I’ve been gearing up to play this album now for two weeks but, for whatever reason, the timing was just never right. I mean, this is something I want to listen to and not have to compete over the girls arguing, bickering and what have you.
That moment might just be now … so I’m attempting to roll with it.
That album is the new ‘South of Reality‘ album by The Claypool-Lennon Delerium.
Of course, it gets instant Simply the Tits kudos.
The Lowdown: Les Claypool is the frontman of Primus and the patron saint of slap bass. Sean Lennon is the son of Beatles legend John Lennon, as well as a longtime fixture in the indie rock scene and founding member of Ghost of a Saber Tooth Tiger. In 2016, when the two men were on breaks from their many other projects, they recorded a Prog Rock album together as The Claypool Lennon Delirium.
(Enough links for ya?)
Whenever lead personalities join forces, there’s a chance the results will feel disjointed, thrown together. But the Delirium turned out to have real chemistry, built on a shared vocabulary of prog and psychedelia. 2016’s ‘Monolith of Phobos‘ was a throwback to the drugged-out mythologies of King Crimson and Cream, and it turned into a sleeper hit. Now with South of Reality, The Claypool Lennon Delirium sound like they’ve been playing together decades instead of just over two years.
Given their backgrounds respectively, what comes out of their union isn’t surprising. However, this lack of surprise isn’t a bad thing because this album is more or less everything you could want it to be. With a very old-school psychy-type of sound and enough progressive elements to make any Claypool fan happy, it truly ends up doing everything it sets out to do.
The main single from the album ‘Blood and Rockets‘ is a masterful telling and sonic encapsulation of the story of famed father of modern rocketry and sex-crazed occultist Jack Parsons. The music video is just as masterful as the track itself, representing well its fun cartoonish vibes with a seriously sinister undertone. The lyrics warn of setting the world on fire with the titular rockets, which is exactly what Parsons did, in the name of Aleister Crowley’s magic. This story, the single, and its content, really are a perfect match for everything that makes this album wonderful. It’s goofy, it’s dark, it’s occasionally deeply beautiful, and you can tell there’s more than meets the eye (or ear) going on in every song.
So, yeah … it’s some pretty trippy shit for a Sunday afternoon, that’s for sure!