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On New Year's, the Supersuckers prescribe booze and babes; Les Claypool will be serving sandwiches 

Wednesday, Dec 28 2005
So your New Year's Eve plans to drop acid and watch Dick Clark's face melt on live TV fell through, eh? Fret not, because local loony Les Claypool is bringing his equally brain-fucking "Hatter's Ball" -- so named for the "Most Original Hat" contest being held, as well as the fact that Claypool's sixth annual NYE shows are gonna be completely mad -- to the Fillmore on Friday and Saturday, Dec. 30 and 31. Claypool, of course, is the mustachioed, bass-playing sorcerer equally informed by funk and Rush's Fly By Night, whose wacked-out musical creations these days lie somewhere between Jam Band Land and Zappaville. While best known as the jig-happy frontman for Primus, Claypool has spent the past decade or so hatching a plethora of bizarro side projects, including Oysterhead, Sausage, Les Claypool & the Holy Mackerel, Les Claypool's Fearless Flying Frog Brigade, and Colonel Claypool's Bucket of Bernie Brains. For these gigs, he'll be backed by his Fancy Band -- a spinoff of the Flying Frog Brigade that includes saxophonist Skerik, percussionist Mike Dillon, drummer Jay Lane, and oddball multi-instrumentalist Gabby La La (whose stage presence has been described as "Yoko Ono meets Hello Kitty") on sitar, ukulele, and theremin. Claypool's promising lots of surprises at these shows, and given that his past antics have featured stopping midset to fix sandwiches for the audience, and that he's collaborated with everyone from Henry Rollins and Bernie Worrell to Trey Anastasio and Tom Waits, it's impossible to guess what's gonna happen or who's gonna turn up at this surreal freak show; call 346-6000 or visit for more info.

"Grab a drink and chug-a-lug/ Have some sex/ And take some drugs!" As if you needed any more encouragement on the biggest party night of the year, the Supersuckers are rollin' into town to ensure you're either in the hospital, the morgue, or face down in a puddle of vomit in the bathroom while a half-naked stranger makes off with your cash and car keys by the time the sun rises on 2006. Led by rowdy Eddie Spaghetti (who snarls the aforementioned line during "Rock Your Ass," from the Supersuckers' most recent studio album, 2003's Motherfuckers Be Trippin'), these Seattle-via-Arizona badasses have been tearing up stages with their brand of cock-rockin', garage-y cowpunk for more than 16 years, always precariously perched on the fence between genuine homage to such clear influences as AC/DC, Motörhead, and Thin Lizzy and over-the-top, devil-horned parody of said bands. Although Mr. Spaghetti has been dishing up solo, old-school country albums of late (he's a close pal of Willie Nelson, y'know), the Supersuckers are hard at work on a new record and, as you'll find out when they rip up Slim's on Dec. 31, they'll never forget how to bring the rock; call 255-0333 or visit for more info.

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Michael Alan Goldberg


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