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mrgrieves1971
= Cult of Ray =
USA
544 Posts |
 Posted - 05/13/2004 : 13:56:27
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http://www.bostonphoenix.com/boston/music/top/multi-page/documents/03820994.asp
Indio, California, is a piece of desert about two hours (barring any traffic foul-ups) northeast of Los Angeles. If there’s an actual town there, I’ve never seen it. Every May for the past four years, a little swath of otherwise uninhabited Indio dustland has been transformed into a multi-stage fairgrounds for the closest thing the US has to a Reading Festival — Coachella, a two-day, stunned-in-the-sun music event that attracts the tattered remnants of our alternative nation, as well as a slate of some of the most popular left-of-center bands currently active. Three years ago, Weezer reintroduced themselves to the world at Coachella before going on to make their big "Green Album" comeback, and Perry Farrell reconvened Jane’s Addiction for what turned out to be a less productive reunion.
This year, however, with 50,000 $80 tickets sold for each of the event’s two days, Coachella was "bigger than ever," as everyone I ran into half-complained, in large part because of the reunion of a band most of us thought would never reconcile their differences — the Pixies. No, they weren’t the headliners on Saturday. That honor would go to Radiohead, who did command the attention of just about everyone who’d survived the day’s 100-plus temperatures. But the Pixies stole Radiohead’s thunder, as well as whatever storm clouds the Cure were able to conjure as the main-stage headliners on Sunday, when the temperature soared to over 110. Every other person I ran into at Coachella was there "to see the Pixies." And having road-tested their set with a swing through Canada and a couple of secret shows here and there, they were ready for prime time. They weren’t just the highlight of Coachella: at times, it seemed they were the reason for Coachella. I spoke to a number of people who weren’t even planning to come back on Sunday.
Now, Indio is only about 20 minutes as the crow flies from a place you’re more likely to have heard of, Palm Springs. But again, when 50,000 people are driving down one-lane rural roads to reach a temporary man-made musical refuge in the middle of the desert, 20 minutes can easily become 200 minutes. And that’s just the driving part. We almost made the tragic mistake of parking three miles from the fairgrounds on Saturday afternoon and were saved only by some kindly advice from among the hordes of resolute folks returning to their parked cars to drive onward into the traffic jam. Needless to say, there were no officials on hand to explain how any of this worked. So here we were, the youth and not-so-youth of today, baking under the hot California sun, inhaling dust and exhaust fumes as we tried to make rational decisions in an environment that didn’t lend itself to such things. In a way, it made perfect sense that this is where the Pixies chose to introduce themselves to the world at large: "If they really want us back, let ’em come to the desert and swelter."
It wasn’t always that way, at least not in the US. Although pound for pound they may have had the largest frontman in Charles Thompson (a/k/a Black Francis/Frank Black), the Pixies weren’t necessarily the biggest band to come out of the Boston underground in the ’80s (remember ’Til Tuesday? the Lemonheads? Blake Babies?). And when you consider how fertile the local-music scene was back then, they almost certainly weren’t the best. But as the twists and shouts of fate would have it, the Pixies did become the most influential band to emerge from a fragmented underground that, in the best post-punk, indie-rock tradition boasted no particular Boston sound but instead nurtured artists as diverse as the roots-rocking Del Fuegos and Scruffy the Cat, grungy hardcore-metal fusionists Bullet LaVolta and the Bags, and plenty of groups — O-Positive, Heretix, Tribe — who in retrospect were perhaps too ready for what alterna-rock radio would become a decade later.
Like most of us, the Pixies had little or no knowledge of their true calling in life. Otherwise, I’m guessing, their albums would have become progressively more, well, Pixie-ish — more like 1988’s Surfer Rosa (4AD), the Steve Albini–produced album debut that in its American version also included everything from their very similar 1987 EP Come On Pilgrim (4AD). Instead, their artistry peaked on that first album, with the sensual thump, the little-girl vocals, and the ecstatic static of white-noise guitars that propelled the Kim Deal–sung "Gigantic" and the mathematically precise backbeat turn-arounds and psychotic but not psychobilly speaking-in-tongues (English? Spanish? Spanglish? Esperanto?) rants of truly twisted Thompson-sung ditties like "Bone Machine" and "Where Is My Mind?" With the older, maybe even wiser Gil Norton producing, the band perfected parts of that strange formula that seemed to draw equally from strains of British and American punk and post-punk on the next album, Doolittle (4AD/1989). It may seem obvious now, but merging the beer-gut blue-collar 1-4-5 buzzsaw guitars of the Ramones with the aloof art-school 1-4-5 drone of Jesus and Mary Chain–saw guitars was a brilliant idea. Yet the Pixies couldn’t have asked for anything worse than scoring a radio/video hit with "Here Comes Your Man," a harmless pop nugget that ironed all the quirks out of their passion and presented them to the rest of the world — the mainstream — as a band unlike themselves. Unlike anything they had recorded up to that point, "Here Comes Your Man" really did, and still does, sound like a step backward to the early ’80s of R.E.M.-inspired bands discovering the Velvet Underground, only to wait on some desolate metaphorical corner for their muse to show up.
