THE PIXIES

I don't really care for the Pixies. Believe me, I have tried to like them. I want to like them. Or, at least, I wanted to like them until I reached the point where I realised it was unlikely I was ever going to get anything more out of them. Of course, they are a good band and there is a fair whack of material by them that I do genuinely like. I respect that their albums are all very good, even if they are not as good as people try to make out (NME ranking Doolittle as the second best album ever was only eclipsed by them placing The Stone Roses at number one). However, after years of listening I cannot escape the feeling that much of what Black Francis is famed for is the musical equivalent of parading through the town naked. He wrote some great songs and the musical chemistry of the band is, at times, exhilarating but what I really cannot stand is his "zaniness". I do not know how it is described by the fawning fans but I find his insistence on spoiling most albums with deliberately stupid jokes and parodies utterly infuriating. I've conversed with Pixies fans on this subject and, try as they might, they have never been able to show me exactly what I am missing. What is the merit in those smug little vignettes on Surfer Rosa (the "you fucking die" and "there were rumours in high-school" bits) or the throw-away ditties like "Mr. Grieves", "Crackity Jones", "Oh My Golly" et al? From any other band they would be called by their true name - "filler" - but when by the Pixies they're hilarious bursts of Black Francis' crazy genius. Well, excuse me, but I ain't buying it. I am not laughing and I find it a shame that such goofy merriment was allowed to obscure to such a degree Black's real talent as a songwriter. I feel like the teacher exasperated by the bright pupil who can't stop arsing around because he is too cowardly to acknowledge his true potential. Metaphors aside, this is probably the first page I have had to write since that infamous Nirvana one of years past in which I do not actually like the band I am supposed to be reviewing.

I have promised myself I will try to avoid all mention of hype when reviewing bands. However, when reviewing the Pixies I simply cannot avoid it. In short, don't believe it. The hype, that is. The Pixies, as far as I can tell, were NOT the most incredible, innovative, and influential alt-rock band of all time. I could rattle through a list of indie bands that did what the Pixies are famed for first and subsequent ones that framed such alternative leanings into material of far more substance but I wish to be brief. To that end, I will merely note that I believe Sonic Youth, with all their loud-quiet jagged guitar thing, were treading similar ground a few years earlier and that a band like Pavement managed to be consistently brilliant with their smugness only encroaching on proceedings, rather than invading them. The influential claim, however, is a little harder to refute. I might not be the Pixies' biggest fan but it is hard to say that the luminaries of nineties rock, Cobain, Corgan, the aforementioned Pavement, even Radiohead, did not pay their dues. As with all innovative bands, the Pixies did not explode out of nothingness - alt-rock's Big Bang, if you will - but took fresh trends that were gradually developing and wired them all together in an undeniably creative assault on the previous rock hierarchy. He is certainly not a genius but Black Francis at least deserves credit for that. He was also an undeniably talented songwriter. As I've said, I don't care for his sense of humour or nerdish personality but he did pen a load of cracking rock songs. That he also insisted on tarnishing them with a bunch of zany crap is the main reason I cannot agree with my peers' assessment as one of the all-time greats. As it happens, I tend to appreciate their output in inverse proportion to everyone else. Once Black ditched the wackiness and concentrated on straight-up rock on the last two albums I actually started to enjoy the experience. In the end, I guess that fact is exactly why I don't 'get' them.

From: ddickson@rice.edu

Having promised nator9999 that I would only say positive things about the Pixies from here on, here are all the positive things I have to say about the Pixies:
"Where is My Mind" has a darn catchy guitar line. "Debaser" is a rockin' punk song. "Here Comes Your Man" is cute. "Gouge Away" sounds like Nirvana. "Monkey Gone to Heaven", "No. 13 Baby", and "River Euphrates" are kind of interesting and not bad. Bossanova doesn't suck, overall. I haven't heard Trompe Le Monde, but I heard it's pretty okay.
That's all I have to say about the Pixies, Pere Ubu, and the collected works of Bongwater. Jack Feeny, thank God for you and musical tastes like yours.
By the way, I heard that although the Pixies gained underground indie college nerd sorta-fame at best over here in the US, they were on par with the New Bob Dylan in the UK circa 1989, coffeehouse discussions, intellectual revolutions and all. Is this true? If so, did they give the Stone Roses a run for their money? Finally, do Husker Du get the same attention, and if not, WHY THE HELL NOT?????
Answers must be done in blue book in essay form, black or blue ink only, NO PENCIL. You have two hours.

