Les Claypool: Gold Rush 

Despite most of his many musical projects being active simultaneously, his Purple Pachyderm wine rising in popularity, his Pachyderm bass company expanding, the unveiling of his Frizzle Fry: The Phantoms of Barrington Hall graphic novel, and the imminent release of multiple albums, Les Claypool has something entirely different on his mind: Gold. Although his upcoming Claypool Gold triple-bill tour featuring Primus, Claypool Lennon Delirium, and Frog Brigade is partially to blame, he’s also chasing literal gold. 

“I bought me a gold mine up in the mountains,” he explains. “It’s an old hydraulic mine, and I’ve been going up there to explore it. My friends and my son and I dig holes and look for some nuggets. I’ve already found a handful of them. It’s a good ol’ time, getting dirty and hoping to not step on a rattlesnake or get eaten by a bear.”

Sitting down to chat with the Colonel is always as you hope it will be. His old-timey drawl, Mark Twain witticisms, deadpan humor, and endless supply of seldomly exaggerated stories are precisely what you’d expect from the East Bay backwoods philosopher behind Primus. At the Sonoma, California abode he calls “Rancho Relaxo,” Claypool is enjoying some quiet time before hitting the road. Now that he’s added gold mining to a growing list of hobbies that includes fishing, piloting airplanes, navigating his tour bus, vinification, and authoring, it’s rare to pin him down. 

Primus, reenergized by the addition of new drummer John Hoffman, is currently working on material for their next album, and have just released their EP, A Handful of Nugs. In the meantime, Claypool and kindred spirit Sean Ono Lennon have just released their concept album, The Great Parrot-Ox and the Golden Egg of Empathy. Weaving the tale of a dystopian world where artificial intelligence and automation have left everything void of empathy, the story is filled with wild characters and details that carry from track to track. On the musical side, the album showcases the two collaborators’ chemistry, Claypool’s bass going from thumping and plucking at the captain’s wheel to maintaining the groove while Lennon steers. 

Like most things he dips his fingers into, the album was recorded and produced by Claypool (with help from Lennon, whom he affectionately calls “Shiner”). And why shouldn’t the Colonel take the lead in everything he does? His instincts, frivolity, and rejection of the norm have led to a highly successful career. When we honored him with our Lifetime Achievement award in January, Primus’s performance with special guests Justin Chancellor, Robert Trujillo, Mike Dirnt, and Marcus Miller sealed any doubts about his impact on the instrument and his place among the greats. 

As the 62-year-old Claypool continues to pick up more speed and add new projects to his plate, he and Primus are being embraced by a young generation that connects with his uniquely odd music just like their parents did in the ’80s and ’90s. But if you ask Claypool, he’s never quite certain how popular his music is or why people like it; success and fame, the strange by-products of his creative expression, are about as important to him as a gnat who has decided to land on his fishing line. Besides, he has too much to focus on right now between writing albums, preparing tours, and knowing that somewhere deep in his Northern California plot, there’s gold in them thar hills. 

This is a big concept album with an inspired narrative. How did this all come about?

It was time for another Delirium record, and we didn’t want to just assemble a bunch of songs. We started this back in 2022, so we’re going on four years of working on it. Shiner had a few songs, I had a few songs, and we started looking at concept notions. We had been talking about writing an animated piece for a while, and we had written a few treatments. Hanging out with Shiner is like hanging out with Encyclopedia Brown — he’s a very knowledgeable guy about a lot of things most people don’t pay attention to. One day, he was talking about the “paperclip theory.” We had a song about manatees and a song about empathy, and I thought, let’s write something about the paperclip conundrum and tie it all together. So, we came up with this whole narrative. Whenever I’ve tried to write any kind of concept work, I always abandon it because working within parameters makes it harder to just throw pasta at the wall. But this one fit together and actually worked.  

Did the lyrics come before the songs?

Some of them. We both came in with a couple of tunes; some had lyrics and some had partial lyrics that we were able to manipulate into this narrative. Then there were certain songs created specifically just to get from one portion of the story to the next. An early song on the record, “The Wake-Up Call,” is heavy, dark, and weird, and I’d usually wait a few songs before inflicting that on people. But we needed that to tell the story. We had to fill in all the pieces to make it work.

