PRIMADONNAS
by Leah Selvidge

Pop Culture Press
1997

"Simply amazing, wouldn't you say?" I bleated to my girlfriends.

"Oh, yes! We knew you'd love them," yelled one in response.

I stood there, quite stunned by the music, a melding of the the techno wizardry of Kraftwerk with the raw punk power of Iggy and the Stooges or the MC5. I imaginined that our paths may have crossed - mine and the Primadonnas, that is - at one point or other. But that scenario is rather unlikely as I was from an aristocratic line in the wealthy London suburb of Highgate and the band were all orphans from Brighton. Who knows their bloodline? Certainly not they and none that I had messed about with. The only thing we really even have in common is our national heritage and the love of good pop music. Music forms the backbone of my relationship with the Primadonnas, forged from an inherent appreciation that was imbued at an early age for all of us. My father turned me on to Jimi, the Stones and Zepplin in my early years. Father Heathcliff, the headmaster at the orphanage where the lads became mates, filled their souls with the moving sounds of skiffle music...and the rest, as they say, is history.

At the afterparty that evening, I nervously approached the Primadonnas. They were quite hostile onstage towards the American audience and, fearing they would mistake me for a Yank, I was convinced a right good punch-up would ensue. But, their faces lit up as I made my introduction and I they flooded me with questions of home. How was Tony Blair (ardent Labour supporters, they once played a fundraiser for him) faring in the polls? Had I heard the new Geneva single? Did I have a fresh Flake on me?

"Smashing! Yes! No! Boddington's instead!" I replied...and the rest, as they say, is history.

Two weeks later, I walked into my boss's office at a well-known British music weekly and resigned my position as the assistant to the Assistant Editor? my time had come. I packed up my clothes and favourite photos, sold my Mini and my cooker and set off for the States. The Primadonnas had convinced me to become their press officer (the publicist to you Yanks)!

What truly motivated me to take this position was an evening spent in the recording studio with the band as they worked on new tracks. It's not often that one is privy to sheer artistry and genius, the annointed typically preferring to work in seclusion. But, Otto Matic (20 and the visionary), made an exception and allowed me to witness the magic.

Matic is amazingly adept at realising his musical visions. Flanked by an international recording crew flown in for the session, Matic stunned these seasoned studio pros by calculating the ratios between the speed of light and the speed of sound in order to capture the perfect mix. In the final mix, it all made sense.

Julius Seizure (17 and the spiritual one), appeared at times to be simply embalmed by the notes flowing from his keyboard. Julius is the same who prophesied the demise of the rock guitar. Shortly after his tragic and untimely death, Stevie Ray Vaughan visited Julius in slumber at the orphanage in Brighton. The ghostly apparition revealed that with his death would come the death of the guitar, to be reborn as...?

No band within a 200 mile radius can touch them. The rest of the country awaits. With the edge of punk, the raw power of rock and the simplicity of 80's synth-pop, the Prima Donnas are forging a new path in rock where no band will easily follow. The road is theirs and they are the kings.