Doolittle also cut Kim Deal out of the action, not as a bassist (her bass on that album remains the subject of much debate among American Studies post-graduate students) but as a sweet vocal respite from Thompson’s increasingly disturbed if not quite so shrill outbursts. Also at around that time, the band, at Thompson’s direction, started cutting "Gigantic" from their live sets. And as well as they played (nobody missed a note, not even Joey Santiago, who always managed to overbend those notes just enough to approach the precipice of pure dissonance), you could feel the bad blood brewing up there on stage, at the Rat, the Paradise, Avalon, wherever. Rumors still abound as to who stopped talking to who first, what may have caused certain rifts, and when ego began to overshadow artistry. But after the one-two punch-drunk pastiche of "Monkey Gone to Heaven" and "Gouge Away," not to mention the wretched beauty of "Debaser," Bossanova (4AD; 1990) and Trompe Le Monde (4AD; 1991) couldn’t have been bigger letdowns.
Yeah, we all tried to find songs we liked on those albums. And there were a few to choose from: "U-Mass" for its wry "It’s educational" soccer chant; "Velouria" for its powerhouse drumming, odd chord changes, and even odder lyrics. But mostly, the last two Pixies albums were the Frank Black show — surf-rock-meets-Star-Trek genre pieces that presaged his rocky descent into solo-artist obscurity. Perhaps banishing Deal was the nicest thing Thompson did in those latter days of the Pixies, leaving her free to pick up where "Gigantic" left off with her here-today/gone-tomorrow Breeders, who did have their glorious moment in the Lollapalooza sun.
Ah, how different it might all have been if Thompson, Deal, Santiago, and drummer David Lovering had had any idea what was going on 3000 miles away in Seattle, where the messianic mess that would become Kurt Cobain was gouging his way through his favorite post-punk rock and finding something special in the jarring, loud/soft dynamic dissonance of Surfer Rosa. Cobain would make no bones about the fact that "Smells like Teen Spirit" was a Pixies homage. And from that point on, the legend of the Pixies took on a life of its own.
Just as Mission of Burma before them had accidentally invented the art-damaged noise that Sonic Youth would build on even as R.E.M. trumpeted their underground hipness by covering "Academy Fight Song," the Pixies had unwittingly catalyzed the birth of America’s alternative nation. If they were bitter, well, they had a right to be. Sure, they were bigger than Zeppelin for about a year in England, and they toured the US with U2. But they’d never really cashed in on a cultural revolution that they deserved a lot of credit for. Until now. After the summer of 2004, nobody will complain that the Pixies didn’t get their due. Because they’re back, they seem happy, and their legend has grown bigger than Black’s belly, to the point where they command the reverence of a Radiohead among hundreds of thousands of kids from coast to coast and continent to continent. Alex Chilton never had it so good.
Participating in this Pixies reunion — a business move that now seems certain to kick all four band members up a few tax brackets — hasn’t, of yet, been easy. A newly invigorated Lollapalooza has been trying to sign the Pixies on as a main-stage act for obvious reasons, but as we go to press, the band have agreed to play only the New York and LA dates. As far as Boston goes, there’s no word yet on when, where, or even if the Pixies (who as legend has it came together through an ad placed in the pages of this very newspaper) will play here.
But back to Indio, where the relentless sun has just set behind those distant hills, the noise from the four other stages (three of which are inside inhumanely humid tents) has died down, the scramble to catch the inspired rock of Sparta and Death Cab for Cutie, the blooze rock of Black Keys and Josh Homme’s Desert Sessions, the folk mess of Beck, or the post-something soothe of Savath & Savalas has finally ended and the moment of truth has arrived. No fireworks. No explosions. No big introductions. Just the familiar emerging figures of big Black Francis, a smoking Kim Deal, a shorn Santiago, and a long-haired Lovering and the huge, twisted wreckage of "Bone Machine" blasting out into an enthralled crowd of 40,000.