[Thankfully, in Britain each major city has a Government-funded shrine to Husker Du where we are forced to spend one hour each Thursday praying to the Gods of Mould and Hart. Anyone who dares to suggest Zen Arcade is merely above-par hardcore and, whilst obviously a good album, not the be-all and end-all of eighties alt-rock is arrested by the thought police, taken to a public square, flogged, and forced to listen to Double Nickels on the Dime by the Minutemen on repeat for 8 hours whilst repeating 'I must not doubt the alternative hipsters sacred cows'. Happy? - JF]

From: ddickson@rice.edu

Yes, quite happy. Thank you for that COMPLETELY unexpected news. :)
Actually, I'm not really an indie hound worshipper of Zen Arcade or New Day Rising myself, though I do think they're both darn good albums. It's just that I believe Husker deserved a little more fame than their more absurdist colleagues on the East Coast, particularly seeing as they finished their career before the Pixies were even SIGNED, and had far more of an artistic impact on the American underground than they (though perhaps not on the British. You guys rather prefer to dance, I've noticed). I also find it incredible that the Pixies, not Jane's Addiction or NIN, were the first American alternative band to hit the big time across the Atlantic. Odd as a duck, it is.
I've actually not listened to Double Nickels on the Dime yet. Goddamn SST won't release the double-disc original. As it is, the current issue's missing about 10% of the album.

[Well, if the missing 10% is as good as the other 90% I suggest you stick to Husker Du... - JF]

Although nearly everyone surely owns these eight songs as bonus tracks on the CD copy of Surfer Rosa it transpires that they instead date from a debut EP released way back in 1987. A no-mark producer (ie. not Steve Albini) was behind the controls although there is not a huge difference in sound from this to their first long player. The nature of songwriting, too, is in a pretty similar vein to Surfer Rosa with jerky guitar lines supporting Black's frantic yelps and craaaazy lyrics. What is surprising, though, is that the level of songwriting on this initial EP is actually higher than what immediately followed. Sure, Surfer contains the classics - "Bone Machine", "Gigantic", "Where is My Mind?", et al - but the actual consistency of this set is higher, methinks. The diversions into mock-flamenco, "Isla de Encanta" and "Vamos" (which also unfortunately appears on Surfer), are early evidence of Black's smugness getting the better of him but every other song, and some in particular, are mighty fine. The demonic "RED HANDS!" scream on the second verse of the fan favourite "Caribou" ensures a compelling start, particularly coming from an unusually reflective-sounding beginning. The trio in the middle succeed most in elevating the set, though, with "The Holiday Song", "Nimrod's Son", and "I've Been Tired" all displaying a refreshing burst of melody and quirky energy. Black sometimes resembles a kid with attention deficit disorder as he hyper-ventilates his way through songs but when the melodies are as strong as they are on the aforementioned three numbers such energy is infectious, rather than infuriating. As always the lyrics are hardly my cup of tea (his infamous concerns of losing his penis to a whore with disease seem rather puerile to a man of my stature and dignity) but I at least like the reference to Lou Reed in "I've Been Tired". Besides, it is immensely satisfying to listen to Black concentrating on top notch melodies and catchy hooks, rather than constantly playing the fool. I suppose it is churlish of me, given the devotion the Pixies now inspire, to wish Black had always been so focused but it is perhaps testament to his limits that his most consistent set of material is his smallest. As EP's go, this was certainly an excellent way to go about making a name for themselves, and, indeed, is arguably superior to the much-revered LP that followed it.

