Photo by Rex Thomson
Primus is in the midst of an extended tour, which will find its way into 2012 for a series of dates in America and beyond, while supporting their first studio album in 11 years. The aptly-titled Green Naugahyde captures the vintage quality of the band that is “sort of a 70s working class faux leather coach” according to bandleader/composer/bassist extraordinaire/author/filmmaker/winemaker Les Claypool. Indeed, in this interview with Jambands.com, the musician touches upon all things Primus in the present tense, while always being very careful about not heading down any roads that appear a bit nostalgic.
That precarious cause is certainly helped by the fact that the new album is an inventive, engaging, thoroughly modern and creatively sharp work, finding the trio, including Claypool, longtime guitarist Larry LaLonde, and drummer Jay Lane after an over two-decade absence from the band, in a rather focused peak form. Claypool is a friendly and candid conversationalist while also being down to earth, which is sometimes surprising for a man that neither minds “bizarre, eccentric behavior,” nor discourages trippy imagery. As well he shouldn’t as Primus continues to invent new psychedelic music to view reality as an eye and ear candy factory for the mind.
RR: Seems to be a lot of past, present, and future ideas on the new record. Actually, some of the lyrical content appears to be a bit “end of times” oriented, as well. I was wondering how you viewed those lyrics within the context of these new songs.
LC: I didn’t step into this thing lyrically with any particular concept or the notion of potentially doing that. I find that once you try to follow a storyline, you are putting up parameters and, a lot of times, that constricts the natural flow of things. That being said, I do spot sort of this running blue collar perspective of Americana and elements of media that run through the piece. Hence, that is why we went with the name Green Naugahyde because, for me, I took it from the song “Lee Van Cleef”: a yellow Studebaker with a 302 and a seat of green naugahyde. That was my dad’s pickup truck when I was a kid. Where we grew up—Larry LaLonde and I—in El Sobrante, California, and coming from a long line of auto mechanics, you don’t see too many leather couches. I don’t think I remember seeing any leather couches in those days around the family anywhere—relatives or friends. It was all vinyl or, of course, naugahyde, which is just a fancy name of saying vinyl. So, it seemed to fit what Primus is, or the vibe of the record. It’s sort of a 70s working class faux leather coach.
RR: A belated happy birthday to you. I will reach that same milestone on the anniversary of Lee Van Cleef’s demise, myself, in a few months.
LC: I’m actually 74 years old.
RR: Wow, congratulations. Yes, my dad mentioned seeing you at a few shows in the 1950s in Chicago. How have you managed to manipulate your timeline so well?
LC: Donkey embryos.
RR: (laughs) The last time we spoke, we discussed your film, Electric Apricot, and you mentioned that if you’d think of doing things in terms of strictly business, you’d just do Primus all the time. Over the last four years since the release of that film, how did you come around to the thought that you would get Primus back together?
LC: Well, Larry very much wanted to do Primus. I wasn’t as enthused because Primus had become this nostalgia thing, nothing against the nostalgia of Primus, but when that’s all you do, for me, on a creative level, it just becomes a bit tedious. Going out and doing one tour is fine, and that helps fill everybody’s coffers, and you get your nostalgia on, and see some old fans and friends, and it’s great, but it wasn’t going to propel the band forward. Larry was very insistent. He wanted to do it, he wanted to do another record, he wanted to do a full-blown thing, so we realized that the only way that was going to happen is without Tim [Alexander, former Primus drummer]. He realized that, too.
So, the first person that popped into my mind was Jay Lane. Jay quit the band one month before we made our first record, and was very instrumental on those first couple of records, but, also, obviously he has been working with me a lot over the last 20 years. We called him up, played with him, and we started playing “Pudding Time,” I believe, and within ten seconds of playing the song, me and Larry were looking at each other grinning like bastards because you can just feel it. You can just feel the chemistry.
RR: There is no filler on this thirteen-track album. How many songs did you work up for Green Naugahyde ?
LC: That’s how many songs we worked up. We just did it and went, “There we go; we’ve got enough; we’re done.” (laughter) It’s kind of like constructing…you know…it’s like building a house. Once we got the flow of this thing, it’s like making a film—you have enough scenes to tell the story, to fill the audio landscape, there was no reason to continue on. I’m not a big fan of incredibly long records, for the most part.