Some of my favorite things on records are little mishaps or things that sound like mistakes. I love that shit; Primus records and all my records are full of those. You can hear phones ringing, dogs barking, mess-ups, and blemishes. I don’t care. If we capture a moment, that’s what it is.

What does the songwriting process look like for you and Sean?

We usually get together and bring in songs that we’ve worked out individually. We’ll also jam on some stuff and build songs from there, so it’s kind of a mixture. The very first song he had was “WAP (What a Predicament),” and when he played it, I thought it was the greatest song I’ve ever heard him write. I had “Troll Bait” and “Mantra of the Manatee.” He also brought in the chorus and most of “Meat Machines.” 

The bass work in the verses made me think “Meat Machines” was one of yours.

I write all the bass parts, obviously, but he came in with the song, and I played what I heard. It’s no secret that I play repetitive riffs. That’s the way I’ve always been, very much like the Police. And [Lennon] is very “chordy.” I enjoy playing with him because I’m following him around playing chord progressions. That’s when I get to pretend that I’m Paul McCartney and walk around the bass a lot. In general, if he’s singing it, then he wrote it, and vice versa. That’s not always the case — I wrote the music and lyrics for “The Golden Egg” and he originally sang it, but Willow ended up singing it. 

How would you describe your individual approaches and why they work so well together? 

With Shiner, everything is very calculated and polished. We always joke that in the studio I’m more like his dad and he’s more like Paul because he likes everything to be perfect. If the pitch is off on something, he freaks out and goes in to fix it; I think, fuck it — we captured a moment, let’s keep it. And he’s like, “Colonel, can you just redo your bass?” I’m like, no. There are times when I don’t give in and times when he doesn’t give in, and that makes it better. It’s a good relationship because we both have to compromise. 

It sounds like you believe there’s magic in first takes.

Yeah, that’s the way [Bob] Dylan worked, and guys like Tom Waits are like that, too. It’s the only way you can capture that moment. Some of my favorite things on records are little mishaps or things that sound like mistakes. I love that shit; Primus records and all my records are full of those. You can hear phones ringing, dogs barking, mess-ups, and blemishes. I don’t care. If we capture a moment, that’s what it is. When I remixed Seas of Cheese, there were all these things that I’d completely forgotten about, like Ler [guitarist Larry LaLonde] playing bass clarinet or a toy piano in the background. It’s just part of the landscape. 

When Shiner writes a song, I’m following the chord progression and trying to add something to it. I love the way McCartney and Geddy Lee phrase things; they’re able to move within the chord and not step on other people’s toes. I’m a huge, huge McCartney fan for that.

This is different than what we’re used to — you pull back on some songs and stick to the groove. 

One thing people don’t realize when they criticize me for “Les Claypooling out too much” is that I do that on songs I wrote. Whenever I’m playing to someone else, I approach it completely differently. If you listen to Primus records, it wasn’t until fairly recently that Ler started bringing in songs, and you can tell the songs he brings in because I play differently. On a song like “Jilly’s on Smack” [Green Naugahyde, 2011], which he wrote, he’s doing all the picking, and I’m adding contrast to what he’s playing. When I play with Tom Waits, I’ve gotta support what he’s trying to do. I might throw in a little noodle every now and again, but I’m being supportive. When Shiner writes a song, I’m following the chord progression and trying to add something to it. I love the way McCartney and Geddy Lee phrase things; they’re able to move within the chord and not step on other people’s toes. I’m a huge, huge McCartney fan for that. Other songs, like “Golden Egg of Empathy,” that’s me writing, so I’m going off on it. 

What are you typically doing when you write those riffs? Are you in your studio or office, or just milling around your house?

