On Oct. 1st the Pixies graced our very own city of Baltimore with their presence, performing a small club show at Sonar. Saturday's tickets were sold out far in advance, and it can't be denied that every person there was either feeling lucky or smug for having snatched a seat -- rather, a place to stand. Anticipation had been building for weeks -- few self-respecting music lovers of our generation can deny their Pixies phase, and I feel it's safe to say that it is a continuing stage for most.
I could go on about why the Pixies are important to music today, but why? It's been done, and the integrity and relevance of the band is hardly in question. If you don't know who they are, or you just haven't listened to them yet, well, it's probably too late for you anyway.
Sonar was packed and sweaty as it anxiously awaited those rock demi-gods, quite different from most successful rock groups of the 90s both in the experimental nature of so many of their songs and their unique image. They did not speak as they walked on stage; they just delivered "Wave of Mutilation."
This was followed by a varied mix of their other hits, ranging from "Velouria" to "Caribou," to "Wave of Mutilation" again, which they didn't bother to play all that differently the second time around, to "Is She Weird" and "Where Is My Mind?" "Debaser" and "Gigantic" wrapped the show up, satisfying the base need we all have for good old-fashioned Pixies pop songs.
I mention the set list and not the antics of the band because, truth be told, there weren't really any antics. I'm pretty sure that the Pixies have been replaced by robots. Maybe I'm indulging in hyperbole here, and the real explanation is that they still hate each other, or that, having played together for so long, they have found that they can function as a well-oiled "Bone Machine" instead of as a looser collection of individuals. Either way, every song appeared almost exactly as it had on record many years ago, which is far from disappointing but not exactly life-changing.
The band was tight, though, and although they may not have been very boisterous, they were technically impressive. There was one shenanigan -- the final song (notably not an encore) was followed by Frank Black's best impression of a communist dictator. He first raised his left hand and then both of his arms to benevolently acknowledge the devoted crowd of adolescents and pseudo-adolescents staring up at his zaftig figure.
I wonder, though, if the Pixies are becoming, or have become, a band so deservedly respected for their past work that they are able to continue an eternal final reunion tour, never moving beyond the past that they so recently tried to escape. I sincerely hope not -- they're better than that, or at least could be.
