•
Rating: An hour tops is all Primus has!!!
Not a minute more.
The "kind" audience welcomes the San Francisco trio with the usual shout "Primus Sucks!!"...Primus sucks...and they are quite right.
It's August 14, 1994, we're at Woodstock; three days of musical celebration to remember the twenty-fifth anniversary of that other, much more famous Woodstock...
In 2017, the CD of Les, Larry, and Tim's performance is released, which I purchased immediately!!
Because everyone needs some PRAIMUS...DARN...at least as far as I'm concerned.
But back to the concert.
The human tide demands the band's presence on stage; a brief introduction and it begins.
Les arms himself with his bass and strikes the first notes, while Larry and Tim take their places.
One-two-three and BAM!!!! To Defy the Laws of Tradition is fed to those present. A fearsome mosh pit starts right away, watch and enjoy the concert video. A full-scale battle with part of the audience immersed in a sea of mud soon to take center stage.
Les roams back and forth across the vast stage, parading liquid notes with top-of-the-class technique.
Larry seems to be somewhere else entirely, never looking at his mate because there's no need: everything is calculated, everything is mathematical, everything is perfect despite the complexity and length of the first chosen track.
Here Come the Bastards removes all doubt: it will be a concert to remember since I rarely have heard the band so cohesive, determined, and even a bit angry.
Les wears a bizarre shirt reminiscent of the American flag; while Tim on drums in denim overalls looks like Cooter's younger brother, the mechanic from Hazzard!! Various banter, sonic digressions, impromptu instrumentals that extend the individual tracks, and it goes on like this with the crowd never stopping for a moment to battle below the stage.
The most awaited track arrives: that My Name is Mud with its prophetic title, made just for the evening. In fact, Les declares the following: "This is the title of the song and I don't want to be covered in mud." Easy to imagine how the audience ignored his warning.
But there are no problems, and the mud-slinging on stage doesn't stop Primus from continuing.
The bassist gets pissed, snorts, and grunts unrepeatable epithets...but they don't back down an inch.
In fact, they proceed with a dynamite version of Jerry Was a Race Car Driver with even more Metal-Funk and menacing tones. Larry's guitar solo is terrifying; a fury without ever losing control of the situation.
The lighthearted and comical The Air is Getting Slippery offers everyone a brief respite; but then it kicks back into high gear with the overflowing fury of Nature Boy.
A brief mention of the American anthem and we're already in the last song. An expanded, spatial (yes, three zetas work perfectly) version of Harold Of the Rocks: Acid-Blues where Psychedelia reigns supreme!! In the midst of a solo, Larry leaves the stage (sudden physiological needs I imagine) and hands over his Sacred instrument to the equally capable hands of a certain Jerry Cantrell who does a great job continuing the meticulous work of musical dissemination. A show within a show.
Larry returns and amid hearty laughter, the song fades away...
But it's not over: they have just over a minute left and pay tribute to Metallica with the opening seconds of the immortal anthem called Master of Puppets.
DEVASTATING AND INIMITABLE...as always!!!
Ad Maiora.
Loading comments slowly
