SHOW REVIEW: Primus Sucks and The Dead Kenny Gs are Looney Tunes Published Friday, June 3, 2011 By amanda_caines. Under Editor : Amanda Caines, Photographer: Dianna Augustine, Show Review, The Fillmore (Charlotte), Writer: Amanda Caines Tags: Amanda Caines, jazz, live review, metal, Primus, primus sucks, punk, rock, the dead kenny gs, The Fillmore (Charlotte), weird stuff
While I’m not the biggest fan of funk, jam bands, or drums & bass, Primus is one of those bands that is truly legendary, so I just had to experience them live. As a former bassist, I’ve always looked up to Les Claypool’s technique-flexing approach to bass playing. That, and sometimes they’re just hilarious. Their opening act, The Dead Kenny Gs, was pretty delightfully insane as well.
When The Dead Kenny Gs came out on stage wearing long, curly black wigs and white suit jackets with blood spatter on them, I couldn’t help but giggle. Then two of them picked up saxophones, paying harmonic homage to their living namesake, and proceeded to make some crazy noise that vaguely resembled the lovechild of Count Basie and The Melvins. Instrumental punk rock jazz—really? I figured, hell, let’s give it a try.
Listening to The Dead Kenny Gs was like hearing the Muppets take over a jazz combo performance. It was straightforward jazz with sax and vibraphone one moment and gutteral screams and blast beats the next. Some of it also sounded like a soundtrack from Looney Tunes and I half expected to see Wile E. Coyote skulking around with some ACME products in the crowd. Very strange, but at the same time intriguing, I couldn’t help but shake my booty while wondering, “WTF?”
Not only was their music interesting, they were fiercely talented, especially percussionist Mike Dillon, who simultaneously played vibraphone and a drum kit. That was some Cirque de Soleil grade coordination. Saxophonist Skerik did a bit of musical multi-tasking as well, alternating between his overdrive-effected sax and a sample pad (and occasionally screaming lyrics into the sax mic).
Showing their roots, they covered Dead Kennedys’ “Kill the Poor,” which Mike Dillon says has come back into fashion since its inception in the early Eighties because the similar economic climate has reared its ugly head. The one other lyric-laden song in their set was their own “Black Death,” with political tones that chastise BP for spilling oil while recognizing that our world as we know it would literally shut down without the black gold. All-in-all a bad-ass set and enough variety to keep even the most severe cases of ADHD entertained.
Even though The Dead Kenny Gs seemed to have had a lot more fun on stage, the crowd was clearly there to hear Primus (even if they’re shouting “Primus Sucks”–inside joke). As a side note, I noticed that this crowd was a serious sausagefest, with literally at least 75% more fellas than ladies—I guess pork soda is mostly a male-oriented beverage. As Primus broke into their opening tune “Pudding Time,” I felt the floor thundering beneath me from hundreds of foot-stomping, fist-pumping fans getting into it.
Illuminated by numerous stage lights and guarded by 30-foot-tall inflatable astronauts, Primus was part funk-metal band, part acid trip, like as if a spaceship landed in the middle of a hash bar. The astronauts’ visors acted as projection screens showing everything from eyeballs to pigs to George W. Bush (shown during “My Name is Mud”), creating an eccentric ambiance in the concert hall. Les Claypool’s odd vocals, while not melodic, add peculiar percussive elements to the rhythm-driven riffs. Between songs, Les made some cheap jokes, engaging the audience with profane interjections and questions. He asked of the Fillmore audience, “Is this a good place to go? ‘Cause we don’t wanna be playing no shitholes!” He also let us know a little bit about their upcoming album, from which they played a few songs, including an allegory about the changing dynamics of the music business via salmon… and something about lumberjacks. They also had Les come out in a monkey mask at one point—never a dull moment.
Primus entertained and amused me, but, being a vocal-oriented music fan, I appreciated with much less engagement in the music than I might have. Then again, I was sober, having somehow avoided a contact high from the patchouli-doused hippies reeking of reefer on all sides of me. Les Claypool lived up to his reputation as possibly the most talented bassist alive, and drummer Jay Lane dazzled us with massive drum solos reminiscent of Carter-Beauford-meets-Neil-Peart.
Their performance, while impressive, did not inspire me to go out and purchase the entire Primus discography, but I am happy to have attended and will make sure my eclectic music collection always possesses a peppering of Primus.
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