RR: I hear ya. 75 minutes and 50 of them are “what the hell were you thinking?”
LC: Well, a lot of people these days I think are filling their records with fluff. In the old days, you couldn’t put so much material on an album because it would sound like shit. [ Green Naugahyde ] just felt like the right length, so we stopped. We had riffs lying around, but no other songs. There are no spare songs laying around anywhere.
RR: I was impressed with the effects the band was able to pack into each song; for example, the sound you achieved on the opening track, “Prelude to a Crawl.”
LC: That’s basically me laying in some textures with my bass, and using delays and looping and whatnot.
RR: “Jilly’s On Smack” has a cool ambient sound in the opening, as well.
LC: That’s Larry with all his toys. The main thing is that we really wanted to…I was very conscious when making this record of having portions of songs open for what we call space—the ability to go on stage and just go off into space and make some nice audio textures that were wide open that we can float around in. So there was a conscious effort to put those elements within certain songs or intros.
RR: There are certain characters that are placed throughout—characters on the seedy fringe of society, whether it is the main character in “Hennepin Crawler,” or people who show up on T.V., or characters spelling out pending doom and the tragedies that are forthcoming. Did you notice that the lyrical content was media-driven, or has that always been part of your take on pop culture?
LC: I definitely noticed on “Eyes of the Squirrel” and “Moron T.V.” (laughter). I couldn’t resist the “more on TV” pun, so I just had to build upon it, and it wasn’t very difficult. (laughter)
RR: Right—“The Big Electric Stain.”
LC: (laughs) Yeah. “Eyes of the Squirrel” started off as “Eyes of the World.” But it seemed a little contrived; plus, obviously, there is the Grateful Dead song, so I wanted to twist it a bit. “Eyes of the Squirrel”—the notion of crossing a camera and a vermin seemed to be appealing. Cameras are the eyes of the world, and they are everywhere now. They are like little squirrels. You can’t run a traffic light these days without the old squirrel cam getting you.
RR: Speaking of cameras, at the time, you told me that making your film was the hardest undertaking you have had in your career. Is that still true? Did that discourage you from wanting to make other films?
LC: Oh, it’s totally discouraged me. I’m still trying to get back on the horse. It was incredibly difficult and, then, doing our deal with [National] Lampoon has been a complete disaster. The president of Lampoon is in federal prison for fraud, as is his second in command. We had a film that was winning awards, and we were doing midnight showings, and it had some legs to it, and they just did nothing with it. In fact, the copies that they made, I had never looked at the actual prints that they had made, or the discs that they made, and they looked terrible. I don’t know what they did in the process, but it looks terrible. Right now, we’re trying to get it back. It’s been very frustrating, but I’m always pitching. I’ve got a handful of screenplays and treatments that I am tossing around.
RR: You also worked with a friend on a horror film about a 3,000-pound pig that terrorizes the pot fields of Northern California.
LC: Yeah, I did the music for that and I played a small role in it. It’s on DVD. It came and went. It’s a horror film called Pig Hunt. Robert Mailer Anderson [ Pighunt’s co-screenwriter, along with Zack Anderson] and I became good friends, subsequently, because of that film. He’s an author and a cool guy.
RR: As far as reconnecting with old friends, when you got back with Jay, you had worked with him for over two decades, as you mentioned, but was there any sort of conversation which took place when he returned to Primus?
LC: No, it’s not like that all with me and Jayski. The thing is that I play drums, or at least Lapdog does [Lapland “Lapdog” Miclovich, Claypool’s drumming alter ego in the film, Electric Apricot, and elsewhere], and my inspiration as a drummer 70% comes from Jay Lane. That’s who I think of when I play—guys like him, Stewart Copeland, and [John] Bonham. I’ve always, as a drummer, idolized Jay Lane. When we play together, it’s been commented, and I remember when we were making the first Frog Brigade record, Purple Onion, Jayski came in to lay down some tracks, and if I get Jay Lane for one or two days, I get several songs out of it. He came in and we just started playing. I remember at the time Eenor (guitars, cümbüş with Frog Brigade) said, “Holy shit. You guys have chemistry.” It is very natural for me—playing with Jay—and we have a very intuitive relationship. It’s like stepping into a pair of comfortable shoes. But it’s an exciting pair of comfortable shoes. He’s got big ears, and he listens to every little thing that’s going on and reacts to it, so that’s good.
