Pixies

“This band is FUCKING INSANELY GOOD.” – Chris

“I was basically trying to rip off the Pixies.” – Kurt Cobain

“Puneta!” – Black Francis

Albums Reviewed:

Formed in Boston (Hee!) in the latter half of the eighties, the Pixies have, arguably, a bigger stamp on the last fifteen years of rock music than any other band. Their soft-loud dynamics, simple, effective basslines, screaming guitars, and melodic know-how influenced countless bands in the early nineties, some worthy, some not. Kurt Cobain claimed, at every possibly opportunity, that Nirvana were nothing more than a Pixies rip-off. The Toadies were a Pixies ripoff, right down to the fucked-up lyrical matter and unattractive female bass player. Listen to any of their albums today, and you’re bound to hear between 5 and 10 chord sequences that have since been beaten into the ground by the band’s clueless, self-loathing followers. The first ten seconds of “Debaser” alone have probably launched the careers of too many bands to reasonably count. And yet, despite all this, the Pixies to this day remain totally unique in the history of popular music.

See, the Pixies were one of the biggest contributing authors to the book of alternative rock, but they had also had a ton of other aspects which have yet to be imitated. Sometimes these “other” aspects were downright annoying, yes, but they help the Pixies stand out both from their contemporaries and their followers. Black Francis spent part of his college years in Puerto Rico, so he loved surf-rock and weird Spanish music. Bassist Kim Deal’s ethereal backing vocals provided an excellent contrast to Black’s often incomprehensible (yet better than Geddy Lee!) screeching about “slicing up eyeballs” (Black was, vocally, the singular influence on Jack White, by the way). They could alternately play fast and loose like punks, yelp like possessed iguanas, and write melody lines the envy of most other bands to ever grace this planet, and sometimes did all three in the same song. Black Francis has a ridiculous sense of humor that, when it goes overboard, annoys the living crap out of me, but when used in moderation proves goofy and fun. Its absence from the band’s last two records might be what makes most Pixies fans rate them lower than the band’s first two, but, in my humble opinion, that is a total crock of shit. I like both pairs just as much! I even think Doolittle is obviously flawed in places! Ha! But putting all this aside, they were one of the greatest indie-rock bands of all time, and all of their records, bar possibly Bossanova, are absolutely essential for the like three fans of the genre who don’t already have them. If you hate smarmy college kids and get off on Bob Seger records, though, you should probably stay away.

Lineup! The baby-faced, chubby man turned to the side in front is lead singer, rhythm guitarist, and possessor of a very boring name Charles Thompson, who rechristened himself “Black Francis” before taking lead of the Pixies, and re-rechristened himself “Frank Black” before going solo. He’s basically the tyrant of the group, and his Billy Corgan-esque creative control helped contribute to the band’s early breakup, since bassist Kim Deal (far right), a decent songwriter in her own right, was only able to convince Mr. Francis to allow two of her compositions on Pixies records (one of which blows!). The remaining two members are, on the left, drummer David Lovering and, next to him, lead guitarist Joey Santiago. I don’t really refer to either one of them much in the reviews, because drumming isn’t why you buy Pixies albums and I never have any idea who of Joey and Black is playing what guitar part in a given song, but they’re probably really nice guys, too.

Oh, and please no one write and say “WHY DON’T YOU HAVE COME ON PILGRIM REVIEWED WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SOME KIND OF ASSHOLE!!!!!!?????????” It’s a 20-minute EP. No dice. You’ll live.

And, onto the reviews!

Katherine Frances (katherine_frances@hotmail.com) writes:

I'm writing about your Pixies reviews. Your site being one of my favourite review sites, and the Pixies being one of my favourite bands, I was hoping you'd get around to reviewing them sometime! Good job on the reviews, as always they were entertaining, and interesting - and you even rated the albums exactly as I would. Your comments are spot on, I agree with a lot of what you wrote - it's good to know there are like-minded people out there.

So, a few comments. Come on Pilgrim is well worth listening to ... I'm assuming you already own Surfer Rosa (if you burned it, shame on you!), but if you don't you should get the CD with both on, it's usually pretty cheap. COP is in the vein of Surfer Rosa, no major development between the two - yay, more of Black Francis' insane (but cool ramblings)! (Or "surrealist phonetic poetry" as the highbrow critics call it ...) It's got some great songs! You have to hear "I've Been Tired", it's hilarious.