I have no office [laughs]. As you can see, there’s a bass on the wall right here and a bass on the wall over there. They’re pretty much everywhere around this place. As my wife will attest, a lot of times we’ll be watching a movie, and I’ll be sitting over here clicking away in the corner. If I come up with something interesting, I pull out my phone and record it, and then I go back and listen to them. I have hundreds of these things. The thing about the way I write is that 90 percent of the time, it’s very spontaneous. I’ll play something and then I’m like, there she goes. Sometimes it’s a mistake and I’ll like that. Most of [these ideas] sound like the other ones, but every now and again it’s something cool, I’ll mark it, and it becomes a song. “Golden Egg” was one of those. “Lord Fentanyl,” too. Even “My Name is Mud” came about like that. I can perfectly remember the day that I wrote that riff. 

Obviously, you’re going to have to explain that.

I was backstage at the Greek Theater warming up with my fretless 6-string, just noodling and playing “plickita-plickita-plackata” really fast. My dad, who was sitting there, told me it sounded pretty cool, so I knew I had to remember that riff. Originally, it was at least twice as fast, but when we played it in the studio, I slowed it way down and made it heavier. 

A lot of times we’ll be watching a movie and I’ll be sitting over here clicking away in the corner. If I come up with something interesting, I pull out my phone and record it, and then I go back and listen to them. I have hundreds of these things.

In your acceptance speech at the Bass Magazine Awards, you mentioned something about your dad saying you couldn’t sing but could play the hell out the bass. 

My dad was a fan of keeping me from going to prison. My cousin, who I spent every day with until I was 13, has been in and out of prison his whole life. He got into methamphetamines, tweaking, all kinds of shit. I could’ve easily gone down that path. When my dad saw that I had an interest in playing music, he encouraged it, but he also came from a long line of auto mechanics and wanted me to learn a trade, so I know lots of trades. It wasn’t until years later that he told me how much shit he got from his brother and friends about letting me play bass and go into music. I had friends who could throw a baseball harder than I could and swim faster than me, but this was something I was able to do better than everybody at my school. My dad has a standing joke (and he’s 82, mind you): If I play him a new album, he says, “Well, this one’s not gonna sell for shit, because I like it.” 

This album’s storyline is about a place called Cliptopia and our heroes Hipp and Colonel O’Coren, but at its core, it’s a cautionary tale about AI and modern technology. How much do these things scare you in your day-to-day life? 

Not much. For me, the worrisome element is the overwhelming lack of empathy and the vilification of empathy over the last couple of years. That’s really the point of all this. AI just happens to be the conduit to tell the story. Back when we started this four years ago, AI was still a twinkle in the milkman’s eye; I remember when Shiner showed up with ChatGPT when it first came out, and it was this whole thing. Now it’s so prevalent. 

The album was recorded at both your home studio, Rancho Relaxo, and at Sean’s upstate New York studio. Were you tracking individually or did you travel back and forth? 

Wait a minute — let’s back up before you go too far [laughs]. The liner notes might say otherwise, but this album was recorded at Rancho Relaxo. That’s where we do everything. I made the mistake of asking Shiner to redo a vocal part for one of the songs, and instead of him flying back out to California, he ended up just doing it at his place. Next thing I know, he’s redoing all his vocals at his house, every damn one of them. So that’s where his studio came into play. I opened a can of worms with that. He’d still be polishing that record if he could. 

With home studios and self-production, it’s easy to keep mixing infinitely. How do you know when an album is done? 

It’s very difficult. Honestly, I think this is the last record I’m going to mix. I mixed some of these songs over 20 times because I’m a perfectionist. I’m getting to the point where I don’t know if I trust my ears as much as I used to, and it’s just a lot of work. Now I have Zach [Fichter], who is great at mixing — he did the mixes for some Primus singles coming out, he mixed some live Frog Brigade, and he’s working on some Bastard Jazz stuff. He’s just awesome, a young guy with great ears who’s just as obsessive as I am. I’m gonna let him chase his tail around while I go fishing. 

Is that you playing drums on the album?

When we began working on the first Delirium album years ago, I played drums, but then I realized that it sounded like a Claypool record. Shiner started playing drums, and he has a very Ringo Starr-meets-Bill Ward feel. He plays on probably 75 percent on the record, and I play on the rest. There are even songs where half of it is me and half of it is him. 

I’m in charge of the warts, pimples and barnacles. He brings the beauty. Musically, we have chemistry. You can’t replicate that. 