RR: You brought up Stewart Copeland, and I wanted to ask you about the session you just played with him, Tool’s Danny Carey, and Rush’s Neil Peart.
LC: Well, Stewart and Neil have become friends—actually, I introduced them—over the past handful of years, and I kept saying, “God, the world would love it if you guys did a project.” So Stewart, he’s always up for putting together these little events and he said, “I’m getting Neil coming over and Danny Carey is coming over, and you’ve got to come down.” I live in Northern California, and I said, “Shit, I’ll fly down,” so I flew down and I met him at this sushi restaurant, and they were already hammered. They’re already hammered. They’ve already eaten a shitload of food. So then, we go back to Stewart’s house, and everybody was hammered. He just turned on the machine, and everybody started playing instruments. At one point, I was playing drums, Stewart was playing bass, he had the upright going, and it was just sort of a drunken hang. And then, Stewart looked through it, and found some nuggets and made some interesting stuff out of it.
RR: Speaking of Neil Peart, you played a version of Rush’s “The Spirit of Radio” in Canada last year.
LC: Yeah, in Canada, Rush won induction into the Canadian Songwriter’s Hall of Fame. I went up with my Fungi Band, which was Mike Dillon on vibes and marimba, Paulo
Baldi on drums, and Sam Bass on cello. We did “Spirit of Radio” with no guitar. It was really cool, actually. It was fun. It was good to see those guys again. I hadn’t seen them in a while.
Photo by Rex Thomson
RR: Obviously, you are also well-known as someone who also gathers various artists together for events throughout your career, you have the Oddity Faire coming up on October 29 at Berkeley’s Greek Theatre. Is it true that is your favorite venue?
LC: That has always been my favorite venue for many reasons. I’ve seen some incredible shows there, I’ve played some incredible shows there, and I’ve been a part of incredible events there. I used to live a block away from it, and I remember when we used to play the Greek Theatre, I could walk there from my house. There’s just a lot of history there for me. There’s some sound restrictions on it that you have to dance around, but it’s an amazing place. We wanted to do the Oddity Faire this year. We didn’t want to tour it. We just wanted to do one big event, so that we could really concentrate on the extracurricular eye candy, and we’re doing it at the Greek this year. It’s going to be a freak show. (laughter)
RR: You’ve got Omar Rodriguez Lopez from the Mars Volta. What other acts are on the bill for the Oddity Faire?
LC: Well, there’s a bunch of surprise stuff. I don’t want to tip the hat a little bit. We’re going to be doing two sets. There are not bands, per se, but there’s a lot of audio and visual candy that’s going to be going on throughout the whole place.
RR: Let’s return to our talk about Primus. You’ve got some new material for the band with this 13-track album. How do you assimilate that into the sets, stay focused on all the songs, making it fresh, and not something that is stale?
LC: For me, mixing it up every night when we’re doing two sets, the first thought was that we weren’t sure…the original thought was “Maybe we should play this record in its entirety.” And then I thought, “Naw, that could be too much work,” and our manager said, “Well, you know, you guys are already playing every song but three,” and this was prior to the record even being out when we were touring Europe. So, I thought, “Well, you’re right.” It amazed me because I’ve never had a record like that. Ever. Except for maybe the first couple records because a lot of those tunes were worked out in clubs for years. But, usually, you make a record and you play three or five songs and there are some songs that you just don’t play and they kind of rotate through the set. [Green Naugahyde] right out the gate we’re already playing the majority of it, so we decided, “Well, let’s play the whole thing, and we’ll test it out on the Boston crowd, and see if they get bored and leave.” (laughter) So we did our first set, showed ‘em some cartoons, and played the second set with the new record in its entirety, and came back out and closed with two or three old songs, and it’s gone incredibly well. It really flows. It’s like a film. We have quite a bit of eye candy. It’s a very psychedelic show.