Also you mentioned "La La Love You" in your Doolittle review - that is in fact David Lovering singing lead. As far as I know this is the only time he sings lead, apart from on a song on the B-sides album.

That's all for now, keep the reviews coming,

Katherine

PS You're seeing in the New Year with the Flaming Lips? That is really really cool ... I am very and extremely jealous ...

Surfer Rosa (1988)

Rating: 8

Best Song: “Where Is My Mind?”

After reading review after review by “professional critics” addressing the “harsh” and “abrasive” qualities of this record (our old friend the All Music Guide calls it “menacing” and “perverse.” Hoooooold on, there…), and upon finally listening to this landmark of abrasive proto-alternative college rock, I was surprised to find it…cute. Cute. When I listen to Surfer Rosa, I am overwhelmed by this feeling of charming cuteness the band is able to produce, despite the squealing guitars and pounding Steve Albinidrums and songs about broken body parts and penises (Kim Deal! You horndog…). It’s a very fine album, mind you, and musically I can understand the chitter chatter. “Bone Machine” (whose opening is vaguely reminiscent of Weezer’s “Tired of Sex,” the opener to Pinkerton, and I highly doubt this is a coincidence) shows us right off the bat that Steve Albini has a fetish for drums that are mixed very, very loudly (Go listen to In Utero! The drums on “Scentless Apprentice” give me a damn headache), and a number of songs throughout, mostly concentrated at the “visceral” beginning, provide examples of this abrasivity (?). The vicious and utterly incomprehensible “Something About You” does this best, for instance, as Black Francis’ voice is somehow merged with the messy, squealing, feedback-y guitar riff in a moment of pure ear-splitting awesomeness, and once “Broken Face” gets going, it comes reasonably close to ripping my face off. But the band is first and foremost cute, and, perversely, it’s these songs themselves that help me prove my point.

How, you ask? Well, look at their openings. A clean, cute, beach-happy surf-rock riff opens up “Something About You” before it turns into a cacophony of noise and distortion, and “Broken Face” begins with an absolutely absurd “I got a broken fa-a-ace! Uh-huh! Uh-huh! Uh-huh!” vocal tape loop thing that is hiiiiiiiii-larious. See? This band is so cute! Very non-threatening. “Bone Machine” does this too, since Kim Deal’s “Your bone’s got a little maaachiiiiiiine!” interlude sounds like a nursery rhyme, and Black Francis’ whatever-the-fuck-he’s-talking-about blabbering about “peachy-peach” and “kissy-kiss” never fails to amuse me. This is really how the whole start of the record goes. Except for the relatively normal (and absolutely, defiantly, ridiculously PRETTY GOOD) “Break my Body,” these songs alternate between loud, abrasive, messy “indie” parts and parts that, either because Kim Deal’s vocals sound like they could fit on Blues Clues or because Black Francis is weird (most likely both), are just CUTE! It’s alternately maddening, exhilarating, and hilarious (usually depending on my mood), but it’s without a doubt interesting.

The beginning isn’t why you buy Surfer Rosa, though (or, well…no, I didn’t buy it anyway. I burned it for free. Fine. You got me). It’s the creamy center, starting with Kim Deal’s penis envy carol “Gigantic,” which is soothing because of Kim’s lovely vocals, and poppariffic because of the fact that the Pixies are great fucking songwriters. The follower, “River Euphrates,” with its love of distortion and insistence on making most of its lyrics overdubbed Kim Deal “la la la la la!” things alternating with Black Francis yelling like a buffoon (but in a cool Black Francis way), is definitely neat, but not something I’d pull out at a Christmas party, and I can’t help but feel it’s a tad overrated. Not so “Where is My Mind?”, though, which is basically the basis for the Toadies’ entire career (not shocking, since they cover it on that live album of theirs I have…and, yes, I’ve rated Rubberneck higher than this record. Why is that, you ask? Well, first, I’m a moron, and second, Rubberneck doesn’t fill its final third with annoying Mexican surf goof tracks that make me want to strangle Black Francis with a telephone cord). The chord sequence might sound familiar, but that’s only if you go to the Pixies after hearing most of the “alternative” bands that crowded up the early nineties. In 1988, it was slightly less clichéd! Yes! But the guitar line that repeats in the chorus is what gets my gander up, as well as those faint “oooo-ooooo…” backing, um…voice washes? Whatever they are. I love those. Just a wonderfully melodic tune that shows how much songwriting skill the Pixies truly had when they decided to not write bullshit Mexican songs in Mexican Spanish dirty people language.

