janesaddiction.org

Toronto Star - Toronto, Ont.
December 2, 1988
Jane's Addiction says we're all in big trouble
Author: Mitch Potter Toronto Star

"I feel that I'm slightly sick, because of society," emotes Perry Farrell, main mouth behind helter-skelter Los Angeles rock sensation Jane's Addiction.

"And what I sing is a slightly sick man's tune. When an animal is caught in a trap, it makes a sound that you don't really want to hear, but you can't help but listen to it.

"That's the cry of being in trouble. So maybe what Jane's Addiction is saying is that we're all in big, big trouble."

At last, a straight answer. Because the first 40 minutes of the mid-tour telephone connection from Milwaukee implied that "Idiots Rule", one of the key songs from the group's new debut album, Nothing's Shocking, is in fact a self-fulfilling prophesy.

Jane's Addiction may soon rule, in a hard-rock context. Released eight weeks ago, the album sports a violent cover depicting two nude Siamese twins with their hair on fire, along with a warning sticker trumpeting that, within, you'll hear "Language which may be unsuitable for some listeners."

Even without the music to back it up, media-manipulating techniques like this guarantee sold-out shows, which is exactly what Jane's Addiction has managed so far on its cross-country trek. There's no reason to believe things will be any different on Thursday, when the quartet makes its Toronto debut at the Diamond.

Ironically, the band does come through. Nothing's Shocking is a raucous potpourri of guitar-dominated rock that alternately recalls good Led Zeppelin, numbing Black Sabbath, trounching Gang Of Four and wildly exhilarating New York Dolls and more. The record successfully tip-toes through a cliche-ridden genre without stepping in any of it.

Lyrically obtuse in places, Jane's Addiction puts its finger on the big red button in a least two songs, the title track and "Ted, Just Admit It", both of which rail articulately against the state of a media-dominated world.

"Ted Koppel's our pal," snorts Farrell. "Maybe we should send him those songs, maybe they'll make 'em the intro themes to the show.

"Actually, those tunes are about as close as Jane's Addiction gets to coming out from behind a facade and really taking a shot at summing up society as it is. Our point is hard to argue - nothing is shocking anymore, and TV news is just another show with sex and violence. Just another 30 minutes like the rest of it."

Aside from an independent album on Triple X Records and a subsequent major label bidding war from which Warner Brothers emerged victorious, not much is known about the group. And its members aren't telling.

Farrell, who filled the group's smarmy, mocking eight-page promotional bio with semi-serious drivel, says only that he was born in New York, raised in Florida and landed in Los Angeles about eight years ago. He formed the group PSI-Com, but all the players converted to Hare Krishna after the release of one EP.

"A typical story, of course," he recalls. "Young man forms rock band, comes home one day and finds out that his bandmates are selling books at the airport."

And, he says, there really is a Jane.

"We all lived in a house together in Los Angeles. Jane was so weird, she's jump out of the shower in the middle of winter, throw the windows open, wrap wet towels around herself and fall asleep. Jane's still around, but not many people know who she is."

It was at Jane's house, says Farrell, that he first met bassist Eric Avery and leaped into a 45-minute jam session that gave birth to the band. Collecting guitarist David Navarro and drummer Stephen Perkins along the way, the band usually scared the audience away when it began playing L.A.-area dives.

"Our first manager was a prostitute. We'd rent out a hall to play in, and she'd insist on standing topless in the ticket booth to sell tickets."

Farrell says the band deliberately passed on a record deal two years ago to go the independent route instead.

"We could've signed before, but it added culture to the group to play the indie way. You gotta play dives, you gotta get that in your blood. It's like roaches becoming immune to pesticides, you gotta get exposed to it over and over again."

Although the debut has garnered negligable radio airplay, sales are near the one million mark. Farrell says he's not holding his breath for radio, but is confident "they'll come around to us, even if it takes two or three albums.

"I'm a big fan of weirdness, so I'm comfortable about the future. I mean, look a punk rock, nobody thought it could get any weirder than that - next thing you know, it mutated into something even stranger.

"I'd like to tell people not to worry if, say, their favorite singer gets killed. Big deal! Something weird will always come along to keep you interested."