After getting the Come On Pilgrim EP released through indie label 4AD (owned by a Brit, ironically, given the Pixies were always much more popular in Britain than in their homeland) a full length follow-up inevitably followed. This album is actually responsible in many ways for launching two much respected careers within American alt-rock as, as well as the obvious buzz generated for the band by this release, it saw the emerging producer Steve Albini catapulted to instant college rock celebrity, with his pinnacle coming when Kurt Cobain asked him to man the controls for what would be Nirvana's last recorded anguished cry at a world gone wrong - In Utero. As pointed out in the previous review, the production is not a hundred times removed from Come On Pilgrim, and merely succeeds in providing a sparse enough sound for the Pixies' disparate musicianship to merge and conflict as the songs dictate. The sonic distance achieved between the guitars is impressive, meaning the proto-grunge roar of the guitar is powerful and abrasive. Like I said, it is obvious to see (or hear) how this album influenced the subsequent grunge movement even if robbing the likes of Sonic Youth and Husker Du of their at least equal roles in that respect would be an unfair history. Clearly, though, the Pixies had the songs. Or, at least, some of the songs. Kim Deal's phallic tribute "Gigantic" is grunge at its purest, wonderfully melodic without the rather insidious overtones the angst-ridden middle-class white kids went on to smother it with. Black Francis also supplies two alt-rock classics of his own in the form of "Bone Machine" and "Where Is My Mind?". The former opens the album with a formidable assault, Lovering's drums pounding down the speakers and the guitars grinding away, supporting Black's rabid rants about a certain Carol who apparently failed to stay loyal to him. "Where Is My Mind?" is less obviously proto-grunge, with little focus on the loud-quiet stuff, but the piercing riff still provides enough power on its own and Black's trademark squealed vocals have rarely suited one of his songs better. Bar the three deserved classics, though, one really wonders what to make of this album and, indeed, why it is so universally revered. Sure, there are still plenty of interesting tricks and catchy hooks but more often than is really comfortable Black diverts into childish, immature and, above all, unimpressive territory. At what stage of the recording process did Black and the band decide they really had to put in that little spoken word piece (almost certainly scripted) about "you fucking die"? Call me an antiquated killjoy if you will (and I'd rather you called me an antique-dealing Lovejoy) but I'd rather just listen to some decent songs. And, if we're speaking of which, I certainly should not mention the disappointing throwaways "Broken Face", "Oh My Golly!", and "I'm Amazed". Furthermore, a slight joke song made purely at the expense of the mentally disabled ("Tony's Theme") just ain't gonna impress me. To end on a positive note, though, for what is still undeniably a strong alt-rock album, the less famous "Break My Body" still deserves classic status for its propulsive driving riffs and that wonderfully horny chorus provided by Deal. This album does have its moments, and they are reasonably impressive in terms of both quantity and quality, but it is still too much of a mixed bag for it to deserve the classic status that too often gets pinned on it. I am delighted to learn Kurt Cobain worshipped it but that sure as hell doesn't mean I have to.

The Pixies came blasting out of their local underground scene with their second full-length album. Almost universally regarded as their best album, and hailed as one of alt-rock's greatest achievements, Doolittle certainly promises much. Gil Norton replaced Albini at the controls (ironically, the former went on to produce the Foo Fighters) and gave the band a fuller sound, more commercial without compromising the intensity. Furthermore, Black reached his peak as songwriter with several stone-cold classics that perfectly encapsulate all the best aspects of his talent. Sadly, though, this really is the quintessential Pixies album in every sense. Not only does it contain wonderfully impressive, innovative and unique indie rock songs, it also tops itself up with immature joke songs and a handful of half-baked ideas masquerading as songs. True, the diversity on show does aid the flow of the set and most songs are short enough for the bad ones to be all-but-ignored. I really don't know whether Pixies fans close their ears to the poorer tracks and pretend they don't exist or honestly regard them, along with the bona fide classics, as further examples of Black Francis's genius. Try as I might, unfortunately, I just cannot see the worth in the likes of "I Bleed" and "Crackity Jones", two songs that seem ill-thought out and poorly executed. As I said in the introduction, it is a cracking shame as Black mostly demonstrates on here just what an exceptional talent he was, or at least capable of being. The album takes off straight away with the formidable statement of intent - "Debaser" - rightly regarded as probably their finest song. Indeed, it would do a disservice to its quality to even feign interest in the question as to whether Cobain based the entirety of Nevermind on it. It is too great a song, an intoxicating blast of energy, to deserve anything other than our undivided attention. As with Surfer Rosa there are a handful more Pixies trademark tunes, from the sublime mock 50s skiffle of "Here Comes Your Man" to the surrealist epic "Monkey Gone to Heaven" (even if I fail to see what the actual point of the song is, lyrically speaking), that deserve each and every one of the plaudits they acquire. Furthermore, this album rises above its predecessor through a stronger supporting cast. "Wave of Mutilation" is a perfect example of Black's ease at penning an impressive melody, and "Hey" brings the album to a climax with its gradual build-up allowing Black a rare and successful experiment with subtle sophistication. The album winds down with the down-beat "Silver" before ending with an explosive coda - the viciously visceral "Gouge Away". Black's screams never seem as tortured as Cobain's, though, and if Nevermind actually eclipses its blue-print it is down to the fact its songsmith displayed the exact sincerity that Black so conspicuously lacks. Black may have found it amusing to taint his achievements with depreciative joke songs but it only serves to bar his way to the pantheon of true greats. This album probably is the Pixies' masterpiece. But, just like Black himself, it is still fundamentally flawed.

