Before bawling into their lattes over the unholy pummeling this album is going to receive at the hands of critics, long-time thirtysomething fans of the Chili Peppers might pause to think about how Generation Amercrombie is going to feel about their hip-hopping mojo being flattened when one of these snoozers starts dribbling out of the pub speakers. Rookie bands have had chump-change major label contracts shredded over far better concepts than the title track, a rancid barrel of commercial waste-recycling that includes Anthony warbling a few bars that magpie Boston’s Brad Delp if you can bear listening for it.
Obstructed-palate snoring coming from James Brown’s tour bus has more danceability than “Hump de Bump”; “Snow (Hey Oh)” is a zombie-stumbling Maroon 5 jam devoid even of “Otherside”’s efficacy to make people think of seagull dung; “She’s Only 18″ sounds like Spinal Tap with Flea on bass, a move certain to inspire the Mystery Science Theater heckler in every Nintendo-goggling pre-teen, and all of the above is accomplished in the first 20 minutes. Oh, except for “Dani California,” where Anthony sings “California, rest in peace,” apparently leaving all the Californicating to – ah, who cares.