OK, so the rest of the record is definitely mixed bag, and made especially annoying because all the peanuts and cashews were eaten up at the beginning. Now, I’m not saying it’s bad. It’s fun! And it retains that overarching feeling of cuteness (“This is a song about a superhero named Tony! It’s called Tony’s theme!” *fast, annoying, abrasive guitar riff with little or no point*). I reckon the atmospheric “Cactus” is pretty cool, but it cuts off too early, and about here is when you realize “hey…a lot of the Pixies’ songs are pretty damn short” (14 tracks in 32 minutes! Oh my golly!!!) Of what’s left, we’ve got two like Spanish/Mexican things, of which the short one whose title I’ve already cleverly mentioned in that parenthesis is cool, but “Vamos” overstays its welcome at over four goddamn minutes (Why are you singing in BROKEN, ARROGANT, HALF-SPANISH???). We’ve also got “You Fuckin’ Die!”, a 40-second, unlisted interlude track in which Black tries to explain why he yelled “You fuckin’ die!” to Kim because she touched his guitar or something (which I actually find FUNNY!), “I’m Amazed,” which is somehow less memorable than the interlude about field hockey players that comes before it, and “Brick is Red,” a relatively normal (and great!) song, and the first one since “Where is My Mind?” that doesn’t illustrate the Pixies trying to be funny, an endeavor in which they are “hit or miss,” I’d say.

Oh, you cute, funny little Bostonians! A debut record in every sense of the word, Surfer Rosa is immature, endearing, cute, giggly, maddening, inconsistent…and in the end a very nice listening experience. It’s unlike any record I’ve ever heard, really, including any other record by this band. On subsequent albums, the Pixies are (occasionally, at least) able to sound mature and normal, but here they’re just so fucking odd that, as I’ve mentioned countless times before, it becomes CUTE! A very fun record, but too annoying to be the Pixies’ best work.

Doolittle (1989)

Rating: 9

Best Song: “Debaser”

If you like the Pixies as much for their off-kilter and mildly annoying sense of humor as for their considerable musical abilities, this is definitely your best bet. It probably encompasses all sides of the Pixies better than any other record they’ve produced. It’s their most diverse record, they attempt more styles than you can shake a baculum, -i, n. at, the Black ‘n’ Kim vocal harmonies and contrasts are at their peak in both amount and effectiveness, and its opener is unquestionably the best song the Pixies ever wrote. I’ve seen this rated as the greatest album of all time by anyone by a fair number of people who HAVE FORGOTTEN THE BEATLES MADE ALBUMS, TOO, but I don’t even think it’s the Pixies’ best. Second-best? Yeah! Sure, definitely. But best? No! Why? Well, as these 15 songs go by in a quick thirty-eight minutes, I can’t help but find a number of sub-par, unmemorable, and flat-out weak tracks in the record’s second half, mostly novelty tunes that annoy me to no end because you’re the goddamn Pixies, you write INCREDIBLE songs when you want to, and yet you sometimes choose to write 90-second filler junkballs that go NOWHERE. But hell, it’s still excellent, though, so let’s hold off on the criticism for a bit, eh?

First off, the highs on this record are high. This album has the best rock song the Pixies ever wrote (“Debaser”) AND the best pop song the Pixies ever wrote (“Here Comes Your Man”), both of which are right at all-time-classic-by-anyone status, in the span of the first five tracks of the album. “Debaser” is absolutely fantastic, the ultimate Pixies song and, when you think about it, the ultimate basis of all alternative rock. Except what would a lot of mediocre follower bands do with this song? They’d sing in a normal voice about boring things! NOT THE PIXIES! “Got me a movie! HA HA HA HO! Slicin’ up eyeballs! HA HA HA HO! Got me a girlie! HA HA HA HO! I am un…CHIEN!!! Andalusia!!!!!!” And how Kim follows Black’s frantic “DEBASER!!!!” yell with that soft, soothing, “debaaaseeeeeeeer” in the background is the ultimate example of why their vocal chemistry made this band so unique. Many bands could try to write “Debaser” (hell, like 1,000 have stolen that chord sequence), but no one really could write “Debaser,” except the Pixies. And none of those bands that attempted to write “Debaser” could probably come within a mile of writing “Here Comes Your Man,” a bouncy, charming, unique little pop nugget that whose main plucked guitar riff is the stupidest, yet greatest, musical phrase I’ve heard in a while. Again, the Kim Deal backup vocals are key here. “There is a wait so long!” “So long, so long….” Great stuff. Putting two songs on the same record this vastly different, and of quality this flabbergastingly good, is something few bands could accomplish.

