Primus
Brown Album

THE REVIEW

Even the best make mistakes. It's an overused and banal stereotype, but unfortunately, it often corresponds to the truth. The best, those who seemingly never miss a beat, sometimes fail to hit the target. And there's no one to blame for it, after all, they are still human beings, albeit blessed by the sacred fire of Art.

It makes no difference, then, if we're talking about Primus, a historic flagship band of the '90s demented rock, almost the ultimate heir to the surreal and schizoid aesthetics of the father of all freaks, Frank Zappa. Well, yes, because after albums that have now become classics like "Frizzle Fry," "Sailing The Seas Of Cheese," and "Pork Soda," it's normal for a group to feel the weight of a certain creative fatigue on their shoulders. Not to say that "Brown Album" is a worthless or completely devoid of value, but the band now begins to resemble an assembly line, with Primus-like lyrics, Primus-like riffs, and Primus-like singing. Tracks like "The Return Of Sathington Willoughby," a sort of pseudo-republican speech set to music complete with Native American rhythm, hammering slap bass, and atonal guitar squeaks, and "Shake Hands With Beef," a syncopated and martial funk rock dominated by a grotesque chorus and the understated recitation of Claypool, immediately showcase the band's class but offer very little compared to illustrious episodes from their past like "Jerry Was A Race Car Driver" and "My Name Is Mud." "Camelback Cinema" is a stone's throw from thrash metal but does nothing but bore with its repetitive and obsessive structure, while "Bob's Party Time Lounge" dives into a wild, fun funk-metal but nothing more. "Coddingtown" is another proof of the absorption of even harsher sounds compared to the past, with its speed-metal drive at two hundred an hour flavored by a surreal chorus.
Elsewhere, the band adds reggae and ska hints to its established blend, especially in "Duchess And The Proverbial Mindspread," while "Restin' Bones" and the concluding "Arnie" (with its funky cadence, the dark tremor of the guitar, and Claypool's almost beat recitation) bring back the threatening and leaden atmospheres of "Pork Soda." All of this, however suggestive and entertaining some episodes may be, is ruined by a raw production, in my opinion, unsuitable for the group's sound, while the band often does nothing but rehash the sounds that made them famous.

Even the best make mistakes. And I'm sorry to say it, but I'm afraid that with this album, Primus really missed the mark. It engages little, entertains halfway, bores far too much. I haven't listened to "Antipop," but from what I've heard and read, it seems far from a rebirth... so I wonder: have they really hit rock bottom? I hope they can prove me wrong.