You’ve talked a lot about your connection with Sean. What is that you love about working with him? 

Shiner challenges me in many ways. He’s just a great guy; I consider him part of my family, like a brother. He’s very interesting, very intelligent, and we get into crazy debates that sometimes get pretty heated, but we both respect each other so much that it’s not a big deal. I’m in charge of the warts, pimples and barnacles. He brings the beauty. Musically, we have chemistry. You can’t replicate that. 

How different is working with a band like Oysterhead? 

Oysterhead was a completely different thing. That’s three alpha males together elbowing their way into a room, coming up with shit. The dinner conversations with Stewart [Copeland] and Trey [Anastasio] were unbelievable. Anyways, there’s a reason why I return to certain things… and a reason why I don’t return to others. Sean is someone I always want to be working with. 

Speaking of which, do you want to make more music with Oysterhead?

 I think it would be great, but we’re all so damn busy. It’s just a big machine that’s hard to get going. 

You’ve always had instantly recognizable bass tone. How do you get your bass sound in the studio?

That’s good to hear because I’ve been chasing tones for 40 years. I’m never totally satisfied. I listen to some records and think, how did I get that sound? I have to go back to that one. The main thing is that the [Pachyderm] basses I’ve created give me the tone I want. I enjoy engineering, I enjoy mixing and getting the tones, but it was always easier for me once I learned how to do it. I have all this old vintage gear like an old API 2488 analog recording console from the ’70s, and I know when the relay sticks where to kick it to get it going again. It’s just easier for me to do it myself than to ask someone to give me a little more 1.5k all the time. 

Carl [Thompson] is like the Picasso of instrument makers: Every bass he makes is gorgeous, every instrument plays amazingly well, but they’re all unique; you tailor your playing to his instruments.

You’ve always played 4-strings and 6-strings. Why have you never gravitated toward 5-strings?

It just didn’t make any sense. I have a 5-string upright, but it has a high C instead of a low B. Why would I go in-between? And look, the only reason I got a 6-string in the first place is because years ago I was playing at the NAMM show, working with a company called ADA, and I was demoing stuff for them. I had my old faithful Carl Thompson 4-string, and this guy came up and said, “Nice Carl Thompson. Check this out,” and he pulled a beautiful Carl 6-string fretless out of his bag. I told myself that someday I was going to meet Carl and have him make me one of those. I met Carl, he’s an amazing guy, and I ask him to make me a 6. Halfway through the process, I decide I want it fretless because I needed more of a challenge. He had already cut it for the frets, so that’s why it has the lines on the fretboard. If you watch the “Jerry Was a Racecar Driver” video, the bass is different because it didn’t have the horn at the top back then. The bass as I received it didn’t balance for shit, so when he called and asked me why I wasn’t playing that bass, I felt bashful because he was my hero, but I told him it didn’t balance very well. He told me to send it back immediately. I did, and he cut the whole top of it off, redid it, and added the long horn. I started writing stuff on that bass and then I got a fretted 6-string, and I started using that bass a lot, as well. That’s just where I ended up. I’ve never needed a 5-string. 

What does Carl think of your Pachyderm basses? 

When I had the early ones, I sent him pictures and said I wanted him to be cool with it. Carl is like the Picasso of instrument makers: Every bass he makes is gorgeous, every instrument plays amazingly well, but they’re all unique; you tailor your playing to his instruments. I really wanted an instrument that was designed specifically for me. I’m getting older, so I like things to be lighter and ergonomic. That first 4-string I ever got from Carl is probably the most ergonomic bass I’ve ever played. I love that thing. I just retired it because it’s so special to me that I don’t want anything to happen to it. At this point, I pretty much don’t take any of my Carl Thompsons out with me. That frickin’ Rainbow bass is so valuable, I’d be scared to have it leave my house. 

You just released a comic book called Frizzle Fry: The Phantoms of Barrington Hall. Give us a little backstory on that.