Moving on, the first half of the record is all really outstanding. “Tame” is like a sequel to “Something About You,” but better, “Wave of Mutilation” is the only song I’ve ever heard that makes the phrase “wave of mutilation” catchier than the clap, and “I Bleed” does the “distorted and messy, but not as far as ‘Something About You’ or ‘Tame’ because you can actually make out our vocals” thing quite well. “Dead” is pounding and hypnotic, with Lovering hitting the tom-toms with full gusto and screeching guitar bursts providing tastiness, before a pretty pseudo-chorus section with a great guitar line and little math-rock-y bridge section, which then goes back to main pounding section…and then the song just ends. This is what happens when all a band’s songs are like two minutes. Some of them will just end. But if they do it effectively (and this one definitely DOES), then it’s OK by me.

Around here is where we start seeing the genres come fast and furious, which is sometimes good…and sometimes annoying. But the good first! “Monkey Gone to Heaven” is a preview of the sort of atmospheric “space-rock” (if two-minute indie songs can in fact be “space rock”) that fills up Bossanova, and the cello in there sounds like something from fucking Sgt. Pepper! “Mr. Grieves” starts off as reggae for like 20 seconds before suddenly morphing with very little warning into a kind of bouncy guitar-pop song reminiscent of “Here Comes Your Man,” crossed with occasional “Vamos”-like guitar runs (which are actually effective this time, thank god). “La La Love You” is a weird little novelty piece of fun that seems to have very little point, and the only vocals are someone (is that Black Francis???) who sounds like Robert Goulet going “la la love you, pretty baby!” Why is there whistling? I don’t know! What a cool song! “No. 13 Baby” is actually very commercial-sounding, and the guitar line is one the album’s most instantly recognizable. Kurdtdtd Kckckckckckcobaiyiaiyne claimed he based Nirvana’s entire career on the closer “Gouge Away,” and I can definitely see that, but now, unfortunately, nothing left does tons for me. “There Goes My Gun” is a good song, but my mind always wanders while it’s playing, for instance, and I’ve always found “Hey” to be annoying and massively overrated. And finally, all 80 seconds of the punk speedster “Crackity Jones” are just bullshit, and “Silver” provides two and a half minutes of what might be a tribal chant of some sort (I don’t know), but whatever it is, it’s two and a half minutes of my life I would like to have back right now. And Kim Deal wrote this one, too! Can’t even blame Black Francis’ goofiness (which, honestly, I really don’t mind all that much. It was much more annoying on Surfer Rosa).

I guess my main problem with Doolittle, other than its two total crap songs, is that it seems disjointed to me. The tunes (once again, except for a handful) are great, and the Pixies absolute best work can be found here, but I get the impression of a record with very little unity when I listen to Doolittle. They’re far from the goofy, immature distortion of Surfer Rosa, they’re definitely at the peak of their “Pixies-ness” (since Kim and Black are still talking to each other, and they successfully pull off funny nothing tunes…sometimes) but they occasionally make me downright confused here. What the hell do any of these songs have to do with each other? And it’s not a wild, exhilarating ride like Trompe Le Monde. That record feels like a roller coaster in music form. The second half of this one, on a bad day, seems more like bumper cars. Just stop; start; stop; start; stop; start; etc. What does “Silver” have to do with ANYTHING, for instance? Whatever, I’m reaching for flaws here, folks. The fact is, a few songs near the end of this album blow out loud, and 2^nd half has about as much cohesiveness as Sandinista!, but to get a quick and effective education in all things Pixies, this is your best bet. If you’re into the classic rock, I bet you dig Trompe Le Monde (Hello, me!), but if you’re an indie-rock hound, you’ll fucking love this (for instance, I recently gave this album to my friend Chris, and about two seconds into “Debaser” he gave me this crazy “OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!!!!” look, and proceeded to look like a kid in a candy store for the next twenty minutes as the record unfolded). And there’s also a monkey on the cover, which is cool.

awoehrel@netcarrier.com writes:

You're seeing the Lips on New Years Ever, along with Wilco (YHF=6. Pwned.) and Sleater Kinney? YOU LUCKY BASTARD.

