The Pixies

Mecca. The culmination of my short 23 years on this earth occurred last Thursday at UC Davis. I saw the Pixies play…live…in person. The band stormed the stage in a hail of darkness and generated fog and proceeded directly into their 23-track set. Two songs in, trouble arose. Halfway through “Wave of Mutilation,” bassist Kim Deal apparently “fucked that up,” according to frontman Black Francis (aka Frank Black, aka Charles Thompson), immediately halting the song as the two bantered a bit as to the source of the problem. Just as I was starting to worry that this might be the end of the reunion tour, the band pulled it together and proceeded to play flawlessly throughout the rest of the evening.
Black Francis is now bigger and completely bald, only adding to his allure, and his resemblance to a Buddha who has returned to reward his followers with his presence one last time. He is still able to screech out his often disturbing lyrics like a youngster, although his ability (or desire) to chat up the crowd hasn’t progressed much, as he decided to enlighten the mesmerized audience musically instead of conversationally. The complaint box was empty at the end of the night.
The packed house in Freeborn Hall barely had a chance to applaud each song before drummer David Lovering would bang his sticks together violently and explode in a thunderclap led by his prominent flowing style, bringing to mind mental images of an upper torso version of Michael Flatley.
The only thing able to snap guitarist Joey Santiago out of the unexplained lethargic state that he seemed to be in during the first few songs was a cigarette lit during “Cactus.” Whatever the problem had been, the nicotine fix worked, and from that point on Joey beat the shit out of his guitar to persuade it into generating the sounds he wanted. He strummed it, stroked it, shook it, swung it and even went so far as to use a soda can and a drumstick borrowed from Lovering, proving that the magic heard on album after album was not merely production tricks, but the skill of a modest genius.
The last song of the night was “Gigantic,” sung by Kim Deal. I think they waited just to make me sweat. But finally, none of that mattered, and for the next three minutes and eight seconds, I was in heaven. As I stood there, transfixed by the former Mrs. John Murphy, absorbing her cottony soft vocals and her über-cool demeanor as she plucked nonchalantly on her bass, I wanted to bathe in her voice — to record endless hours of her singing and hardwire it into my brain, creating the soundtrack to my life…and what a truly happy life it would be.
The Massachusetts foursome still sound as good as they did in the ‘80s and, at least for the time being, are working through their differences to give their legion of fans a chance to see them live. While on stage, the group still maintains their “too cool to move” stoic poses ? as if to conserve the energy most groups waste on running around and mouthing off between songs and channeling it, instead, into their performance, guaranteeing that everyone leaving the venue realizes that The Pixies sound even better in person.
– Words and Photos by Chris Bender

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