During COVID, I was looking for projects with my son Cage, and I wanted to make the short story “Frizzle Fry” into a graphic novel. I was talking to my publisher and we were going to do it, but it just fell apart. COVID ended, Cage started doing other things, and I got busy. Then a company got ahold of us and said they wanted to do a comic book for Seas of Cheese; I told them I had this story based on “Frizzle Fry,” and they loved the idea. It went from a graphic novel to what’s called an illustrated fable. It’s basically a 40-something-page short story with illustrations. 

Storytelling is a huge part of everything you do. Is your brain just always swirling with characters and plots? 

It’s easier for me to get a point across from someone else’s perspective. I always joke that I’m not the guy who can stand at the mic and shout, “Rally round the family with a pocket full of shells!” I can admire that, but I’m not Rage Against the Machine or Bono,  giving my political and social viewpoints from a first-person perspective. I just can’t do it. But a lot of my heroes, including [film directors] Frank Capra and Terry Gilligam, have these characters who give their perspective. It also comes from growing up watching Disney and all the musicals, as well as listening to the country music that was inflicted upon me as a kid. I always listened a little closer when I knew that a story was involved. Also, I was never comfortable with my voice, so it was always easier for me to go Mel Blanc and try to be a character in a song. I’m a character in “My Name is Mud,” “Tommy the Cat,” and a lot of my songs. 

When Herb [drummer Tim “Herb” Alexander] left the band, it felt like the rug being pulled out from under us. Nobody expected it. We were all getting along great, we were having a blast, and we were excitedly talking about the future. Then all of a sudden, we were like, what the hell happened?

What inspired you to bring three of your bands on one tour bill with Claypool Gold?

When Herb [drummer Tim Alexander] left the band, it felt like the rug being pulled out from under us. Nobody expected it. We were all getting along great, we were having a blast, and we were excitedly talking about the future. Then all of a sudden, we were like, what the hell happened? I have no idea what happened; I still haven’t spoken to him at all. I was like, holy shit, what do we do? We had a New Year’s show booked, and we asked Herb to come play it — we could send him out with a bang, a farewell show. We could’ve made t-shirts and it would’ve been a whole thing. But he wouldn’t even respond to us. 

So, I had the idea to get a bunch of my bands together and do Claypool Gold. It was amazing, a wonderful night, and then promoters started hearing about it. Our manager told us that people wanted this. So that’s why we’re doing it this summer. 

Have you adjusted any of your technique to accommodate all this playing in one night? On Interstellar Drum Derby, we noticed that you glued your fingers.

It’s mainly the glue. Once I get through the first week of shows, I don’t have to glue my fingers anymore. Honestly, I don’t play that hard. If you watch me, it’s very much finesse-y because I grew up watching guys like Geddy Lee and Stanley Clarke, who are very finesse-y on their instruments. Some guys, I don’t know how they can play more than 45 minutes because they just dig in. If you’re relaxed, you can go forever. I keep my hands as loose and relaxed as possible. 

It seems like Hoffer has really brought a spark to the band. 

He’s kind of a nervous guy, but it’s endearing. The first time I heard him talk, he totally reminded me of my younger brother. When they finally met each other, Hoffer was like, “Oh man, I see exactly what you’re saying.” My brother is the type of guy who’s like, “Oh, am I in the way? Can I get you anything?” I tell people that if they ever get a flat tire down in Salinas, I’ll give them my brother’s number, and he’ll come change the flat for you. That’s the way Hoffer is. He’s very imaginative in the way he plays, and he’s just so smooth. And he listens very well. At the award show, me and Marcus Miller were trading back and forth, and Hoffer was right there with it; the three of us were locked in. He’s got big ears, he can think on his feet, he’s a great guy, and he’s just so happy to be there. Even when he fucks something up and I turn around to give him the look, he’s got a huge smile, and I just let it go. He definitely brings a new energy. 

Can we expect a new Primus album inspired by all this new energy?

We’re about to release a 12” that has two new singles, then “Lord Fentanyl” and the live version of “Dutchess.” We recorded a new song, “The Ol’ Griz,” that’s going to be part of the next record, and we also did a cover of Dio’s “Holy Diver” with Puddles the Clown. We have to do all this touring, so it won’t be ready until next year. 

How’s the new material shaping up?

