Primus’ New Year’s Eve show returned to Oakland’s Fox Theater for the first time since 2017, previously an annual affair dating back to 2010. While the two-night event was rebranded as “Claypool Gold” (a nod to both the New Year’s festivities, as well as the lineup of various ensembles led by Primus frontman and bass extraordinaire Les Claypool), many showgoers observed the dress code for what was initially set to be the “NYE Fisherman’s Chronicles Costume Ball.” A colorful miscellany of seafarers and fish folk stood merrily in line waiting for the theater’s doors to open. The line was already wrapping around the block by the time my little party got to the venue.
Behind us, two dudes were arguing about the biggest question of the night: Who will be sitting behind the drums? This NYE event was momentous for Primus for yet another reason: this was their first time taking the stage since their drummer, Tim “Herb” Alexander, announced he was leaving the band back in October. One of the dudes was convinced Danny Carey of Tool will be tonight’s drummer, as he will be filling in for Primus’ set during their upcoming March shows together. The other dude insisted that Bryan “Brain” Mantia, Primus’ drummer in the late 90s, will be drumming because, well…he played the night before.
The venue let us in at the promised door time. My group headed all the way up to the balcony seats. While my view of the stage was pitiful, I could at least gaze at the Fox’s ornate interiors, its grandeur reminiscent of a time when theaters were built like palaces. I also had a great view of the gold and silver balloons netted onto the ceiling, ready to drop once midnight struck. The crowd was giddy, but patient, up until around 20 minutes after the posted showtime. “Primus sucks!” yelled a fan affectionately, then more folks joined in, a chorus that was repeated throughout the night. Ten minutes later, the lights dimmed and the background music faded away.
The opening act was Beanpole, the brainchild of musicians Derek Greenberg and Adam Gates. I soon found out how thoroughly unprepared I was for this performance, not having done any research about the band prior to the show. Perhaps the best way I can describe Beanpole’s set is as a hybrid of circus music, ‘90s alt-rock, and mountain folk—with metal-adjacent guitar licks to boot. I went back and forth between guffawing and grimacing from embarrassment throughout the set; their lyrics ranged from bizarre mountain town mythos-building, to downright blue and blush-worthy. Some of the gems of the setlist were: “Supper Time!,” an electric circus caravan-style instrumental; “Cousins,” an irreverent exposition of the too-close familial ties of a secluded mountain town; and “Farmer Loved an Onion,” which is probably exactly what you think it’s about.
A lengthy break followed Beanpole as the stage crew prepared for Claypool Gold. Holy Mackerel, dressed in monastic robes, was the first Claypool ensemble to take the stage. Holy Mackerel opened their set with “Highball with the Devil.” As much as I enjoyed Beanpole’s eccentricities, this was the music I eagerly waited for all night: Claypool’s layered bass lines that were mischievous when they jumped around tritones, but intense and quaking once his percussive playing took over; solidly alt-metal overdriven guitar solos that cut through the rumble of the bass and drums; and experimentations with modulation effects that sounded like they came from 1960s outer space. After the song, Claypool addressed the crowd and named some of the creatures he saw on the floor — sturgeons, penguins, John the Fisherman, and “Cap’n F***in’ Crunch!”
Perhaps my favorite part of the whole show was when Frog Brigaders joined Holy Mackerel to form the grand ensemble of the night. The stage now had two drummers whose booms filled every corner of the theater. Swooshing affectations from the guitars created an eerie, foggy atmosphere. The percussionist and the saxophonist stretched and got ready for their upcoming parts. Claypool then started playing his electric upright bass, at first eking out sounds akin to the vocalizations of a demon-possessed dolphin, but later transitioned to a croaky, froggy riff on the instrument’s low string. I didn’t need the weather app to tell me that “Precipitation” was going down at that moment. After a couple of verses, the saxophonist let out wild screeches, followed by a jazzy solo that complemented the woozy feel of the song. Primus’ guitarist Larry LaLonde added to this feel with a feverish, dizzying guitar solo.
The show moved into Colonel Claypool’s Fearless Flying Frog Brigade ensemble starting with a cover of King Crimson’s “Thela Hun Ginjeet.” Claypool hit the slides hard on the song’s iconic bass line. The song was perfect for showcasing the improvisational chops of the musicians on stage, as most of them took a turn soloing. Later on, Claypool, decked out in a sparkly blazer and a disco ball helmet, beat out a hypnotic progression from the song aptly called “Whamola,” referring to the upright single-stringed instrument he was striking with a drumstick. The stage lights shone on Claypool’s helmet and dotted the theater with reflections from its mirrored tiles. The Frog Brigade closed out their set with “D’s Diner,” a song that prompted a fun call and response between Claypool and the audience.
Jarring alarm-like sounds burst from LaLonde’s guitar, signaling that Primus-proper was finally on stage and going into “Those Damned Blue Collar Tweekers,” which was then followed by “Fisticuffs.” At this point, the stage was down to just the three Primus members — Les, Larry, and the mystery drummer. Watching Primus play right after the Frog Brigade made for an interesting juxtaposition. The Frog Brigade was their own brand of fun that played around with layers upon layers of instrumentation. Primus, in contrast, sounded darker, but even whittled down to three musicians, their sound was just as expansive due to Claypool, LaLonde, and the mystery drummer occupying each of their own musical terrain, complementing rather than stepping on the others’ parts. If Claypool’s percussive bass was the quaking, kinetic earth, the mystery drummer complemented the bass with the rumbling thunder of the kick and toms, while dressing the air with crashing cymbals and snares; LaLonde pierced through the stratosphere by playing in the higher registers of his axe, a full sonic landscape from just three musicians, the whole ensemble greater than the individuals in them.
After “Fisticuffs,” Claypool introduced a fella in shiny NYE regalia by the name of “Bob C. Cock.” Claypool played the intro to “Bob’s Party Time Lounge” while the two engaged in banter. Then finally, the countdown started. Did the countdown start a minute or two late? Perhaps, but I was having too great of a time to hold that against them. The balloons were released from the netting and showered onto the floor section. The band played the rest of “Bob’s Party Time Lounge” as they rang in the new year.
Eventually, the other moment everyone had been waiting for — Claypool revealed that the “furry looking fella” behind the drums was none other than Brain himself. With that announcement and the cheers that followed, Primus dove into two Brain era songs: “Duchess and the Proverbial Mind Spread” and “The Antipop.” And then, Claypool’s unmistakable rapid sextuplets on the bass — Primus closed out the set with “My Name is Mud.” After a short break, Primus came back with one more song for the encore, “Here Come the Bastards.”
And with that, the new year was rung in, and the show came to a more than satisfactory close. As I was making my way down to the lobby, the new year deities blessed me with one more treat. Ahead of me, I caught a glimpse of a tall figure in a tailored light blue military coat with a matching cartoonish naval hat. This interesting character turned his head and revealed a white fluffy mustache. It was none other than Cap’n Crunch himself. I stepped out of the theater and into 2025 with a wide grin, crunchatized by this vision of cerulean.
Review by Janine Bedon