Well, I'm glad to have you back and updating again, especially with the new Pixies reviews, but I think you're a little too influenced by Jack Feeny there. Doolittle is a 10. COME ON. Seriously dude. You think Crackity Jones sucks? What about that ferocious and energetic little "KRAKKRAKCRACKITYJONES!" vocal dooda, and the crazy punk rhythm? It's a gem. Silver? Yeah, Silver is weird, it's like Kim Deal doing a spaghetti western theme song while Joey tries to imitate Sonic Youth, but even if you decide to be a cock and say Silver and Crackity Jonez suck, 12/14 ain't bad! I honestly think Doolittle is one of the most cohesive albums I've ever heard! Give it another chance plz.

Also: Modest Mouse plz. I still think The Lonesome Crowded West is right up your alley. If you don't understand what I'm talking about, I emailed you a while ago suggesting you should check these guys out. It's a completely different sound than the modern Float Onisms. Imagine the Pixies doing 6 minute songs with more dynamic and tempo changes than Yes (though not nearly as complicated as them) and replace the Frank Black goofiness with the angst of a 20-something drug addict who reads Bukowski and grew up in a trailer park. Gold, Jerry, GOLD!

Oh man. Lipitude at midnight. You lucky, lucky motherfucker. You'll even get to see Wayne in a bubble! I hate you. I was going to see them at Lollapalooza. But yeah. It got canceled. Damn you, record-buying public! Why can't you appreciate genius when it comes your way?

nikus80@hotmail.com writes:

I agree on you with this record. Except that Hey is my favourite
song on this record, and one of my favourite songs of all time. Oh, and
Crackity Jones and those songs are good. They're not the best songs ever or
anything, so I would give this record a weak 10. But 10 nonetheless. That
said, Trompe Le Monde rulez like shit, even if I would give it *only* a 9.
Motorway To Roswell is as good as Hey.

Bossanova (1990)

Rating: 8

Best Song: “Dig For Fire”

Probably the least interesting Pixies record, and thus the hardest for me to scrounge together a review for (bastards…), Bossanova is also the most commercial-sounding and least “Pixies-like” (whatever that means) of the band’s four LP’s. While anyone who thinks Kim Deal had any kind of a profound influence on the Pixies in the first place is clearly living in a fantasy world (two total songs on two albums, one of which blows, do not make her a creative equal with Black), she did have some influence, but starting with this record Black pulls a Billy Corgan and just stops considering her creative input altogether. This does leave a bit of hole, because Kim’s backing vocals are scaled back a bit much for my tastes, but that’s not the principal issue I have with this nevertheless very good record. See, while the Pixies’ goofy humor occasionally is annoying, I always like the fact that it’s there, and I don’t appreciate its sudden absence. I also don’t appreciate the Pixies’ abandoning their “try a whole fuckload of different styles” approach that worked, for the most part, exceptionally well on Doolittle to concentrate solely on the spacey, atmospheric, midtempo surf-rock (an odd description, yes, but an accurate one) that fills up this slab of plastic. Real good album? Yeah! Definitely. Black knows how to write a damn song, and he and Joey know how to make interesting guitar parts. But classic? No.

This record begins to sound awfully samey after a while, and after upwards of 10-12 listens, I still can’t find a single song that stands out like the best songs on the band’s other three albums. I’m gonna nominate “Dig For Fire” as best one here, but it’s really just a “good song,” and it also provides a nice microcosm of the record’s problems. The guitars are pretty, not rocking, and the vocals are pretty, not aggressive. You won’t find anything NEAR “Debaser” in terms of flat-out, aggressive rocking on Bossanova. The visceral sequel to “Something Against You” and “Tame” (i.e. the one song where Black yells his distorto-vocals so loudly and incoherently they might as well just be guitar feedback), “Rock Music,” definitely comes the closest, but the fact that its called “Rock Music” shows me that Black is well aware of this album’s relative lack of rocking out. The opening instrumental “Cecilia Ann,” the short and sweet pseudo-punker “Alison,” and maybe “Hang Wire” (though it’s one of the weakest tracks here, so then again maybe not) are all else you’re gonna find if you only got off to “Debaser” in the past and couldn’t really give a fuck about “Monkey Gone to Heaven.”