We sort of found some kindred spirits recently when we did some shows with the Flaming Lips. I’ve been wanting to play with the Lips for a long time. I’ve done some shows with my bands with the Lips, and it just hadn’t come around [with Primus], so when we did it, both parties realized, “Whoa, this is actually really cool.” The audiences complement each other. The bands complement each other. It was really a good thing, so we’re hoping to do some more of that in the future. Needless to say, our show is pretty psychedelic from many aspects.
RR: Every show on your recent European tour was sold out. How were the crowds?
LC: It seemed like everybody loved it. Nobody threw anything at me. (laughter)
RR: I’ve seen a YouTube video where some dude threw a shoe at you, and you responded with a sharp quip, which turned the ‘large shoe concept’ on its head.
LC: Yeah, I don’t know. It always blows my mind. Jayski got hit in the neck with a beer the other night. Fortunately, it was a cup, but it was a full cup of beer and it hit him in the neck, and I didn’t even realize what was going on. Jay is like the biggest, happiest, nicest guy in the world. He’s a big, happy, bundle of fun, and he was pissed, man. In between sets, he was heading out into the bear cage and looking for this guy. He’s a big Sasquatch of a guy, and I wouldn’t want him pissed off at me, and he was pissed. But, you know, every now and again, you get one of these jackasses whose parents didn’t hug them enough and they have to do something like this to get attention and it’s pretty pathetic. I would just rather they would save their money and see somebody else.
RR: Right. As much as you have an innovative attitude, I don’t think you need such bizarre, eccentric behavior at your shows.
LC: Well, I don’t mind bizarre, eccentric behavior. (laughs) But I’m all about constructive, not destructive.
RR: We both have children and I was wondering how they impact your art. Do they have an influence, or does the art change based on the normal process of aging?
LC: I think there’s quite a few factors with what happens with your perspective, but children are definitely a complete game changer. It’s a whole new chapter in life once kids arrive. For some people, it’s not. For some people, they continue to be selfish and do their thing, but for me, no matter how you slice it, as you move through life, and you’re young, the world revolves around you. And I think your parents reinforce that—if you are lucky enough to have parents who do that; it is reinforced. For the most part, the world revolves around you—either consciously, or subconsciously. Once you have kids, it doesn’t revolve around you anymore. It revolves around them, so it changes many things.
RR: The new album deals with materialism to a degree. How do you view that concept, and how do you reconcile that with being a father who has to be there for your children, but hope that they find their own way at some point? Is your art taking place in some sort of alternate universe that is parallel to your home life?
LC: That is a big ole thick sticky broad stroke question. (laughter) Jesus Christ.
RR: Sorry. Sometimes, I just go and see where the riff takes me.
LC: The thing about materialism is that I am like the collector of just crap. I’m a Craig’s List junkie. We used to have this amazing flea market in Marin that Larry and I and my wife and his ex would go to all the time and we’d buy crap fishing poles and lunch boxes and car parts—you know, whatever, (laughs) knick knacks. And I love that shit. I remember Tom Waits once called me a Pawn Shop Weasel. I have all this pawn shop shit. I even gave him an old Fender Rhodes bass keyboard that I found at a pawn shop. So I have a lot of crap. I definitely don’t have the Buddhist approach to possessions. I don’t know where that puts me in the materialism department. (laughs) I’m kind of a hoarder of crap and old cars—and not necessarily nice old cars. (laughs) I’m always baffling my in-laws with the amount of machinery and whatnot I have around my place.
It’s funny that you brought up the materialism thing. I’m not the guy that shops…I shop…my wife makes fun of me because I love buying my clothes at Sears. I love it. I don’t go buy Gucci this or Gucci that. She does, but she buys all this old vintage stuff on eBay, and she buys things really cheap. She was on eBay when nobody knew what the hell it was. She’d go to this thing called the Dig, and she’d find a Pucci dress, and I didn’t know what the hell it was. She’d find it and pay two bucks for it, and turn around and sell it for 800 dollars. It’s sort of Sanford and Son mentality.
