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Edited on Tue Apr-20-04 08:31 AM by Screaming Lord Byron
The last time I had a chance to see The Pixies was when they played the SECC in Glasgow, back in 1991. Three songs in, the stage collapsed. Seemed kind of symbolic, maybe they weren't meant for the big stages. Three months later, Nirvana exploded, eclipsing most of the alternative royalty of the late 80's. The Pixies' moment had passed.
Thirteen years, and at least three musical generations later brings us to a mid-sized university hall in Western Canada. Not the most obvious choice for the first leg of a prestigious comeback tour until you consider what is really at stake here. The Pixies are more than a band, they're a myth, the instigators of an entire musical subculture of quiet verses and incendiary choruses. An indie-rock John the Baptist to Kurt Cobain's Jesus, in a fittingly blasphemous analogy.
In short, by reforming they have placed every part of this priceless legacy at risk. So here we are at MacEwan Hall. After all, what music journalist could find Saskatoon, or even Calgary on a map?
The support act struggles through his set of lo-fi Neil Young manouvers to sporadic applause, sporting his Calgary Flames hockey shirt. Tonight, of course, is game 7 of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Much is at stake here tonight.
Then, they're on, straight into 'Cecilia Ann', and the last decade collapses. The first surprise is, they're good. They're really good. Close your eyes, and it's as if no time has passed at all, like the band had just been taken out of cold-storage from 1992.
Open your eyes, and yeah, they've aged, but not painfully. Joey's sporting a shaved head these days, and Frank still retains most of the weight he put on in the early 90's, but this band was always about imagery over image. In fact, in Frank Black, we have a genuine rock anti-star. There's something fantastic about watching a large bald man with such command over his music, who possesses what must be the greatest howl since Little Richard first sat behind a piano, and who, despite all the time elapsed projects the same angelic/demonic presence he exuded at the band's peak.
Musically there is very little rust on these songs. Joey misses a couple of notes, but it's almost unnoticable in the flurry of angular shapes and patterns he can rip out of his guitar. Kim is, as she always was, the perfect counterfoil to Frank's dominant personality. Of the band, she seems the least changed, her eerie harmonizing intact alongside a powerful bass presence which locks in perfectly with David's frenetic, kinetic drumming.
Of the old songs, they pay most attention to the first two records, with 'Bone Machine', 'Isla de Encanta', 'Vamos' and 'Nimrod's Son' tumbling one after the other. Later material like 'Dig For Fire' and 'Planet of Sound' have been most improved by the passage of time, possessing a solidity they used to lack.
Old favourites and rarities like the scarcely-performed 'La La Love You' are thrown to the hard core fans, who are enthusiastically vocal through out, particularly during the blistering first encore closing Jesus and Mary Chain cover 'Head On' which demonstrates the band's blistering attack. Then we're into perennial closer 'Into the White' and suddenly they're gone again.
Very few bands should be allowed to reform, but if there's an exception, it may well be The Pixies, who clearly demonstrate that they retain the all-consuming fire that propelled their first career to such soaring heights. In this world, such things are extraordinarily rare. This may be the comeback that works.
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