As the Pixies take to the stage at the Royal Albert Hall, they immediately launch into The Holiday Song. Something’s wrong though. Halfway through, the track falls apart. It’s aborted by the band. Black Francis smiles. “Sorry, give us a minute, we’re playing with two different tunings or something.” It’s an inauspicious start to the show but, if the the band is phased, you wouldn’t know it - they quickly reset and begin a blistering Nimrod’s Son, complete with Francis’ maniacal, cackling “hahahas” and a howled "You are the son of incestuous union". The rest of the night is a flawless reminder that the Pixies remain an unmistakably singular and seminal force.
You know the Pixies. Black Francis’ surreal, shrieked lyrics about Old Testament Christianity, UFOs, good, evil, death and incest. The loud-quiet-loud dynamic of their sometimes punk, sometimes hardcore, sometimes even surf rock sound. Across 29 songs, it’s all here tonight. This, the first of two shows at the Royal Albert Hall, is to celebrate 40 years since their genesis in 1986 - before their split in 1993.
But forget 40 years - it’s now over 20 years since the band returned in 2004. And we’re five albums and three bass players on since they started recording again in 2013 – with Emma Richardson, formerly of Band of Skulls, now filling Kim Deal’s shoes.
Those five recent records may have not reached the heights of their astonishing, imperial phase that began with 1987’s Come On Pilgrim and ended with 1990’s Bossanova. Indeed some of their live shows since reforming have felt too smoothed off at the edges in comparison, a feeling that they’re going through the motions. But tonight the songs feel alive, raw. The band seem to be enjoying themselves.
Gouge Away is as menacing as ever. On Vamos Joey Santiago plays guitar with his flat cap, conjuring up a disconcertingly ominous sound. And, in a week when temperatures have reached 34 degrees in London, Monkey Gone to Heaven’s allegory about environmental ruin - played with the band bathed in red light - seems apt.
Forty years in, the band may have earned heritage status but the closing run of songs - Where Is My Mind? into Bone Machine into Debaser into Tame - remains astonishing all these years on. Visceral, bruising, unsettling - it’s a potent reminder of how they rewired rock music. Black Francis’ unhinged, guttural screams on Tame still create goosebumps. And watching a 61-year-old scream “I am un chien Andalusia” inside the grand environment of this historic building has never felt as primally thrilling.