It often seems a little arbitrary to analyse progress in terms of decades but, in the case of the Pixies, the coming of the nineties was something of a watershed moment. Grunge was reaching the mainstream and it was, of course, thanks to bands like the Pixies that it came to exist in the first place. In Britain the Pixies were taken at face value and critically lauded along with the newer grunge bands but in the States they were left struggling away whilst the newer kids stole their thunder and basked in unfairly acquired glory. Furthermore, a tension was developing within the band with Kim Deal's role reduced, which forced her into forming her own band - the Breeders, and Black Francis assuming almost sole creative power and responsibility. It is usually common to criticise the two nineties albums although, strangely, it is often one or the other and not necessarily both. On balance, this one draws slightly more flak and, as a result, I assume can be referred to as the Pixies' weakest album. I would be tempted to go along with such an appraisal but, even so, I still rate this as a reassuringly strong album and certainly within touching distance of Surfer Rosa. It is definitely more consistent than the latter, although it features no real peers of the eighties classics. What is often pinpointed as the main failing is the stylistic change. Instead of wonderfully quirky and off-beat alt-rock numbers this album is superficially more straight-forward and less left-field. More than the previous two albums it just feels like a rock album. Still, though, that shouldn't serve as grounds for condemnation merely on its own. As I said early on, I actually like the way Black deliberately stays away from his quirky stereotype and concentrates more on normal sounding songs. Of course, this is still the Pixies so although this album could almost be compared to a band like the Foo Fighters it would still be a far more intelligent and adventurous equivalent. Indeed, the comparisons are not unwarranted, and rather convenient given Cobain was so keen on early Pixies, as the melodic space rock Dave Grohl toys with is in a rather similar vein to Black's approach half a decade earlier. Much of this album sounds like what one might call 'space rock', the futuristic surf instrumental "Cecilia Ann" in particular, and Black's interest in aliens and outer-space (also prevalent on the next album) marks a somewhat welcome change of focus from his smug surrealism on the earlier albums. Deal's lack of contribution is often pointed to, after all boys don't tend to have nerdish discussions with girls around, but I am not expert enough on the intricate group dynamics to know or, well... care. I do actually like much of this album, though, and the squealing classic-rock histrionics of "All Over the World" and "Down to the Well" I rather enjoy, not even guiltily. Sure, Black is not hyper-ventilating his way through songs anymore but he is such a good songwriter that a weightier approach still brings substantial reward. The highlight of the set, although single "Velouria" is deservedly popular, is the two-part mini-epic "The Happening" which brilliantly switches from an aggressive stride to an hypnotic chanted climax. It stands as proof, along with the yearning "Dig for Fire", of Black being just as competent when trying to write at least a semi-serious song. It is true that most of this album is less memorable than any of the others and, as a result, I guess I can concede that it is the weakest but it is far from unenjoyable. For someone who never liked hearing Black goof around it also stands up as a not-so-guilty pleasure. Doolittle is a great album and all but I can't help but think I would have preferred it if Black had just stuck to making albums like this one.

