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Rating: I am at the bar separated by a wall from the concert hall, well determined to skip the support band which is usually a German band here that at best does good mannerism. Here they serve drinks in glass glasses, over there in plastic ones, from which I refuse to drink. A matter of good taste. During the second Gin Tonic — they are starting later than expected — I am captured by what little I hear and rush over there.
Wow. I barely have time to enter before I'm already jumping like a kid. They are four in a line, including the drummer, crammed into the little space left free by Frank's setup. What poses! The Manic Street Preachers come to mind, a Nicky Wire and a Rickey Jones. The guitars mistreated and thrown here and there. We are witnessing something superior. Attitude. The music is full of hooks that grab you, melodic but skewed to just the right point. "Hit" by the Wannadies comes to mind. These are the Serafin: Singer/guitarist, Ben Fox Smith, from London, the New Zealand bassist, the Scottish guitarist, or at least that's what I managed to glean from a conversation with the singer, I can't guarantee anything. NME now says they're based in Bristol. Incredible.
For a moment I consider leaving, the evening can't get any better than this. And then Frank Black in recent years I've seen more often than many friends. He makes an album and a tour practically every year. But you can't help but love him. He enters with the lights and without background music, looks the audience in the face and raises his hand in greeting. As always. This time he appears in a black t-shirt, after we once saw him play even in a suit and tie, sweating, and the last time with a horrible black leather vest. He seems to be in shape, even slimmer, and has a nice band behind him, the guitarists taking turns sitting at the lap steel guitars and Rich Gilbert sometimes even at the piano. At times they both play red SGs, a pleasure for the eyes and ears, even if with Frank's perennial acoustic, which he only leaves at the end for a Telecaster, the sound is sometimes too "full". But whatever Frank does is fine, there is no discussion. The fourth song is "Where Is My Mind", played without the acoustic introduction, those two chords that always announced it and each time we said "but it's...". I force myself with all the voice I have to sing the "yu–huu" in time. I scream and jump, I am happy.
From "Black Letter Days" he plays "Cold Heart Of Stone", the country western with the immortal verse, "if ever you need, don't call". He plays Monkey Gone to Heaven, followed by Velouria(!), Caribou, distributed evenly among the compositions signed Frank Black; the last time he did a Pixies block at the end of the set. From the latest release, "Show Me Your Tears," he plays "Nadine," Waitsian, to be connected to "The Black Rider" played a little earlier. In between somewhere he also did "Nimrod’s Son": "you are the son of a motherfucker!". I knew what he would play, I've seen him many times, but the concert was excellent anyway. Excellent!
It seems the Pixies will reunite next year. Honestly, he alone, the chief-elf, is enough for me. I hope to see him again next year and the year after that. May it become a tradition.
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