Brixton Academy, London
22nd April 2000
I had a T-shirt ready for Death In Vegas. It had the cross-sectioned brain from the cover of The Contino Sessions on the front, with a Levi’s logo stamped across it. Underneath was the quote from Bill Hicks about every word from the mouths of artists who advertise being like a turd falling into his drink. In the end, for better or worse, I couldn’t be arsed to take it and throw it to them onstage. I was there for Primal Scream and just wanted to enjoy.
Still, I just couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for Death In Vegas’ set. I loved The Contino Sessions – that was exactly why I was so offended that they saw fit to sell “Dirge” to fucking Levi’s. Do they have a legitimate excuse? Did one of their mothers need the cash for a brain operation? I suspect not. Kind of disillusioning for bands you love – young bands, at that, not old and tiring ones – to clamour for a piece of ass in the corporate gang-bang. Many say I’m naïve. Yeah, yeah – whatever. However matey they are with Bobby Gillespie, they didn’t deserve a fucking second of stage time next to Primal Scream and Invasian last night. I’ve always thought it was your loss if you let something about an artist spoil their music for you. And so it is. When “Dirge” (their new single) started up and the crowd went wild, I felt nothing. These people are following in the footsteps of Nick Kamen.
Thankfully, the Primals unambiguously burnt those disillusionment vibes away.
I came in during “Swastika Eyes”, and spent most of that track piling my way down to the front. Most of the first half of the set was material from their incredible recent album, Exterminator. The only thing that shocked me more than the searing intensity of the uncompromising title track, “Insect Royalty”, “Kill All Hippies”, “Pills”, “Shoot Speed/Kill Light” and “Blood Money”, was how half-assed most of what passed for dancing was down there. Around halfway through their performance, they played the first track to really get everyone jumping ecstatically – “Rocks”! Catchy beat, dumb hedonic lyrics – that’s what the people want! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not down on the Primals’ ‘old hedonism’ or something – “Higher Than The Sun” was utterly majestic. But c’mon! You could feed a few Rolling Stones singles into Windows 98 and it could churn out umpteen ‘new’ tracks that kicked ass as much as “Rocks”. Plus, most of the aforementioned new tracks are at least twice as ROCK, musically, as “Rocks” – and they’re fuelled by the storming, righteous fires of Illumined Dissatisfaction. But for their duration, whenever I glanced out of my furiously leaping fit of dancing, most of the people around were curiously earthbound, just shaking their hips or pushing each other. Ah well.
That said, there was quite a healthy moshpit going for a lot of the Primals’ set. At times it just looked like it was filled with people who’d drunk too much to dance, and got the illusion of dancing by letting themselves be pushed about by a few macho lager lads. But during one track, I finally realised these were the people having most fun. There was no real aggression, and when one bunch of lads, jumping in unison with their arms round each other – that gleeful sulphate look on their faces – grabbed me to join them, my prejudices vanished. We were all having a truly great time together.
“Accelerator” was as blinding as can be, taking me back to that first, shattering time that I listened to the album, and then cranking the intensity up to white noise levels. The line “What’s that screaming in my head / It’s the future / It’s the future / C’mon!” perfectly crystallises for me those moments when naked hope is born, bloody and wailing, from crushing frustration. Much leaping ensued.
Exterminator is so different, in many ways, from their previous godlike album, Screamadelica, that it was a grand testament to the band’s integrity to feel last night that they still encompassed the spirit of those years. Eight years ago I was on the very same dancefloor, as loaded as I’ve ever been, dancing joyously to “Movin’ On Up”. Last night I did the same, and felt a connection back to that time that had very little to do with nostalgia, or trying to ‘recapture’ some golden era. It felt like… an integration. Movement had taken place in the meantime. Stagnation had been faced, succumbed to, and overcome. Frustrations remained, but so did hope and energy. Just before “Kill All Hippies”, the inspiringly enthusiastic bassist Mani grabbed the mike and made the cheapest comment of the year: “Anyone who’s going to Glastonbury this year’s a bloody hippy!” (Right, so you’re making a statement by playing bloody Reading, then?) It’s ironic that the Primals are toying with subcultural rivalry at a time when they’re truly integrating – for me, at least – so many of the great impulses in modern music.
When they finished, that was it. At the moment, they’re just not an all-nighter band. Nothing, nobody can follow them. I popped in briefly to check out Invasian, whose rumbling hi-speed drum-and-bass rap would have taken my head off on any other night. But no, this was a Primal Scream gig – full stop and amen.
-Gyrus-
