Who could have imagined it? The Pixies back together. It was one of those unthinkable dreams. They had been deader than Kurt Cobain.
Or maybe it was inevitable that Frank Black’s endless solo tours would eventually draw in his former bandmates. Torontonians, at least, should have been somewhat prepared by the reunion of the forever squabbling Lowest of the Low. One certainly can’t overlook the financial incentive in these matters.
The news was big, and the demand was rabid. Just about every show on the path to Coachella sold out in less than two minutes. And no disrespect to Radiohead, but it probably wasn’t their draw that caused the festival to sell out in one day for the first time ever.
After the excitement, though, comes the fear. Will the reincarnation ruin the memory of the legend? For many, the Pixies are something discovered post-humously in used record shops or best-of/live compilations.
The mood outside the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver back in April was that of reined-in jubilation. Goofy grins and nervous chatter signaled the shared sense of being in on some crazy conspiracy.
Inside, the venue filled up quickly. No late stragglers today. We were appreciative of the opening band but got more buzzed by canned Pixies stuff coming over the P.A. between sets.
When the band did come on, they received such a rousing ovation that they stomped off-stage so they could do it again. That really got things going.
It was time for the Pixies to step up to the plate, and if what they delivered wasn’t quite a grand slam, it was at least an inside-the-park home run: two solid sets delivered with an ease that belied the passing of time.
They gave us a well-crafted selection of choice cuts from their hefty catalogue-everything from “Caribou” all the way up to various songs off Trompe le Monde. Staples such as “Here Comes Your Man” and “Debaser” were covered, and I’m even sure I heard “Wave of Mutilation” twice.
All the while, the unanimity emanating from the stage was what surprised the most. Any lingering tension between band members seems to have dissolved on the road. Black and Kim Deal exchanged smiles instead of scowls, and they all gave off an appearance of being taken aback by just how popular they have become during ten years of idleness.
In the end, I left a happy, sweaty mess, and you can’t ask for too much more from a concert.
