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Rating: And the important day of the HUNDREDTH review on our DeBaser came for Genital Grinder (aka De...Marga)!!!
And since it is a somewhat significant event, it is only right to celebrate it with one of those "concert" pages that I/he like to bring up now and then.
The good Les Claypool all alone, without his trusted guitarist, none other than Larry "always-on-move" LaLonde.
My first, and still for the moment only, time with cousin Les outside of his mother band: those Primus that have been delighting me, accompanying me, rattling my soul and body with the best totalitarian crossover ever heard on this planet for about thirty years.
But today let's put aside the Primus and think solely and exclusively about Les...perhaps...
I arrive in front of the Milan venue already by early afternoon, a cold mid-March afternoon, with a precise intent: position myself near the tour bus and wait for Les to come out to take a picture with him. Hours of waiting, alleviated by the presence of some people there for the same reason. And then finally, the die is cast, to use the Latin phrasing and pretend to be a wise guy accordingly: a very irritated Les not inclined to stop with us waiting at the entrance. With my almost understandable English, I invite him to satisfy my request, and perhaps frightened by my beard and not so recommendable face, the photo takes shape. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years, and I can say with absolute certainty to debunk a long-circulating rumor: Les doesn't stink at all!!!...PRIMUS REALLY (no) SUCKS...
Les says something to me that I don’t understand, takes a few more photos but quickly leaves us because he's in a hurry to get into the venue to check all his instruments.
That somewhat faded photo has been accompanying DeMa's avatar for a few minutes: I am, of course, the one on the right for those very few who do not know the bassist.
Let's get back to us and the concert; among the first to enter (and what a surprise!!) the dark venue, I position myself at the barricade, as has happened dozens of times in my career as a live music event-goer. I've written it over and over again, and it's right to repeat it once more: for me, a concert is to be experienced with gut feeling, as far forward as possible; on rare occasions has it happened to remain seated in stands, on bleachers, far from the hot zone of the event. Sweating, shouting, fighting in many cases to maintain the conquered position; moshing where possible like a madman, elbowing, flying above people, launching off the stage onto the crowds!! Indispensable sensations for me once; now I'm more relaxed...in part.
Les comes in with his companions, all dressed in jackets and bow ties and wearing masks that alter their features. The bassist wears a top hat, a red shirt, a dark vest. Not even a hint of a greeting, but it doesn't matter much.
There is no guitarist, but a viola (!!!) and percussion that joins a minimal drum set. As was logically expected, it's the bass, or rather the basses played by Les that dominate the two hours of the show.
Jagged and oblique rhythms flow from his hands; he never stands still but constructs compelling, convincing plots. He mixes, blends a bit of everything.
He moves with proverbial ease from Jazz to Funk, from Metal to the more canonical Rock; Psychedelia and Progressive are delivered in massive doses from the amplifiers. They don't make any mistakes, the cohesion among all musicians approaches absolute perfection; all made even more loud and yet entertaining by Les’s nasal cartoon-like voice. Throughout the long concert, he changes many bass guitars, all played with a skill that for me has no comparison. A technique that nonetheless never bores; the notes flow freely, continuously always at the service of the show.
His long solo career is retraced; a couple of obligatory tributes to Primus and Sausage are not missing. And so, served on a silver platter are "Southbound Pachyderm" and "Riddles are Abound Tonight": what a trip, what personal enjoyment. Surprises are not lacking: the initial opening of "N.I.B" by Black Sabbath is hinted, and even the cornerstone riff of "Kashmir" by Zeppelin. Easy to imagine my further trip and enjoyment!!
The two hours fly by, too quickly damn it. We're already at the end.
For sure, Les has a personality beyond the ordinary; his is a bizarre world, populated by strange creatures, gravediggers, crazy fishermen, chaotic firefighters.
Live show for me worthy of top marks...but with Les, I'm too but too biased...WHAMOLA...
Diabolos Rising 666.
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