"Two of them went off with a gallon of white gas to blow up the beach". (Sam Shepard, 'Boredom').

This is everything we've learned up to this point in time, burning. This is the sum of every rock record ever made and much more besides, I'd wager. This is one step into the next revolutionary stage – something that walks like a man, howls like a dog and swims beneath your feet like a smooth cool shark. Doolittle doesn't so much talk of the animals as persuade them to invade Poland.

Up until The Pixies… well, Jesus, it wasn't as if we asked for much. Just a government worth bringing down, a fight worth fighting against, a music worth living for, that kind of thing. Now… well, one out of three ain't bad. My love of The Pixies goes far beyond music criticism… it just can't say enough, or it says too much. There has been so much shit written about them (see elsewhere in this review) that Black Francis (vocals, or 'vocals') constantly seems to feel the need to stress his own philistinism.