Primus
They Can’t All Be Zingers

THE REVIEW

The undersigned Lorenzo, aka De...Marga... et Genital Grinder, has an excessive, exaggerated, borderline pathological love for the PRAIMUS.

And this fact has already been stated and written several dozen times on the pages of Debaser; you also know that the leader Les Claypool, whether you believe it or not, has long been my not too distant cousin. Many things unite us; first of all, the not exactly idyllic smell emitted by our individual bodies. Besides, there's a saying that "Primus and De...Marga...Sucks!!!!"

This imaginative and rambling introduction serves to introduce to you the collection that our guys released on the musical scene in the second part of 2006. A sort of compendium that goes to retrieve the singles published by the Californians in the first part of their phantasmagoric career; from the seismic beginnings of 1990 to the more (il)logical scorching psychedelia of the last track "Mary the Ice Cube."

I possess (Possessed) all the albums of the unruly trio, including some rare singles. But I didn't give a darn fig about that and at the time of the release of They Can't All Be Zingers I snatched it up in the rare (and expensive) double vinyl version. Which I then habitually consumed, consumed, and consumed on my modest stereo setup for the (non) joy of the neighborhood: because Primus' music is listened to at a blaring volume.

Where do I start this new good news of mine?

From the cheesy cover that recalls the famous "Sailing the Seas of Cheese"; from the writings that accompany the artwork, reminding us once again how the band always seeks irony, goofing around, even making fun of us buyers. Indeed, things of this nature can be read and translated on the cover in this humorous manner: "Sixteen slices of creamy audio goodness" (how could I not credit you, my good cousin!!!). And again: "Our classic songs repackaged for your convenient listening and for our economic benefit" (Couldn’t be clearer!!!!!!).

Then finally come the tracks where the usual cosmic turmoil reigns, the controlled chaos resulting from technique that knows no bounds. The piercing bass and the cartoonish nasal voice "alive and kicking" of Les; the drums ready to dictate syncopated and skewed times first from Tim and subsequently from Brain. And lastly, the sometimes lazy guitar, which seems to head off in a completely different direction, playing sometimes ahead or behind what you’d expect: it’s Larry LaLonde handling the six-string.

Thus they create that sound, that modus operandi that unabashedly revisits the lessons of sacred monsters like Zappa, Pink Floyd, Residents, King Crimson, Minutemen, George Clinton...etc...etc...etc...I have intentionally skipped a few.

But in the end, it's only and solely about Primus; because nothing and no one has ever sounded like them. I have long decreed and am ready to confirm it all even under any kind of torture.

Because "My name is Mud" and above all "I am ready to fight the laws of tradition."

For those who are unaware of the musical saga, still ongoing, of Primus, it is recommended to view such a work of art. In small doses because they are addictive: I am certain of it, believe me...You hit (Enrico) Papi...

Ad Maiora.