If you’re like me, though, and you appreciate both the Pixies aggressive/rock skills and their pretty, melodicalish tendencies, you’ll still be in for a good time. A couple of times, this record puts together a combination of gorgeous, spacey vocals, surf-flavored plucked guitar lines, and neat-o atmospherics to create moments of gooey goodness, such as the near-instrumental “Ana,” the incredible end to “The Happening,” and “Havalina,” probably the best album-closer the Pixies ever came up with. The chorus to “Velouria” is a mushy-pretty good time as well, and so melodic! The aforementioned “Dig For Fire” is just a great pop song, as is “Is She Weird” and “All Over the World.” “Stormy Weather” is a strange little tune that simply repeats the line “It is time for stormy weather!” ad nauseam and indiscriminately changes tempo like 5 times, but oh so neat! Do I wish the Pixies let loose their ability to RRRRRRRRROCK a little more here? Sure. Do I wish the record sounded a little less commercial? Indeed I do! The big, reverby drums I occasionally hear (not in every song, mind you) and the also-occasional slicked/chorused guitars don’t sound quite right to me coming from this band, but in general I’ll forgive them, because they’re still writing songs like “Dig For Fire” and “Velouria” and not, you know, bad songs. One should also consider the fact that nothing on this record is something I’d describe as “bullshit.” A few tunes are mediocre, yes, but there’s no “Tony’s Theme” or “Silver” weird piece of craposity to muck up an otherwise excellent time.

Basically, on Bossanova the Pixies don’t reach as far as they can, and thus produce only a “very good” record instead of something that will go down as a classic for all time, but the flip side of this lack of reaching means the album is thoroughly enjoyable from beginning to end. This album never takes me to the peaks of their other three records, but it never stops the ride to take a dump on my face either, so, you know, I appreciate that. Pretty, melodic, spacey and atmospheric, but lacking in true aggression and power, I’d probably nominate this as the Pixies weakest LP. But it’s still, like, really good and stuff.

nikus80@hotmail.com writes:

I kinda disagree. I would give it a strong 8 instead of the weak
one you give it. Some of the songs DO rock, at least in my mind. Cecilia
Ann, Rock Music, and Velouria specially! And Ana is my favourite song on the
whole record: hypnotically beautiful. But Havalina is not "the best album
closer the Pixies ever came up with". That would be "Brick Is Red" which is
also the "most underrated Pixies song ever" and "the best song in Surfer
Rosa"; it's only an opinion, though. And Levitate Me is probably is a better
closer, even if only appears on an EP.

Trompe Le Monde (1991)

Rating: 10

Best Song: “Motorway To Roswell”

Fuck yeah. Now we’re talking. Although the goofy humor and Kim Deal backing vocals are still in lower supply than the Pixies’ first two albums, they are making a comeback, every other problem I had with Bossanova has been rectified, and some tasty new things have even been added to the Pixies’ stew! This is without a doubt my personal favorite Pixies album. It’s as varied and interesting as Doolittle, as pretty, melodic and consistent as Bossanova, has the orgasmic highs of both Surfer Rosa and Doolittle, and rocks harder than anything else the band put out. If any Pixies record that doesn’t have Black Francis singing in incomprehensible Spanish gibberish doesn’t totally appeal to you, or if you want records to be as post-modern and “ironic” as possible, then maybe you’ll like the band’s first two records more. Most people do, and I have to think that those records’ idiosyncratic, hipster sense of humor appeals to many Pixies fans as much as their melodic know-how, brilliant juxtaposition of styles, and fat, rocking power. But I couldn’t give a fuck about whatever aesthetic “Vamos” is supposed to have. I think the song blows goats. And so I believe Trompe Le Monde is one of the best and most underappreciated albums of the nineties.