In terms of critical opinion it seems that the Pixies' swansong is equally cursed and blessed. I have genuinely heard this both bitterly dismissed as tarnishing an otherwise impeccable catalogue and hailed as their greatest album. As someone who likes the Pixies when they don't mess around, though, I fall into the latter camp and regard this as certainly their most enjoyable album and probably on a par with the alternative 'genius' of Doolittle. And, by God, the Pixies sure don't mess around on here. The former camp probably accuse this album of lacking Black's wacky sense of fun and not featuring enough zany musical ideas. They do, of course, have a point. This album is not as original or as unique as the first two. What it does do, though, is rock. Like a mother-fucker. In simple terms, this is just a perfect balls-to-the-wall rock album. The thirty-five minutes just fly by as one exhilarating burst of pure rock power and, personally, that's how I like to get my kicks. None of this "you fucking die" crap - just pure rock'n'roll. Furthermore, Black is such a good songwriter that not only is this pure rock action, it is also highly melodic rock action. Indeed, song for song I wonder whether Black ever penned a stronger set, even if I still concede Doolittle hits the higher peaks. As with Bossanova, presumably down to Deal's almost negligible role (indeed, this is often seen as something of a Frank Black solo album), the lyrics again concern space and aliens but this time Black even succeeds in attaching some emotional significance to some of the songs. The beautifully yearning "Motorway to Roswell" concerns a lost alien trying to get home and the quiver in Black's voice makes one wish he could have concentrated his talents on more sincere material more often. "Letter to Memphis" and "Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons" also appear to have greater emotional depth to them than his earlier efforts and the melody and straight-forward yet still intelligent arrangements reveal a band that even I can cherish. Equally, when Black goes for pure rock action he usually comes up trumps. "Planet of Sound" and "The Sad Punk" are flower-wilting blasts of visceral energy and aggression, whilst their cover of Jesus and Mary Chain's "Head On" (at the time of writing I haven't heard the original) is pure excitement, a pulsating beast of a song with the euphoric chorus "the way I feel tonight I could die and it wouldn't matter". Another equally thrilling and brief highlight is the electrifying blast of "Distance Equals Rate Times Time" which delivers its manifesto ("I had a vision - there wasn't any television") in barely over a minute. Of course, there are a handful of forgettable tracks on here but their brevity and the overall rush of the album can easily force one to ignore them, more so than the equivalent tracks on Doolittle. If the latter really is the Pixies' finest achievement then I submit that this album cannot be too far behind. It is not the most innovative or original statement the Pixies ever made but, by God, it rocks so much it really doesn't matter. The band, of course, split up soon after this was released before eventually reforming in 2004 for some pay-off gigs. I do not know if they are planning a new studio album but, if so, I sure hope they decide to continue where they left off. They really could have been a great band if they'd kept this form up.

Given the Pixies' unfortunate knack of including at least some irritating filler on every album a compilation of every b-side they ever released does not sound immediately tempting. Unfortunately, the promise proves to be the reality. Of nineteen tracks the majority of them prove to be eminently inessential. If they included the likes of "Oh My Golly!" and "Crackity Jones" on their proper studio albums what hope, really, does the b-side have? As it is, the highlights of this album are well documented, being two rather nice Neil Young covers. "Winterlong" became something of a trademark Pixies tune, becoming one of those songs that is better known as a cover, and it unarguably suits the band, with its one-note riffing and wistful high-pitched vocals. Kim Deal, on the other hand, takes the lead for a cover of "I've Been Waiting for You" (from Neil Young's curious debut) and does a similarly decent job. Interestingly, David Bowie covered both "I've Been Waiting for You" and the Pixies' own "Cactus" on his recent album Heathen, suggesting he decided to brown-nose the Pixies a bit in his eternal bid to be down with the kids. Deal also features on one of the other minor highlights on this album, and another semi-famous Pixies tune, "Into the White". In truth, it hardly deserves a place on the a-list, in terms of great Pixies songs, but, on here, it is a mini-masterpiece. The remnants of respectability are gleaned at the beginning and end with reworkings of old songs. The opening version of "River Euphrates" is actually far superior to the Surfer Rosa version. The remix gives it a far beefier sound and the song comes alive in a way that was never apparent on the forgettable original. Finally, this compilation comes to an end with the second most apologetic excuse for a b-side (after remixes) in the form of a purely instrumental version of "Letter to Memphis". Sadly even an instrumental version of a good song seems more impressive than many of the tracks on here and, as a result, ends the compilation on a note of rare quality. It also serves to show just how melodic Black could be in his arrangements, as well as vocals. There are, of course, some curiosities spread over the rest of the CD, including a cover of a David Lynch song ("In Heaven", from 'Eraserhead'), but nothing is really that interesting and covering the Yardbirds' "Evil Hearted You" but with the lyrics in Spanish only serves to show the very baseness and futility of Black's smug sense of humour. As well as the good new versions of old songs (all two of them) plenty other members of the back-catalogue get re-jigged but the slow version of "Wave of Mutilation" indeed mutilates what was once a great song and the coda from "The Happening" is severed off as "The Thing". Again, though, it only forces one to ponder what exactly the point was. When they did try to pen original material for the b-sides, as Black candidly admits in the sleeve-notes, they were usually rather rubbish. Indeed, most of the new songs are so far beyond forgettable they almost need a new condition of amnesia being defined purely for their benefit. I like the idea of compiling all the loose ends of a concise career in this way but when the loose ends are mostly this poor and forgettable there simply isn't much point. I realise 'b-sides compilation' is a warning in itself and it is useful for the hardcore fans but I recommend staying clear of this release. They were not that good a band, after all.

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Email me at: jackfeeny@yahoo.co.uk