I admit that I am one of them. One of those that are responsible. Responsible for the infection that is manifesting itself in rabid packs dribbling what can only be described as liquid obsession across the entire face of this planet of sound. Ones that weren’t there at the beginning and not consciously at the end, ones given a heads-up by Nirvana and the stream of bands past and very present that exist because of or in compliment to the Pixies. Ones that devoted, bigamy-opposing early disciples probably credit as “assholes”, but ones that can’t get over the scalding melodic brilliance and psychotic delivery of almost an entire thrilling back-catalogue that was suddenly made available. Ones that turned the Pixies into something even bigger than they were at the time they last trod the splintering boards.
So yeah, we and the rest of the world did have our various misgivings about a glittery comeback. Whether Black Francis and his variable, dwindling presence could make it more than a high-return pension scheme. Whether it could mean more than compilations, archive digging, and the inevitable commercial retrospective onslaught. And so, we get another best of, this time titled ‘Wave Of Mutilation’, given a new eye-grabbing cover, a shake and a few substitutions. And then we get the first ever Pixies DVD. The latter is good news, especially good news.
For a start the full gig included, from their Throwing Muses support at the London Town & Country (now the Kentish Town Forum) in ‘88 when they first hit UK shores amid a small landslide of excitement, is a basically caught, undressed display of free-rolling lust and on-target shooting. It’s mouth-watering to see songs such as ‘Levitate Me’, ‘The Holiday Song’, ‘I’ve Been Tired’, ‘Where Is My Mind?’, ‘Hey’ and ‘Gigantic’ bundled together with firm, playful hands. And it’s not been buffed to elevate them to a more godly visual plain either, it’s there in all it’s bad-contrast, rough-to-the-touch glory. And it’s brilliant.
Segments are subsequently dressed up in the excellent, smoothly directed documentary Gouge, but they deserve to be put in a context there. It’s a stylishly arranged collection of musings on the legendary foursome from the likes of Thom Yorke, Johnny Greenwood, Graham Coxon, PJ Harvey and even bleedin’ Bono realising he’s not God after all, moulded into a well narrated chronology. It relays the excitement, awe and impact of their influence with real drama and timing. It’s as effective a biography as the medium could possibly manage. Good work Matt Quinn, director man.
As a token every Pixies promo clip that ever was made, totalling seven, is included to complete the package. But it’s accepted wisdom that the Pixies made bad videos, you just wonder how their creativity failed to get to the table for the deal. ‘Here Comes Your Man’ does have a quaint lo-fi charm and ‘Dig For Fire / Allison’ has a lazy something to it, but running slow-mo across big rocks for the longest-ever 3 minutes 44 seconds of ‘Velouria’ and your life?? Art-school doesn’t even come close to an explanation. But still, you’d have felt cheated if they weren’t there. You do also get a pleasing video tour diary from a trek across Europe and America to tie a bow on the collection, by then you’ve forgiven them their promo indulgence/sloth. Part one of the comeback appraisal passed then, with honours. See you at a bad festival in the summer for part two.