I think Kings Of Leon must like the Pixies. With the headline act, rock couldn’t be any cooler, even with Kim Deal in your mum’s pink jumper and beige trousers. But for the newly-shorn KOL, the same nonchalance hasn’t worked out quite the way they planned. They’re either trying to be effortlessly cool, or just plain effortless in the case of drummer Nathan Followill, who’s unaware that he and his bubblegum-blowing antics are constantly projected in the big screens behind frontman Caleb. Hilarious. Still, for all their image issues, their tunes are well-suited to the stadium environment and singles like ‘The Bucket’ massage the crowd into an optimum state to receive the headliners.
Like we’re seeing them on borrowed time, every concert of the reformed Pixies is received with the notion that this one could be our last, which at least means everyone’s paying attention. Oh, and the quality of the songs might have something to do with that too. Frank Black and co churn out the hits thick and fast - ‘Gouge Away’, ‘Where Is My Mind’, ‘Nimrod’s Son’ – all the classics bar ‘Dig For Fire’ are aired.
But breaking the idea that each Pixie is a flawless higher being capable of nothing but absolute brilliance, it must be quietly mumbled that their showmanship leaves something to be desired. While their facial expressions suggest that this is something more than a money-making opportunity, the members remain stuck behind their instruments and incommunicado with the audience, leaving little reason for us to stay facing the front. Still, all it takes is the unmistakable opening rumble of ‘Debaser’ to make you hang your head in shame for even thinking such blasphemous thoughts. Long live the Pixies.