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This two hour-plus DVD documents the Pixies' triumphant return, showing the vast audiences and worshipful reception that this definitive but underappreciated post-punk band was denied in its heyday. There's a whiff of cash-in to the presentation, particularly in its main segment, shot at the Eurokeennes Festival in Belfort, France. Still, the bonus tracks, which include everything from the scruffy, sweat-soaked, goddamn-there's-a-lot-of-people-out-there Coachella Festival to the hometown lovefest at Lowell's Tsongas Arena to the politely crazy reception in Japan to a transcendent Move Festival show, demonstrate that the Pixies still know how to kill in a stadium, even if they are doing it primarily for money.
The DVD opens with a medley of "Bone Machine", with short bits taped at half a dozen venues worldwide edited into a single fairly cohesive version of the song. It was perhaps intended to prove that the Pixies played to sold-out, adoring crowds in a UN's worth of nations, but what it really proves is that they did the same damned show -- same tempo, same guitar riffs, same drum bills, same screams, same stolid delivery -- everywhere they went. You realize that this is an Epcot Center-style rock show, a faithful and very entertaining replication of the Eiffel Towers and Colosseums of indie-rock history, but without the blood, sweat and history that made them matter.
After this introduction, the vast majority of concert footage comes from the Eurockeennes Festival in Belfort, France in July 2004, surely one of the most massive and worshipful of all the shows the Pixies played during their year-long nostalgia trip. As a Catholic, Black has been known to toss out spectators who stage dive or hector drunkenly or otherwise misbehave, so he must be gratified with the museum-quality reception he receives here. The crowd is euphoric, singing along to nearly every song, bouncing up and down to the rocking ones, swaying communally to the slower ones.
The songs, too, are great. If you were one of the people up front when Black and Deal began yelping out the discordant vocal intro to "River Euphrates", or when that irresistible bass line from "Bone Machine" started, or when Santiago singed his slide finger in the frantic solo from "Vamos", you would undoubtedly have called this a great live show. Still, when you view the show from a distance, you notice that no one in the band besides Lovering seems to be having much fun, that there's very little interaction or even eye contact;, in fact, the people in the Pixies are standing so far apart that it's hard to get two of them in the camera frame. They're not mailing it in -- it's much better than that -- but there's none of the palpable joy and excitement of being together that you might have seen at recent reunion shows for Gang of Four, Sebadoh or Mission of Burma.
There is less intensity, even, than at the Frank Black and the Catholics shows I've seen over the past several years, where a lap steel rendition of "Monkey Gone to Heaven" felt like a ghost called up in a seance, or where a surprise revisit to "Where is My Mind?" was almost blotted out by the crowd's singing. The Pixies play both of these songs, but in "Monkey Gone to Heaven", Black, clearly losing his voice, cracks on the transcendent "Then God is seven" moment.
The concert gains momentum in its second half, starting with "Hey", where Black's single word intro causes such a wave of applause that the band has to wait 30 seconds to launch into its bass-slithery groove. Even the stock-still Santiago seems to feel it -- a tiny twitch in his shoulder, a slight grimace indicating oneness with the tune. There's even something like an instrumental jam in "Dead", where Black briefly faces Santiago, then Lovering, in a moment of band communion. Later, in the bonus section, we hear that the Pixies changed their set list for every show to stave off boredom, and you sense, when you see Deal clamping a cigarette between her teeth in "Gouge Away", that it didn't quite do the trick.
A band whose members never look at one another has particular difficulties with the dynamic shifts and tempo changes of the Pixies' best songs. After a slow, curiously slurred intro to "Mr. Grieves", the band sounds disorganized and detuned at the uptempo bit. And again with "Crackity Jones", they are closer, but still not absolutely on when the song turns manic. By "Broken Face", they make the connection in a way that has eluded them. The crowd knows it, too, turning euphoric during the pogo-ing "I got no lips / I got no tongue", and pounding their fists to the subsequent "Isla de Encanta"'s Spanish hardcore.
"Here Comes Your Man" elicits a roar of recognition -- this has got to be one of the Pixies' most conventional rock and roll songs -- and Black's voice is more assured and smooth here. The response is even greater with the opening chords to "Where Is My Mind?", as the thousands in the audience join in those spooky "woo-ooh" sounds. The band seem to be gaining some momentum, perhaps feeding off the energy of the crowd. "Vamos", "Wave of Mutilation" and "Gigantic" close the set on a strong note, though not so strong that you wish you'd shelled out that $60 for a Pixies show near you.
The DVD's great mystery is why they chose the Eurockeennes show as the centerpiece, as the bonus tracks are, to a one, better than the cuts in the main concert footage. Clips from Coachella, Boston, Japan and London make the case for the Pixies' live show in a way that the first half of the disc does not. The Coachella cuts -- "Caribou", "Gigantic" and "Into the White" -- have a particular disheveled charm, as the disbelieving band performs before a crowd of 100,000.
The return to Boston is equally triumphant; several generations of Santiago's and Black's families are in attendance. The band is intense and focused and the songs razor sharp, though you imagine Black had some explaining to do to elderly relatives about the "kiss my cunt / kiss my cock" lyrics in "U-Mass".
And finally, the Move festival in Manchester yields transcendent footage of "Where Is My Mind?". The song's eerie, psychotropic energy is somehow stronger in the ordinary, cloudy light of day.
By titling their DVD The Pixies Sell Out, the Pixies are clearly daring people to call them out for cashing in on post-career popularity, and it's tempting to do just that. This is a nostalgia show, with no covers, no banter and no new material, and you can learn every song the Pixies will play by heart before you go, if you haven't already. Still, there's nothing wrong with nostalgia once in a while, and if you catch them on a good night, the Pixies can still deliver. Just make sure you're right up front.
-- Jennifer Kelly
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