That is, the world viewed through a distorted mirror.
By now, the hysterical attacks of the Pixies no longer have that disorienting effect on me that had catapulted me into their surreal world a few years ago; but not because I don't appreciate them anymore, quite the opposite: I simply believe they have become part of my way of feeling and seeing things.
Take "The Sad Punk", for example; any normal human being would think: "what the heck is this stuff that begins slow and eerie, continues brushing against hardcore and metal, then shifts to a pop that "appears so gentle and honest," and finishes with the same hardcore and metal as before but slowed down?". To me, everything seems so normal and coherent.. Now I don't know if the paranoid schizophrenic is me, or if it's the world around me: the point is that I prefer to retreat into their madness first and then leave the house, rather than face what I'm observing from my window at this moment as a "normal" person while listening to the "Pixies".
And so I dive into the schizophrenia of "Planet of Sound", the irresistible "Head On" and "Palace of the Brine", the thrilling "Bird Dream of the Olympus Mons" and "Motorway to Roswell", the indefinable "Space (I Believe In)" and "Subbacultcha". I dive into this whirlwind of noise, punk, rock. And pop.
I close my eyes and open them in another reality: not that it's a reassuring reality, eh?! But undoubtedly better than this one.
"We just recorded a great album and everyone’s abandoning us!"
"Take ‘Gigantic’... what a damn melody! Then that soft... sensual... instinctive... that magical orange Fender..."