'Death' to the Pixies' Record Executives

Let me first disclose the rather biased source for this review: The Pixies were my musical gods for so many years. I built a shrine to them composed of a constant loop of all their albums. I wept, fasted, prayed--they were the new rock. They embodied this thing, this ideal, this "alternative." Then they broke up, shortly after tagging along with U2 on their consumerific Zoo TV tour (any augur could have seen where such a pairing would lead). So I heard no more from my little forest nymphs. Black Francis changed his name again and again and put out a mediocre album. Kim Deal joined up with her twin sister and started making rather uninspired pop. Until now.

Suddenly, here comes 4AD, their record label, under the aegis of big bad Elektra, with a two-CD compilation. It's being marketed as some kind of hornbook for those unbaptized in the waters of the Isla de Encanta, but this is hardly an effective form of proselytization. The first CD brings us seventeen "classic tracks from the band's five albums." What this really means is that it features the songs most often played on 120 Minutes, with no real regard to what's worth a good god damn. The first seven songs on this disc read like a Buzz Clip line-up: "Here Comes Your Man," "Wave of Mutilation" (not the infinitely better U.K surf version featured in Christian Slater's teen romp Pump up the Volume) and many others better left unsaid. Only until midway through this composium of classic cuts does anything of real quality appear. This unfortunate CD makes the Pixies out to be a punk band big on dissonance who also dabble in bubble gum radio pop from album to album. Even some of the better songs on this CD have been curiously replaced with slowed down versions that sound like a cut from a Pixies reunion concert 25 years from now. "Gigantic" has Kim Deal wailing at about half the speed of the original recording, and the effect is about half as inspiring. The Pixies are a thinking person's "alternative;" lyrics are acrostic or contain the first theramin since the Beach Boys' "Good Vibrations." Their concerts, from their beginnings in Boston, often included over 40 songs in a set. It's not so much that's they're ultra-prolific, but to take only a handful of their already short songs and call it representative does a great disservice to their oeuvre.

The second album is of a 1990 concert in Holland. It proves rather clearly that the Pixies were meant for the studio. On top of that, it contains several lower-quality repeats of many irritating tracks on the first CD of Death to the Pixies. How many times do I need to hear "This Monkey Gone to Heaven"? Even Black Francis sounds disinterested. The other songs on this disc, similar to the first, are truncated, with many cuts halving the length of the original version. According to those subtle folks at 4AD, "this collection shows why the Pixies were one of the most respected, acclaimed and influential rocks bands of the late 80s and early 90s." Well, they were that, but this collection sure doesn't show anything beyond a minimal repertoire. The only added bonus of the second disc is that it contains a single song not included on the Pixies five former releases, "Into the White." On the other hand, this song sounds like it could fit seamlessly into a Breeders album, past, present or future. At least the "Wave of Mutilation" done on this album is worth its weight. Maybe a purchase of the set would be rationalized by the inclusion of the live concert album, but it only denigrates the quality of the original studio versions.

All in all, the choice of songs seems to reflect a very personal predilection by someone in the record company. Not the Pixies themselves, nor the larger body of their exceedingly loyal fans. Not to say this album doesn't beat the hell out of say, Bridges to Babylon, but these babies can't trompe le monde forever. The whole thing just makes me want to listen to their five albums in succession, where the songs are safe and happy in their original context. Part of the reason why neither disc of this set works is that many of the songs work best within their albums' genre. Trompe le Monde, a very punky and loud album, doesn't mix well with Bossanova, full of surf music about aliens, or the southwest-influenced Surfer Rosa. The Pixies like to put strange sequences of conversations and feedback between songs on their albums. They're odd, but they fit, and they make the album work as a whole. Without this context, the album lacks any kind of continuity and makes the purpose of Death to the Pixies seem more depressing. The album falls completely short on its goal as a celebration of the Pixies' influence on contemporary rock 'n' roll. Death to the Pixies is supposed to be "what you're listening to this week," but it seems more like "this is what you were listening to in eighth grade." Death to the Pixies doesn't totally kill the ability of this band to rock, it only crimps its wings. If you really want to hear it as it should be heard, though, go ahead and spend the extra money on buying the previous five albums.