I am living right now. Anyways, it felt like that. And we ran to the street. We see some this car going by with these kids, like, our age. We had been to the show and it gave us a ride. They take us to our house and we hang out and have a party with these people. And, you know, those were the days. Well, we need to take another break here. So let me reintroduce you. If you're just joining us, my guest is Flee co-founder of the Red Hot Chili
Peppers. He played bass with the chili peppers and plays bass and trumpet on his new solo album, honor a. We'll be right back. This is fresh air. Two of your bandmates, you know, Anthony Kiddus and Hello, the guitarist. They both had really serious drug problems that caused log absences from the band, that caused a lot of distress within the band. And Hello died of an overdose in 1988 at the age of 26. It was a real tragedy in terms of your friendship and the music,
knowing his family because they were, they helped you when you felt very uncomfortable at your
“own home. What position were you in with two essential bandmates having such serious addiction”
problems? Who you were so close to as friends? Like you were each other's family for so long. Did you feel helpless? Did you feel like there was anything you could do to save their lives and to also hold the band together? It's difficult, you know. My age and my level of experience and the fact that I did drugs too, like I wasn't like I could, you know, occasionally I would maybe try to like take this sort of authoritative self-righteous role. Like what are you guys doing drugs
for? You know, when I go do it, I was just never strong out. I never became an addict, but I did
plenty of drugs myself. But I mostly sadness. It was just like, like the thing is like with the drug addiction, it was more like I might have been selfish. Like look, I'm just not getting when I want. I'm not getting these guys to come to rehearsal. I want the band to be really good. I want to make a great album and crap it out on me right now. And I'd be pissed. But I wish I would have had the knowledge and the self-awareness to have acted in a more constructive way. You know,
obviously, particularly with Helau who died and so young and he was a beautiful, creative human being. So, but I didn't know how. I didn't know how. I remember the last time I ever laid eyes on him.
We had had a rehearsal that day and he called and sick couldn't come and then...
night and saw him at the restaurant. Hi, as a kite completely, you know, not physically ill.
“Maybe he was sick because he hadn't gotten dope. I don't know. But I was angry at him.”
You know, I saw him and I was like, hey, you know, but I was mad. I was like, dude, we had rehearsal. You didn't show up. And so here I am. The last time I got to see someone I loved, someone who asked me to start playing bass, someone who I expressed my love for deeply and vice versa, someone who
gave me gifts of paintings that he made and love and poetry. He was an artist and always
was there for me in that way. And the last time I see him, I was mad at him. You know, instead of like being I love you so much, like please don't leave me, you know. And I wish that I would have known more to be there, to help. How did you survive heroin? And what's seeing what happened to your father and then seeing what happened to hello, part of how you survived, like what happened to you? I'm for sure, you know, like, I love father and I'm I meant stepfather. My stepdad, that's
me up. But my father was an alcoholic as well. So it was that same, you know, addiction, like you're
“going to drink to be okay, you know, different, but the same. I think for me, I, what stopped me”
from being a heroin addict. And I don't know, maybe it's just like my, my makeup. I don't know. But
I always felt guided by things that were so beautiful to me. The sound of John Coltrane
playing his saxophone. The way that Somerset moms words flow off the page. These things, you know, the way that cream-map dojo bars shot a skyhook. These things are so beautiful. And I, when I would do heroin, and I did it a lot, and I loved it. Don't get me wrong. And I could have easily been an addict. But when I would wake up the day after doing hard drugs, and I would feel my energy diminished, I would feel low, I would feel like I'm not as available for myself. I couldn't do the things
that I loved. I couldn't, like, it would, they would be diminished. And it just became clear to me that, like, look, I, I love these things. I don't want stuff to stop me from these things.
And, um, really, that was like, and since I was a little boy, I always felt that in different ways,
like, there's this light, and it's there, and it's for me, and I can follow it, you know, and granted, you know, many times I got away from that, and I, you know, suffered for it.
“But I think that's how that makes sense.”
Please, Ben Gray, talking with you. Thank you so much for coming on the show. I really appreciate it. Yeah, Terry. Thank you. I hope, uh, yeah. I hope it's good for you. Good for us for the show. Thank you for having me. That's been my pleasure. Please, new solo album is called Honoura. Tomorrow on Fresh Air, we'll talk about how the Trump administration's head of the Environmental Protection Agency, Lee Zeldin, has transformed
it. The agency is now packed with industry lobbyists, entire databases have been scrubbed from the agency's website, and hold department's dissolved. That's what Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Elizabeth Colbert writes in her profile of Zeldin published in the New Yorker, where she's a staff writer. I hope you'll join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. Fresh Air's executive producer is Sam Briger,
our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne-Marie Boldenado, Lauren Crenzel, Theresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thia-Challener, Susan Yukundi, Annabellman, and Nico Gonzalez-Wisler. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Roberta Chorock directs the show. Our co-host is Tonya Mosley. I'm Terry Gross.
