July 2025  By Kreig Marks​

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Kreig:  Dave, you've always been known as someone who blends the sensual and the cerebral in your music. What’s been inspiring you lately?

 

Dave: Lately? Silence. Honestly. After decades of noise and chaos, I find inspiration in stillness. But also—Japanese ambient music, classic horror scores, and heartbreak. That last one’s a lifelong muse.

 

Kreig:  Classic horror scores.  Interesting but cool too.  Your guitar tone is iconic—otherworldly, raw, and emotional. How do you shape that sound?

 

Dave: It starts with pain. That’s the first filter. Then I layer on effects like you’d put on armor. It’s less about gear and more about what emotional state I’m channeling when I plug in.

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Kreig:  Let’s talk Jane’s Addiction. The chemistry you had with Perry Farrell was undeniable—but lately, that chemistry seems… volatile. What actually happened on stage during that amplifier incident?

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Dave: Yeah, that night... it wasn’t our proudest moment. Perry got frustrated because my amp was louder than he expected—it was a miscommunication, not an act of defiance. But emotions were high, and he reacted physically. I didn’t retaliate. I chose to step back, because honestly, it felt like we were falling into old patterns. We’ve both grown, but maybe not enough in the same direction.

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Kreig:  So, do you and Perry still have a relationship now, after that altercation?

 

Dave: “Relationship” is a strong word. We’ve exchanged texts, mostly civil. But no, we’re not talking regularly. We’ve always been like volatile elements—brilliant together when it clicks, explosive when it doesn’t. I wish him peace, truly. But I need space.

 

Kreig:  Looking back, do you think Jane’s Addiction was more of a band—or a beautiful disaster?

 

Dave: Beautiful disaster is generous. It was both—a revolution and a train wreck. But that’s what made it magnetic. We weren’t supposed to be safe or polished. We were supposed to be felt.

 

Kreig:  What do you miss most about the early Jane’s days?

 

Dave: The sense that anything was possible. That punk, funk, metal, and psychedelia could all live in one body. Before egos and expectations got involved. Just raw creation.

 

Kreig: Is there a part of you that still wants to make peace with Perry—artistically or personally?

 

Dave: Part of me does. But peace takes two willing hearts. I’m open to a conversation, but it has to come from respect, not nostalgia or obligation. We’ve both seen too much to pretend anymore.

 

Kreig:  You’ve played with Jane’s, RHCP, and solo. Where did you feel most yourself?

 

Dave: Solo. Not because I’m a control freak, but because I could express the darkest, strangest parts of myself without compromise. With Jane’s, I was a contributor. On my own, I’m the canvas.

 

Kreig:  You’ve been open about your battles with addiction and trauma. Has music always been your form of therapy?

 

Dave: Music is the only language I’ve ever trusted. Talking helps, sure—but playing is where I bleed. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t fix you. It just absorbs.

 

Kreig:  Do you think Jane’s Addiction has one last great album left in it—or is that chapter closed?

 

Dave: If we could leave egos at the door, maybe. But that’s a big if. Right now, it feels like that book’s on the highest shelf. I’m not reaching for it anymore. But who knows?

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Kreig:  If Perry reads this interview—what would you want him to know?

 

Dave: That I never turned up my amp to drown him out. It wasn’t about ego—it was about energy. And that I hope he finds his center again, wherever that is. I’m still here, just... at a distance.

 

Kreig:  What’s next for Dave Navarro? More music, art, or something entirely unexpected?

 

Dave: All of it. I’ve been painting more, writing, even exploring scoring for film. The past doesn’t define me. It shaped me, sure—but I’m still creating. Still healing. Still plugged in.