First, a little history. The Orpheum was already sold out when word got out that the Pixies didn’t have a bassist. People were worried. Black Francis, the Pixies original guitarist-singer, and Kim Deal, the Pixies original bassist-singer, were known to have a contentious relationship, and Deal quit the band during recording sessions in Wales in the summer of 2013. That was it, she’d had enough, and left abruptly. The band finished the first of two Eps and for the fall tour selected Kim Shattuck (Muffs/Pandoras) as the new Bassist. “We definitely want someone who can just be a personality, I think, and especially on the feminine side. Just the same formula that we’ve used.” David Lovering, (drums) told BrooklynVegan in an interview. But by November, she was out, unceremoniously fired. In December, Paz Lenchantin (A Perfect Circle/Zwan, Billy Corgan’s post-Smashing Pumpkins band) steps in. Where does she get to play first? That’s right, Northampton followed by Boston. Talk about a trial by fire.
The Pixies formed in the mid 80s, and Boston is home. A show for the homies, no matter how you slice it, was going to be extreme. At the Orpheum, anticipation was high as the Pixies took the stage. Paz thumped out the first notes of “Bone Machine” and held her own at the mic. When she sang the lyric “Your bone’s got a little machine,” – the crowd went totally nuts. Right out of the gate, she was in – the crowd loved her. Even Frank Black seemed relaxed. No banter, no tension, just a solid hour and a half of Pixies. They did crowd pleasers like “Wave of Mutilation” and “U-Mass” and sing-a-longs like “Where Is My Mind” and of course “Here Comes Your Man.” During “La La Love You,” drummer David Lovering had fun with the crowd doffing his cap in a “Sim Sala Bim” type wave, as the Magician conferred a thousand thanks. Completely fitting since Lovering was a Magician before the reuniting of the band. They played raw and ruckus fun ones like “Monkey Gone To Heaven,” and my throat was burning from singing at the top of my lungs through most of the show. The light show over the background of shimmering plastic cathode-ray style television screens was incredible. Missing were some of the songs that Deal dominates vocally like “Into The White,” “Gigantic” and “Debaser” but new material took its place with “Bag Boy” and “Blue Eyed Hexe” meeting with approval. This was a stratospheric event, showcasing a wealth of new material, revitalized energy, and a new bass player. Rather than an oldies show, the Pixies seem reborn into a new edgy but comfortable band. Welcome back Pixies. We missed you.

The Pixies are touring to support the release of EP-1 and EP-2 available for download or on CD.

For the English Beat at Johnny D’s in Somerville, it was all work, but nothing will stop these musicians from making their appointed rounds. From the back of the bar, where we sat finishing supper, Matt Morrish’s (Sax/Vocals) sax sounded like dinner jazz as the set began. The band offered up songs mostly from the albums Special Beat Service and I Just Can’t Stop It, with tunes by General Public thrown in for good measure, like “Never You Done That.” Surprisingly, the house was packed, despite the snow on a Sunday night.

Although the energy wasn’t as rockus as at past gigs, the Red Bull kicked in and the band found their mojo. Banter between Dave Wakeling (Lead vocals/Guitar) and Antonee First Class (Vocals) was fun as usual, but the smiles felt forced. Perhaps, the road and the snow took it’s toll. I suppose it’s a testament to their professionalism and on-with-the-show giddy-up-go, but all in all this felt like an oldies show at the county fair. Using phrases like “this old chestnut” and asking “does anybody remember the ’80s?” only served to emphasize the oldies aspect. They sound like a good bar band, as my friend said, and I’d add a good bar band that found their mojo in a can of Red Bull. Nonetheless, just like the postman, they delivered the necessary goods in a timely manner and put on a decent show.

I found The Velvet Underground & Nico at the thrift store. I couldn’t afford new records, except from the cut-out bin at the Woolworth, but the thrift store yielded some early treasures. While my friends were learning “Stairway to Heaven” and “Free Bird,” I was trying to play the lead for “Sister Ray,” off of White Light/White Heat. Few girls played electric guitar amongst us, and I think that was why I was considered one of the guys. I had a white hollow body, no name, no markings, truss rod wasn’t quite right, so it went out of tune easily, but that made it easier to bend strings. I loved that thing, and I have no idea how I got it.

At the time, I had a friend that drove a cab. He and I had the same last name and wore the same sized jeans, so we were going to get married. He claimed American Indian heritage, and everything we did was spiritual. Especially listening to records at his apartment and getting wasted. I was a latchkey kid extraordinaire. My friend would come and pick me up in his cab after his shift. When I scored a record we’d listen to it over and over, taking turns on the guitar. The action was pretty awful on that guitar and he’d complain that I had to get it fixed. He disappeared after awhile, as did the white hollow body electric guitar. Lou Reed remained.

Years later I dated a nice guy who looked like Lou, and like Lou was adjusting to methadone clinic. His brother was a famous painter in NYC and we were going to hang with him in the Village. It never happened. But I heard stories about his brother and the loft parties and how Lou Reed would show up, and I’d listened attentively. We played with a sixties reel to reel I found in the trash in Somerville, and I’d study the photos from Lou’s Transformer days from an old French magazine that my friend had given me. He had Lou’s black leather and wraparounds down cold and rode a motorcycle. I dyed my pixie cut yellow and wore glam makeup claiming one of Lou’s looks for my own. Lou Reed had moved on from both of us. He was somewhere between “Metal Machine Music” and Honda commercials, and still a dark blue flame on the horizon.

All the same, Lou Reed gave me permission to experiment in a world absent of meaning except obliteration of feeling. He gave voice to hostility and rage that I felt. His alienation was my own and he made it cool. His heartbreaking anger was really love and I knew it. He didn’t want followers, but I, like so many others, followed. I continue to try to learn the lessons from a master who remains on the horizon – a “Satellite of Love”.

To quote Lester Bangs, “Lou Reed is my own hero principally because he stands for all the most fucked up things that I could ever possibly conceive of. Which probably only shows the limits of my imagination.”