The Primms could be from anywhere. Any no-mans-land. It really doesn’t matter where they’re from. We live in global shitsville. We all believe we've got it bad. Tho often it’s the cosiest ones that have it the worse, they learn life's lessons the hardest of ways - on their knees in toilet stalls, usually.
The Primms know what they like. They like their music to sound like where they’re from. A land of outsiders that you thought we'd forgot. A sad-little-place, reguarly shoved around by that chauvinistic bully, the bastard you caught dragging the pretty really-wasn’t-interested girl who's slightly out of your reach, yeah, yeah, he had her on his backseat and all you got was another daily dose of ye olde black'n'blue.
This is a world of locked stares at the slightly different, the tiny bit unstable, the ones with colour, the ones without. This is a time where far too many kids are contemplating suicide in the blink of an eye. Everyone wants to be skinny. And those that are thin spew everything they eat and look malnurished. This place isn't sexy, but it's full of sex inconography.
We all have moments of daydreaming where we’re soaring (like these grand vocals) with the angels, as far from sleeping with the fishes as surreally possible. This is where The Primms come from, like many a rock band before them. You’ve probably been there and love it. You want to go back to the mascara-edged floor somewhere below the surface of pop where Placebo piped their goth-noize right in your face and into the ears of confused Manics fans. You want to reunite with all the pretty people who couldn’t face believing solely in Marilyn Manson. Oh no. You diversified, you liked Feeder, My Vitriol and Ash, who're alright as pop bands go. But this world is littered with those that don’t quite fit in and those bands are in the groove of those that you despise. This little world of ours needs the Primms like your gran needs her Pimms (sorry!) to block out all that she’s seen in her days that just won’t get any better.
Sounds dramatic but it’s real, just look at the pavement cracks splashed with tears, laced with baby spew and King Adora’s STDs. “All this sound with an energy, it needs to be a substitute for our beliefs… Because we don’t need anyone!” is the refrain in the lead track on this record, ’Do you know the Future?’ You soon will. Watch this space.
8Sean Adams's Score