Gig played on 19/07/06

The paper pint cup arches through the air over the heads of the thousands that throng in the middle of this vast arena, reaches its zenith - the contents a few inches ahead of the rim - and then begins a rapid descent onto the unsuspecting punters below. With ale puddles spread liberally around the arena and with beer at £3.65 a pint - yes, £3.65 a pint, nearly a pound more than the pub just around the corner - the level of financial and alcoholic indulgence is breathtaking. And that's before we even begin to consider the indulgence going on onstage.

So what else is new chez Chilis? This is a band for whom excess and immoderation are not just bywords but codes of honour in the same way that omerta is to the Mafia and, as exemplified by the sprawling mass that is "Stadium Arcadium", have absolutely no plans to change the habits of a lifetime. So, instead of Herculean drug benders, Red Hot Chili Peppers offer us an Olympian-sized set that clocks in at exactly two hours.

It starts off promisingly enough, as John Frusciante deftly displays the marriage-made-in-heaven that is a Fender Strat and a Marshall stack. The man is undoubtedly a six-string superhero as he teases from his instrument sustained wails, grinding chords and whiplash flourishes. Behind him bassist Flea characteristically lets his fingers do the talking and drummer Chad Smith - never seen in the same room as Will Ferrell, conspiracy fans! - keeps the beat, with the trio joined by a bouncing Anthony Kiedis as they launch into the bump'n'grind of "Can't Stop".

"Scar Tissue" is moving in its own way, "Californication" sounds like a bodybuilder in the throws of 'roid rage and "By The Way" is simply bonkers. The constant throughout is Frusciante as, when unshackled from the constraints of verse-chorus-verse, lets rip to the degree that his band mates seem more like backing musicians than equals. So it is that tonight's selection from "Stadium Arcadium"'s mixed bag feel more like a series of guitars solos - some of them truly jaw-dropping - with some vague song ideas tagged on: "Charlie", "Readymade" and "Skip My Mind" all whiz by but are only rendered memorable by Frusciante's fretwork rather than the actual quality of the song.

As with the playlist they're currently touting, Red Hot Chili Peppers have become less a band and more a vehicle for one man's extraordinary talents. How long that vehicle is prepared to carry passengers is anybody's guess.

by James Marshall