Even that little critter on the cover of the album—I found that thing in my favorite knick knack shop out where I live. I stumbled across it and thought, “This thing’s amazing.” There is a sadness to it, you know? I call him Nurmol. It’s this really cool old toy. I did some research on it and it’s actually very valuable. It was in the original box, had the original manual, and the original string, and it doesn’t look like it’s been played with. There is something very sad about that—a toy that’s almost 100 years old that has never really been played with. I found that compelling, just the notion that it’s just sad—little Nurmol never really got played with.
RR: I like that vibe about your music, too. I can’t quite pin down where something came from, or whether or not I have even heard these types of sounds before, specifically on something like “Jilly’s On Smack”—hard rock interlude with a Middle Eastern tinge segueing into rockabilly in some Claypool alternate world.
LC: I was very insistent on this record that everybody bring in material, that we don’t just start with jams, but we will also have material that everybody brings in. And we never really did that before. Ler [LaLonde] was always hesitant. I don’t know if it was a confidence issue or what. Like the riff for “Eternal Consumption Engine”—Ler has been playing that riff for fifteen years or something I’ve been hearing that: “When are we going to put that on a record? I love that.” And he finally did it.
He came in with that lick for “Jilly’s On Smack” [Claypool scats the guitar riff], and I was like, “Man, that’s just so cool. What are we going to do with it? What are we going to do with it?” Then I started looking through my notes, found the “Jilly’s On Smack” lyrics, or partial lyrics, and fleshed them out a little more, and I wrote that mid-section, that sort of jungle-y, tribal-y section.
But it’s funny because that song…people are really gravitating towards that song. The interesting thing about iTunes now is that people are now not just downloading records, but they are downloading individual songs, and that song, by far, is the most downloaded song off the record by double. It’s funny because it’s not like it is getting any radio airplay. People are drawn towards that tune, and it’s one whenever we play it at shows, people get all fired up, it feels good to play it.
It’s…an interesting piece.
RR: I heard a little bit of a Minutemen riff in “Extinction Burst.”
LC: I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m more versed in [Mike] Watt’s solo stuff than the Minutemen.
RR: “Eyes of the Squirrel” has a great outro jam.
LC: The original “Eyes of the Squirrel” was a little shorter. We added that little space section, but it was quite a bit shorter, and I said, “You know what? This is super cool. Let’s make it longer.” So we went in and added to it, and made that whole end section much more… tactile, I guess. (laughter)
RR: End sections. You will be in Hawaii at the end of this year sharing a stage with Jane’s Addiction. You had brought up making damn sure that you are not just revisiting the past, but, on the contrary, you are pushing things forward with Primus. When Primus plays a gig with Jane’s Addiction, is it a new mixture, or, let’s face it, you get to be in Hawaii at the end of the year?
LC: A little bit of being in Hawaii at the end of the year and Jane’s guys are old friends of ours. Actually, I’m a little torn on this one—not about the gig itself, but I had my 20th anniversary of playing New Year’s in the Bay Area last year. It was sort of decided that “Well, you’ve done 20, let’s take a year off.” But I’m kind of like “Wow, you know, I did 20, I could…” because every year it’s a pain in the ass. It messes up the holidays, I’ve got to rehearse, I have to get all these musicians together, and it’s a lot of work. We always have to do some special things, so I’m always kind of stressed during the holidays because of this event. So, the notion was “Let’s take a year off from doing that. You’ve done twenty in a row. You don’t need to do another one in the Bay Area. Let’s go do this Hawaii thing.” And, you know, easy peasy. But, I’m a little sad that I’m not doing it, that I’m not continuing on with the legacy in the Bay Area.
RR: Because of the memories of those twenty years, or because all the hard work is worth it once you get up on stage?
LC: Mainly because it’s been tradition and I’m stopping now and I’m kind of “Hmmm…” Even though I’m Mr. Defy the Laws of Tradition and all that shit, I’m not sure I’m excited about taking a year off. I’m excited about going to Hawaii and seeing Perry [Farrell] and those guys, but I am a little torn that I am not doing the Bay Area this year. I wonder how long I could have gone. 20 years in a row—that’s pretty good.
