John Frusciante

John Frusciante’s year-long string of six solo albums, an interesting if odd enterprise, ends with Curtains. The music on it is relentlessly depressing, and his lyrics consist of the self-conscious poesy one might find in a high schooler’s chapbook; it’s less self-contained works than processes with which he can unleash pent-up emotions and use his fans as receptive, sympathetic listeners. At times, it is compelling, even if by now the same chords tend to reappear again and again. “A Name,” for example, sounds eerily similar to Will to Death‘s “Unchanging.” On the former, he sang, “Time is unchanging, let me go/Life gave me up and I have no control.” On the latter, he sings, somewhat more hopefully, “Now go on and on and on/Letting it out when the feeling’s strong.”