What do you think are the most "heart-stopping" attacks in the history of Rock? As for the '90s, my personal podium is occupied by the nervous and desperate riff of Smells Like Teen Spirits and the surreal chaos of feedback swirls in Only Shallow.
The first place goes to DeBaser.
Kim Deal starts decisively with the perfect bass line, followed by a powerful and intense riff and an ever-cryptic text shouted by the degenerated voice of Frank Black. It's irresistible, guys. It's already class. And we're only at the first track.
Time to enjoy the anguished and ramshackle punk of Tame, literally roared by Frank, and we're already at the Second Masterpiece: Wave Of Mutilation. Noisy pop enlightened with a killer melody.
Followed by the hypnotic and menacing flow of I Bleed, the adorable Here Comes Your Man, very '60s ballad between Surf and the high-level Pop of that period (Beatles, Beach Boys, okay, you've got it) and the nervous Dead: distorted and dissonant guitars that in the chorus completely change register and transform into a festive riff.
A quarter of an hour has passed since we put the record in the stereo.
Third Masterpiece. Aka Monkey Gone To Heaven.
Three basic chords, bass always prominent, sporadic appearance of strings. That's all. Frank doesn't sing. He recites the verses. Evocative, melancholic, cryptic. Three chords more intense than ever.
(The final verses about man being 5, the devil 6, and so on, whatever they refer to, sound convincing.)
Immediately after, we return to the typically Arty and quirky compositions in Pixies Style. There are Mr. Grieves, between Ska and Psychobilly, and the furious Crackity Jones. Pure schizophrenia. Pure Cramps style.
La La Love You. Misstep. Let's skip it.
After N. 13 Baby and There Goes My Gun, here's the heart-stopping ballad Hey. Tear-jerking melody, super elegant guitar and bass, and very intense verses. "Must be a devil between us or whores in my head... We're chained".
The Pixies, half an hour after the attack, are preparing to exit the stage.
Silver, a country lullaby with a slide guitar and alienated singing, is magnetic, beautiful, but placed at the end, it would leave a bit of a bitter taste. And for Frank & Company, it wouldn’t even cross their minds to disappoint us. They must close with style. Exactly as they started.
Gouge Away is the definitive, ungainly, heartrending scream.
Liberating.
Devastating.
Distorted tracks, half crooked, deformed, angular, abrasive. So beautiful that I feel like memorizing every single instrument.
"The line between genius and madness is very thin."
The Pixies have been one of the craziest and most brilliant interpretations of Rock ever.
Doolittle transmits a destabilizing lack of balance, yet everything appears completely homogeneous.
The four Pixies lay out a white sheet of black, bitter, cynical irony, and build upon it, brick by brick, a beautiful structure full of irregular corners and angles.
The happy consonance of noise and melody derived from an askew perspective, like through a distorting wide-angle lens, through which rock ’n’ roll is misconstrued with a desecrated fervor bordering on hysteria.
The Pixies were changing the coordinates of garage in a musical manner that would enormously influence the following decade.
With Doolittle, the Bostonian band gets their high school diploma without losing an ounce of the adolescent rage of the previous two, gluing the listener to the speaker.
Because it is simply love at first listen!
Much is owed to them by Nirvana, as well as Blonde Redhead and certainly PJ Harvey.
The problem (and the delight) of this album is that you never fully understand it.
I find myself moved like the pimpled teenager I was as I sing Silver at the top of my lungs, not knowing exactly why.