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The New Bolero
= Cult of Ray =
394 Posts |
 Posted - 04/28/2004 : 20:21:40
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"The first day of Coachella is sold out. Think Radiohead’s responsible for that? Think again"
From the new LA City Beat magazine...http://www.lacitybeat.com/article.php?id=867&IssueNum=47
COME ON, PILGRIMS
by Natalie Nichols
I am tearing up the canyon in my vintage convertible. It’s night, the top is down, and an ancient unholy noise is slicing up the at-last-cool air, rising from the speakers to flutter the eucalyptus leaves and add an anarchic whiff to the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine. A gravity-defying shriek uncurls toward the deep midnight sky, stopping short, but just barely, of shaking down the stars + moon + Venus.
Ancient? Well, only by pop standards. Not that the Pixies’ studio swan song, 1991’s Trompe le Monde (“Fool the World”), was pop in the sense of “popular.” Back in the day, it didn’t even go gold. Back in the day, it was the last gasp from a truly unique, innovative, ultimately influential band that was disintegrating when it should have been thriving, should have been riding a whole new wave of pop that – thanks to Nirvana – was sweeping up so many descendants and siblings. The year punk broke (as proclaimed by documentarian Dave Markey), however, was the year the Pixies died. Fool the world, indeed. (And, yes, I know the group officially disbanded in 1993.)
For the joke was on the Pixies. Nirvana’s meteoric rise not only caused acts that would’ve otherwise been ignored to get more attention, including major-label deals, it also changed the ears of the listening public, bending pop fans toward something new. Writers have endlessly cited Kurt Cobain’s famous quote, that he was trying to imitate the Pixies with that whole soft-loud-soft thing, but he could just as well have been aping Led Zeppelin, or even Styx for that matter. Nirvana really doesn’t sound anything like the Pixies. Then again, the same sonic feeling is there, and Nirvana’s popularization of that visceral sensation may well be what endeared so many to the Pixies after their demise.
Now the Pixies are back from the dead and bigger than ever. Reunited for the first time, singer-songwriter/guitarist Black Francis (né Charles Thompson, a.k.a. Frank Black), bassist/vocalist Kim Deal, guitarist Joey Santiago, and drummer David Lovering have already played a handful of U.S. gigs before their appearance Saturday at the Coachella Valley Music & Arts Festival. After that, they head to Europe for the summer, followed by more U.S. dates this fall.
And so, lately, it seems like everyone I know is asking me, “Don’t you want to see the Pixies at Coachella?” Yeah, sure. I would love to hear them once again roar through “Wave of Mutilation” or “Tony’s Theme” or “Digging for Fire” or “Alec Eiffel” – or anything, really … “Gouge Away” or “Cactus” (first and foremost to obliterate the memory of Bowie’s tepid recent rendition). A big part of me would love just to witness the gathering, a literal pilgrimage into the desert by so many followers who’ve never had a chance to see the band play. Based on the rapturous fannishness on view at ilovepixies.com, I expect it will be a jubilant emotional experience, and that would be wonderful to see.
Because I, too, love the Pixies. For one thing, I love music that enhances the drive, and the Pixies’ does that in so many ways. As I take the curves of my familiar street, the frenetic UFO-pop of “Alec Eiffel” clears my head, makes me feel alert and ever so slightly volatile. Justifiably, Trompe le Monde didn’t get as much love – not even from Pixies devotees – as earlier works like 1989’s classic Doolittle (which did go gold) and 1988’s Surfer Rosa, especially the CD release incorporating the 1987 Come On Pilgrim EP. (I once called up some poor KXLU DJ in the middle of the night to taunt him for being behind the times and demand he play a new Pixies tune instead of the same old “Debaser.”) But still, to me, the last album is the confectionary culmination of the quartet’s sadly never realized commercial potential: aggressive yet floaty, discordant yet melodic, singular of voice yet filled with dual harmonies – an endless string of … not opposites so much as contrasts: existence/oblivion, sex/death, English/Spanish, male/female, humor/horror, surf/punk, sea/mountain, screaming/crooning, etc.
In concert, the band made these contrasts all the more immediate, shifting in a split second from airy-dreamy harmonizing to full-bore shriekfest, heart-stoppingly moving between songs in the span of a half-note of silence, and reeling out seemingly endless, ecstatically endless, sets that could near the 30-song mark.
So, then, don’t I want to see the Pixies at Coachella?
Yes, I do. But, on the other hand, it’s a long way to go to see a group from back in the day, even a reunion so favored and rare as this, when I saw them plenty back in the day. Granted, if this show were at the Palladium or the Avalon or Universal Amphitheatre, I’d be wheedling tix like every other weasel in town. But it’s supposed to be 103 degrees at Coachella on Saturday. And even if there weren’t the long drive and a lotta heat to wait through, another part of me wishes the Pixies had resisted the obviously too-tempting urge to cash in on their burgeoning legacy.
As Black Francis himself noted just three years ago, in the March 2001 issue of British music magazine Mojo, “It seems cooler not to get the Pixies back together. … It seems cooler to keep it in the past.” At this moment, the Pixies still belong to the past. It’s a nostalgia act. They aren’t playing new songs – in fact, according to reviews, they’re sticking largely to the earlier stuff, from before the acrimony that eventually shredded them really took hold. (Although it must be noted that even when touring behind Trompe le Monde they sprinkled in a good dose of that late-’80s material … perhaps for the same reason.) Oh, there’s speculation that, if they enjoy themselves enough, they’ll stay together and write fresh material. That would be great. (Maybe.) But for now, it’s just the college-rock version of a greatest-hits tour.
Boding well for any future Pixies works, however, the reviews also indicate the players haven’t lost their sense of irony – T-shirts on sale proclaim it the “Pixies Sellout” tour – nor their propensity for cramming more than two dozen songs into a 90-minute set. A pal of mine who flew from L.A. to Minneapolis to see the show a couple weeks ago practically levitated while describing it. So, if you missed out the first time around, and even if you didn’t, Saturday’s performance is sure to be a gas gas gas.
As for me, I find this outpouring of love and excitement over the Pixies reunion – especially coming from the younger acolytes – almost as thrilling as the idea of actually being able to see the band play again. Maybe, in truth, more exciting. I vividly remember Life Before Nirvana, and all this hoopla over the Pixies getting back together – even for nostalgia’s sake, particularly for nostalgia’s sake – feels like a vindication of so much quality music that was made in an era when flash-in-the-pan hair bands ruled and only a handful of music fans cared to hear anything else.
Unlike in the ’60s, when the biggest acts often had the most lasting influence, in the ’80s many of the artists who turned out to be significant weren’t the best sellers by a long shot. Even across a span of nearly 20 years, I still enjoy thumbing my nose at Guns N’ Roses and all those other feather-headed hard-rockers and candy-colored metalheads while singsong-cackling, à la The Simpsons’ Nelson, “Ha-ha!” You don’t matter.
So, sure, I wanna see the Pixies live again. But until then, I’ll have my fun, careening up a two-lane road under the stars, carried home on a wave of music that fooled the world. |
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TERRIFIC Pixies Article (Trompe heads'll love it)
