Pixies DVD

Wed 12th May, 2004 in Music Reviews

The other day at work I was heard to comment on how the opening bars of a Placebo song (from the latest record) had exactly the same bassline as Pixies’ Debaser. A guy in the corner remarked to the effect that I was a whining sack o’ shit – no argument there, good sir – and that all bands sound like other bands. ‘Cept The Mars Volta, he added (boy, could have I landed him a few one-twos on that; but I restrained myself demurely).

Okay, wise-arse, what does Pixies’ debut EP Come On Pilgrim sound like? The shock waves felt world-wide were proof enough that here was the real deal; a saviour of rock and roll (well, it was never going to be Inspiral Carpets or Sweet Jesus, no offence). A band that could (almost did) change music. That they didn’t, leaving someone else to finish the job – if it were not for Smells Like Teen Spirit Nirvana would not have sold ten million records and the nineties would have been a far sadder place to grow up – was always gonna be inevitable in some ways. Oh let me count thy ways!

One, a dictator-like front man with a beer belly and a penchant for deviant religious/sexual imagery set to a horrifying cathartic scream. Those possessed eyes and a total disregard for indie rock rules (ie. you gotta look the part).

Two, a cute bass player with the mysterious voice who dressed in over sized shirts, who could outdrink any punk in any biker bar they ever played. Refusing to play up to the expected sexuality of her role. The album covers of the first to releases. A naked hairy back. A naked Spanish dancer. Songs of whores and masturbation that weren’t set to black leather-clad motorcycle music. No venuses in furs. Mariachi in hairshirts, more like. And then there was the forgotten two.

A drummer skilful enough to keep beat with songs that at times had no rhythm to speak of. And, perhaps, most important of all the members, the guitarist who made the singer’s songs turn into real acts of god. In translation: Black Francis, Kim Deal, David Lovering and Joey Santiago.

This DVD comes alongside the release of a new Pixies best of which is irrelevant at best. You’ll end up just buying all the albums, if you haven’t already. On it we have all seven music videos, but who would buy it for that? Remember if you will the clip for Velouria (which was, also, possibly their weakest single). The band run across a bunch of big rocks on a beach with the vision slowed down to an excruciating speed. The only thing that happens of note is that Kim slips over somewhere toward the end of the short dash. And you see Francis’ belly when he jumps at the end, his flanelette shirt flapping up. Great job guys (insert slow golf clap).

I know irony is king and you don’t wanna be seen to be bowing to the antichrist of MTV, but -Ist May, 1988: Pixies played London and here it is. A fifteen song set comprised largely of their first two releases, the aforementioned EP and the debut album Surfer Rosa. Old man flannel, sensible haircuts, daggy shirts, beer in cans, sweaty vein-popped faces. And if the British were shocked with that, wait until they heard the music! They weren’t the coolest band in the world, right? But a few months later – following the release of the massive Doolittle album – everyone wanted a piece. This gig is the reason you want this DVD. Chuck in some pointless tour footage, the usual extras, the trademark 4AD artwork and – hands down, and with fingers on Francis’ holy beads – you’ve got the music DVD release of the year. I could have just written that last paragraph, you know: but I wanted to remind you of what this band really meant. Lets hope they don’t ruin it this year.