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June 26, 2019

Primus - Tales From the Punchbowl
It takes a special type of person to ignore rock convention and make bizzare bass-centered songs. It takes a special amount of tact and guile to write a piece like "Wyona's Big Brown Beaver", and tale of the trials and tribulations of a girl and her big brown beaver. Only with special care can you write a rock song about an animal whose name is a synonym for cunt, much less make it a single. Ladies and gentlemen I give you Les Claypool.

On the surface Primus seems to be a gang of hillbillys unleashed on the world like some sort of bad thing that has to be leashed but suddenly isn't, like Primus. But looking deeper, you find that under their cousin-humping exteriors there exists the hearts of poets, or possibly a singular heart of a poet which is shared somehow. Possibly with lasers. And when you bring lasers into the equation is when it all starts to make sense. You see, Les Claypool isn't just some hick with wicked skill on the bass; Les Claypool is the kind of man who will engage in deep soul-kissing with his sister. Oh wait, I was thinking of that nasty slut Angelina Jolie.... but that brings me to my second point, which is the same as the first point I was trying to make: this review doesn't make any sense. It started with this whole redneck with a heart of gold thing and just got really silly. How I managed to take a perfectly servicable angle and let it degenerate into random pop culture references is beyond me. The right thing to do is start this over, perhaps talking about the totally cool enhanced portion of the cd that can only run in Windows 3.1, but, realistically speaking I have no standards. It's an

Davin says:
But... is the album any good?
That's it! I'm outta here!