This is one of those records that can basically do whatever the hell it wants. If it wants to rock, it rocks. If it wants to be catchy and melodic, it can kill you with its songwriting. If it just wants to be fucked-up, it can do that too! Witness “Alec Eiffel,” which I nearly named my favorite song on the album. It starts out like something resembling a normal punker. It’s a bit odd, and you can tell it’s, you know, not all there, but it’s fast, melodic, fun, and full of energy, so sure! Good time. About halfway through, then, this incredibly cool surf-guitar line pops up, and you figure “Oh! Cool. Black’s obsession with surf music.” But then, see, out of nowhere, comes this freakishly odd keyboard that sounds like the love child of a funeral organ and a theremin playing some odd line that doesn’t fit in with the time signature at all, which is then doubled by someone doing a falsetto vocal that sounds like a tortured infant, and this synth/falsetto vocal duo proceeds to continue on a strange, completely unpredictable, yet absurdly catchy melodic pathway (on top of the surf-guitar line, which is still bubbling down there under the surface), before the song is enveloped in someone’s guitar feeding back and goes away. Few bands would actually come up with that idea, and fewer still would make it work.

This record is filled with moments like that. The atmospheric, Bossanova-esque vocals that grace the sub-two minute title track opener. The bubbling-water vocals and bass-driven verses of “Planet of Sound” that morph into possibly the most ferocious chorus in the band’s catalog (“THIS IS THE PLANET OF SOUND!!!!!!!!!!”). How “The Sad Punk” speeds up indiscriminately for a minute before completely stopping in its tracks and morphing into a slow sludger, with a bridge between sections provided by a gorgeous multi-guitar solo thing, and how the “Named extinction!!!” hook line actually makes sense in both halves of the song. The part near the end of “Head On” where Lovering does snare guitar rolls for thirty seconds underneath a guitar solo as gorgeous as the bridge in “The Sad Punk.” The dunder-headed yet brilliant riff (complete with COWBELL!!!!) of “U-Mass,” and how the hook line of the tune (“IT’S EDUCATIONAL!!!!”) is probably the coolest thing Black ever yelled in the band’s career (by the way, doesn’t the guitar riff underneath that chorus hook line sound familiar? Change a chord or two and what do you have? “Smells Like Teen Spirit!”). The way “Palace of the Brine” and “Letter to Memphis,” both super-melodic and rocking songs by themselves, form a perfect two-song suite that segues together without the listener even noticing. And that’s, what, only half the album? Ha!

About three-quarters of the way through, there are a few songs that don’t quite make the grade for me. I’ve never been a huge fan of “Subbacultcha,” for instance, whose self-referential, ironic lyrics instantly date the song to 1987 or 88 or so (which, by the way, is when it was originally written), and I can never remember much about the 90-second “Distance Equals Rate Times Time.” But neither of these songs suck. They’re just mediocre in the sense that the weak tracks on Bossanova were mediocre. They don’t take away from pretty pop dreamers like “Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons” and totally fucked-up bundles of fascination like “Space (I Believe in),” with its utterly disjointed opening riff, bongos, and mantra-like “Jefrey…with one…F…Jef…rey…” chants. The best song on the album, “Motorway to Roswell,” is stuck so far at the end that the exhilarating journey that is this record has left the listener nearly unable to comprehend what might be good music by the time it comes on. But the song is an epic of the first order (It pushes 5 minutes, and, for this band, that is epic). The gorgeous background piano use and “I started driving on the moooooooooooootorway!!!!!” chorus combine to make what is probably the prettiest song this band ever wrote. And it still manages to have more rock energy than most of Bossanova, whose prettiness was the entire reason for its existence. And the way the band tucks it in between two brilliant little novelty tracks is outstanding sequencing. “Lovely Day” is never really mentioned by anyone, but I think it’s superb. It rekindles the Spanish guitar plucking vibe of the 2^nd half of Surfer Rosa, but less annoying and much, much, much better. The guitar line, especially that little 2-second thing that comes up after the “…and it’s goin’ away!” line in the chorus, is just catchy as, um, a really catchy thing! And the closing “The Navajo Know” is no slouch either. It sounds disturbed. Incredibly catchy and memorable, but sort of…um…not all there? Like really fun psychotic carnival music. But it still sounds like the Pixies!

Christ, what a motherfucker of an album this is. Everything you could ever want in a Pixies record, except their ironic, hip, “humorous” shit (which I actually like, but I don’t miss it either), is here. The songs are incredibly well-written. The band rocks ferociously. They even add keyboard touches for the first time, and good lord do they know how to use them (I mean, “Alec Eiffel” and “Motorway to Roswell” are the two best songs on the album! Hee!). Doolittle gets all the press, but Trick the World is where the Pixies, right before calling it quits, hit their peak. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Stay all day if you want to.