Pixies - Doolittle

Mon 17th Jan, 2005 in Music Reviews

”...(A) band who, at their absolute top-dollar best are blandly entertaining college rock.” – Producer Steve Albini.

For a while, it seemed that the Pixies would be known to an entire generation of kids solely as “that band who inspired Kurt Cobain.” And, given that Cobain’s legacy was in turn partially responsible for such turgid, god-awful bands as Hoobastank and Puddle Of Mudd, maybe this is nothing to write home about. But thankfully, the Pixies recent reunion (which vocalist Black Francis claims to be ‘ongoing’) as well as props from ‘it’ boys Franz Ferdinand and The Strokes amongst others, has introduced the band to a new generation of fans.

Simply, Doolittle is a modern alterna-rock classic which should be mentioned in the same hushed, conspiratorial tones as Nevermind, OK Computer and Definitely Maybe. I mean, really, how can any album go wrong when it kicks off with a song of the caliber of Debaser? You’ve heard it in your local indie club of choice. Maybe you’ve even heard it in my car as it is an obligatory entry onto every mixed tape I make (though probably not). Kim Deal’s bass work on Pixies tracks such as Debaser and Gigantic is legendary, but she’s also responsible for one of my all time favourite songs in The Breeders’ Cannonball from the superb Last Splash. Francis’ screaming on Debaser about slicing up eyeballs is still intensely brilliant.

Of course, Debaser is just one of the more widely recognised tracks on Doolittle – Wave Of Mutilation, Monkey Gone To Heaven and Here Comes Your Man all feature here, but more on them later. For my mind, it is the less recognisable tracks on the album which provide more than slight glimpses of the true genius the band possessed (and still do, judging from the live bootlegs from the band’s 2004 tours which I’ve got). Francis snarls his way through Tame, with his yelps interspersed with a slightly off-putting mid song breakdown of him and Deal wheezing into the microphone. The slow verse/loud chorus structure (which Cobain would admit to ‘borrowing’ from the Pixies) is out in force and none more perfect than on Gouge Away, one of the finest closing tracks I can recall hearing. Deal’s basslines keep a constant pace while Joey Santiago’s fretwork grinds before the explosive chorus where Francis screams

you spoon my eyes
been rubbing a bad charm
with holy fingers

There Goes My Gun, whilst all of 100 seconds long, is one of my favourite Pixies tracks of all. Direct, simple and catchy.

And then we’ve got the aforementioned ‘classics.’ Monkey Gone To Heaven houses thirty seconds of the best rock music ever recorded – in which Francis sounds momentarily like he’s lost his place in the middle of the song, muttering

and if the devil is six,
if the devil is six…
if the devil is six…

before the guitars crash in and he howls with an almighty roar “then the God is seven!”. As for Wave Of Mutilation, well, the band’s best-of compilation wasn’t named after the track for nothing. And nothing can be said about Here Comes Your Man that hasn’t been said before. The poppiest the band would ever get, it still stands up as a perfect song.

Maybe you like experimentation within music – it’s OK, I don’t mind. But Doolittle, along with the vast majority of the Pixies’ work, is flat-out rock. I’m no stranger to three-chord rock myself, considering Weezer, Pavement and Rocket From The Crypt amongst my all-time favourite bands. There’s a massive amount of genius in being able to write pop songs which still make people dance fifteen years after their release, and Doolittle exemplifies this beautifully. It’s everything great about rock. It doesn’t outstay its welcome – with only four from 15 tracks clocking in at over three minutes long. Emotional, intelligent, raw yet refined, this album is the Pixies at their finest.

Albini, if you want to sort it out, give me a call.