“We’re going to do our best to entertain the faeces out of you”, declares Les Claypool early in the Primus set at the O2 Academy Brixton, shortly after singing a few bars of Chim Chim Cher-ee from Mary Poppins. Eschewing any rock ‘n’ roll trappings, the trio are nothing but wonderfully singular in their oddness, and this sort of banter typifies their off-the-wall approach.
Primus
O2 Academy Brixton – 19 August 2026
Words: Paul Monkhouse
Photography: Manuela Langotsch
Truth be told, Claypool could have come onstage and recited a phonebook and received a rapturous reception from the adoring crowd, but both band and fans know that nothing short of their best is good enough.
The return of Primus to the capital has been a long time coming, having last played in the UK in 2017. So anticipation was sky high amongst those eager to see the El Sobrante trio back in their natural habitat, in front of a live audience.
Delaying their set by forty-five minutes to ensure that as many of the people filtering in through the O2 Academy’s frustratingly slow entrance system saw the whole set, the opening blast of Too Many Puppies saw huge swathes of the already roasting audience throw themselves around with utter abandon to its twisted and stuttering funk, the place filled with singing voices.
Taking a left turn with Duchess And The Proverbial Mind Spread, gloried in its fractured croon, Larry LaLonde’s guitar solo and new boy drummer John Hoffman showing their individual chops.
Such is the level of individuality of Primus that any academic analysis proves pointless in the setting of one of their live shows, and when dealing with Groundhog’s Day, a number that sounds like a wild call through a rusted jazz telephone from the 1930’s, the only option is just to give in and dance.
Whether you believe Claypool’s assertion that this is Hoffman’s first time out of the country and that the drummer has only just got a passport, library card and fishing licence, he has certainly fitted in well to the longstanding band’s family, his playing the perfect accompaniment to the bass player’s wildly inventive stretches.
With ridiculously sauna-like temperatures making the high-ceilinged venue seem more like legendary Wardour Street sweatbox club The Marquee, the twenty-five-minute interval was a welcome relief, but the band came back swinging.
The monstrous clank of Shake Hands With Beef and John The Fisherman’s spasmodic jerk groove soon got the heat pushing upwards again, a run into the sinister Mr. Krinkle seeing Claypole wearing a pig mask whilst playing an upright bass.
Things got even stranger for Welcome To This World, but as lively as the audience was, My Name Is Mud and the inevitable closer, Jerry Was A Race Car Driver, pushed things truly over the edge.
Primus. They came, they saw, and they rocked our bodies and altered our minds. The world is a better, more interesting place with them in it and long may they continue bringing their surreal visions and soundtracks to life.