Thompson/Francis/Black works himself into a frenzy right off the bat, and he keeps himself wired as the band segue into "U-Mass," one of only two latter-day Pixies tunes they’ll play (the other being "Velouria"), and Deal, his foil, just looks cool as hell, smoking and smiling, her bass’s big bottom end effortlessly pushing it all forward toward some glorious climax until Lovering pulls the rug out from under them and it all starts all over again. The next 40 minutes pass much too quickly, but there are moments that stand out: a rejuvenated "Gigantic" (with Deal singing again), a crazed "Debaser," a sublime "Monkey Gone to Heaven," even "Here Comes Your Man." The band don’t sound better so much as they seem to feel better than ever before. I sense that they’re getting along, that they understand that their unit is greater than the sum of their individual parts. The vibe from the stage is a good one. And that makes a huge difference. Here’s hoping that the next time I see the Pixies, you can be there too. And that it won’t involve flying to a desert 3000 miles away.
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George42
- FB Fan -
USA
188 Posts |
Posted - 05/13/2004 : 14:41:34
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thanks for posting that, mr grieves. that was a great read. great article.
I'm a humble guy with healthy desire |
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jimmy
= Cult of Ray =
USA
876 Posts |
Posted - 05/13/2004 : 21:14:54
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| What a shitty article. The first two paragraphs are incredibly boring descriptions of the desert, the heat, the festival. It seems like most of the article is the same lame analysis of the quality of the Pixie's albums ( "Bossanova" and "Trompe" weren't as good as "Surfer Rosa"? Wow, what a boldly original idea. I've never seen anyone come to that conclusion before. Finally there are some brief descriptions of the Pixies performance that could've been lifted from any other review of the show. I can't believe this guy gets paid to write. |
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robotblood
- FB Fan -
24 Posts |
Posted - 05/13/2004 : 22:27:44
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| i'm with george on this one.. did mr. ashare really think the phoenix readers needed pixies 101 thru his bland filter? give them some credit. did he really think it was necessary to bring up the cobain/teen spirit connection again? though, i've always felt that it was given far too much weight when describing the pixies. and did he need to predictably pick on FB for his post-pixies career (rocky descent)? couldn't he have shown some guts and taken the high ground? for fucks sake, the guy has been beyond prolific since 92. much like the work of the pixies, it may take a little longer for the masses to catch on to it. maybe it never will. but it's certainly a respectable body of work from a solo artist. in my opinion, far stronger than that of aimee mann, who gets stroked in the phoenix every time she pushes the record button. it is complete negligence to summarize a 12 year/9 album solo career into one backhanded sentence, and mr. ashare does it. i could go on, but i won't. |
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Atheist4Catholics
= Cult of Ray =
USA
925 Posts |
Posted - 05/17/2004 : 19:27:24
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Just read this. Terrible article. Let's spend three columns rehashing what 99% of Pixies articles say and then only spend half a column reviewing Coachella.
I expect more from the Phoenix, even if it is free...
 "Join the Cult of Frank / or The Clops gets it!" |
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IceCream
= Quote Accumulator =
USA
1850 Posts |
Posted - 05/17/2004 : 21:05:14
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| I agree with Tim Franklin; this article is really stupid. Reading it was a big "letdown". |
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billgoodman
>> Denizen of the Citizens Band <<
Netherlands
6214 Posts |
Posted - 05/18/2004 : 01:49:30
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Letdown schmetdown
Trompe en Bossanova are my favourites
 "I joined the Cult of Frank/Nobody wanted to join my Culf" |
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Ziggy
* Dog in the Sand *
United Kingdom
2463 Posts |
Posted - 05/18/2004 : 04:24:38
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"Oh, Frank Black's fat" Yeh - fuckin' A grade, that one.
Anyone who's heard 'Death to the Pixies' calls themselves 'a big fan' and feels qualified to write off half their catalogue as 'obscure'. Idiot.
"Me and the chickens running in the street" |
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Steak n Sabre
* Dog in the Sand *
Uzbekistan
1013 Posts |
Posted - 05/18/2004 : 11:06:03
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"Rocky descent into solo-artist obscurity" ?? That can only be coming from someone who does not have a clue...
 The Cult of Frank: Enough of that pixie stuff already, we're just ordinary worker elves... |
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klikger
= Cult of Ray =
693 Posts |
Posted - 05/18/2004 : 11:20:33
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| Yeah, that is rubbish. I want to read an article in a major publication that talks about how awesome their last 2 albums were instead of acting like they know they're not good. 90% of these guys probably haven't even listened to both of them more than once and are just going with the flow of negativity. |
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vilainde
>> Denizen of the Citizens Band <<
Niue
7443 Posts |
Posted - 05/19/2004 : 01:52:05
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Fuck' em!
Denis
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ramona
"FB Quote Mistress"
USA
3988 Posts |
Posted - 05/27/2004 : 15:07:27
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My favorite part of this is that in the cover photo, Frank is wearing eyeliner! I love that. Very "Subbaculture".
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never gonna know you now, but I'm gonna love you anyhow... |
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Article from the Boston Phoenix