I’m really excited because Ler has been bringing in a lot of stuff, which I love. Some of my favorite tunes are the ones that Ler has written. I’ve been pushing Hoffer to bring in ideas, too. For many years, it was mainly me bringing in the songs, but I never want it to just sound like a Claypool thing. When they bring in stuff, I get to interpret their shit, which is fun for me. There’s a lot of stuff we’re kicking around, and at some point, we’ll get back to it. 

Having collaborated with Ler for most of your lives, what is it like just being together?

There’s a lot of shorthand, especially with our humor. If you were a fly on a wall for one of our conversations, you’d be like, what the hell are these guys talking about? We crack up over shit that nobody else understands and talk in a way that is specific to us. One of the reasons the Primus stuff sounds the way it does is that 9 times out of 10, I’m just trying to get Ler to laugh. I’m a little older than he is, so I’m sure there are times when he thinks of me as an older brother. We have a lot of admiration for each other, and we just enjoy each other’s company. 

I didn’t have any notions going into it. I thought it was wonderful that I was being awarded this thing, and it’s very flattering — we’ll get to play, I’ll get to see Green Day for the first time in a while, and I’d met Laura Lee a long time ago. I knew it was going to be cool, but it turned out to be one of the most epic nights of my career.

What was it like for you to receive the Lifetime Achievement award? 

I didn’t have any notions going into it. I thought it was wonderful that I was being awarded this thing, and it’s very flattering — we’ll get to play, I’ll get to see Green Day for the first time in a while, and I’d met Laura Lee a long time ago. I knew it was going to be cool, but it turned out to be one of the most epic nights of my career. I wasn’t expecting Robert [Trujillo] and Justin [Chancellor] to go to the lengths that they went to, with Sean making that video for me. It was very humbling and heartwarming. Having them sit in was fucking unreal! There’s Robert killing “My Name is Mud” — he’s playing it his way, not just trying to copy me, and it totally added a whole other dimension to the song. Having Mike [Dirnt] and Justin on “Puppies,” looking over and seeing Mike going nuts with his intensity, was epic. 

How was playing with Marcus Miller?

The Marcus thing was one of the best moments of my career. When I learned that he was receiving an award, I wanted to see if he would sit in on “Tommy the Cat.” I had never met him, but I loved him from seeing him years ago on David Sanborn’s Night Music show with John Zorn. As soon as Marcus started playing, I thought, holy fucking shit, this is amazing! Every little thing that he did and I did, we just bounced off each other. It was one of the greatest jams I’ve ever been part of. It couldn’t have been any more spontaneous because I barely know the guy. Actually, I don’t know the guy, but I’m now a Marcus Miller superfan. The nicest guy, the humblest guy, and he just brought it. It was all just incredible. 

Forty-two years into it, what makes Les Claypool and Primus more relevant and popular than ever? 

Are we more relevant than ever? I have no clue. I’m oblivious and I don’t feel relevant at all. We just kind of always do our thing. 

The thing with Primus, and it’s been like this since I started it in 1984, is that it’s always been baby steps. There was never a moment where Primus blew up. When we first got on MTV, that happened a little, but not a ton. We’ve always been under the radar, but close to it. I have friends in famous bands whose careers took off overnight; then, they come down, and if they’re lucky, they go back up again. We were smart enough to stop doing it before we shit our pants. The Brown Album [1997] was a big disappointment to the record company, but now it’s become a cult classic. The record company wasn’t happy, though, and we got a lot of pressure to make something big, so on Antipop [1999], we worked with a bunch of different producers. If we hadn’t stopped after that, we would’ve done something stupid. It was smart to pull the parachute and then come back to it fresh and excited about doing it again. That’s the key to me. Everything I’ve released, I’ve done it because I’m excited to do it. We’re very fortunate that we have fans who appreciate that. 

Primus is an acquired taste. I’ve had 40 people send me Angine de Poitrine because they think it’s some derivative Primus thing. I get that and I go, brilliant! The world is finally coming around to shit that I like. 

Primus is an acquired taste. I’ve had 40 people send me Angine de Poitrine because they think it’s some derivative Primus thing. I get that and I go, brilliant! The world is finally coming around to shit that I like. 

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