In the midst of a relatively low-key conversation, a bit of nastiness crept into the voice of Charles Thompson, a k a Black Francis, the Pixies`
singer and guitarist.
”Anything, I mean anything, MTV will broadcast is guaranteed to be embarrassing, terrible, by anyone`s lame standards,” he said, his voice rising. ”I don`t mind cliches, but does it have to be a tasteless cliche?
Can`t they even do it cool?
”These groups try to present an image of danger, macho-ness, and it`s so . . . so flimsy. Can`t they tell? I feel I need to hold a press conference about this.”
As Thompson roared on the telephone about the state of pop music, he gave an insight into what it must feel like to be trapped inside a Pixies` song:
loud, raucous, teetering on the brink of chaos.
The Pixies, who headline Monday at the Riviera, are one of the freshest, most dangerous-sounding groups to emerge in recent years. They were hailed as band of the year in the British press in 1988, and though the recently released ”Bossanova” (4 A.D./Elektra) is the weakest of their three albums, glints of the old subversive brilliance remain.
Though clearly influenced by the great pop of the `60s and early `70s-everything from the garage rock collected by Lenny Kaye on the ”Nuggets”
compilation to the Beach Boys-the Pixies` most exciting feature is their ability to make conventionally structured pop songs sound like random events, creations of raw instinct.
The Pixies mix happy-go-lucky melodies with oblique, often macabre, lyrics; guitar solos that sound like buzzsaws cutting through glass; and Thompson`s ferocious screams.
”Stop making sense” is what David Byrne of Talking Heads advised in the early `80s, and the Pixies apparently took those words literally.
In one of the best cuts from their new album, the Pixies simultaneously say nothing and everything about the subject of ”Rock Music,” as Thompson wails incoherently over a blast-furnace of guitars and drums.
Thompson almost sounded guilty about undercutting the song`s pure aggression with such a pretentious title.
”The song just came out that way, and I couldn`t resist,” he said. ”I even thought about spelling it m-u-s-i-k, but that would have been too much.” And just as ”Rock Music” was created in a hot flash of inspiration and rationalized later, so are most of the Pixies` songs.
”I usually don`t even bring a demo tape of the song for the band to learn,” Thompson said. ”I just bring in an idea for a song, play it once, and then everyone twists, pulls and beats it up.”
”Everyone” is bassist-singer Kim Deal, guitarist Joey Santiago and drummer David Lovering. Deal and Lovering are the anchors, giving songs a danceable bottom, while Santiago mirrors Thompson`s frenzied voice with his squalling, feedback-drenched guitar accents.
Thompson and Santiago founded the band in 1986 in Boston, but their musical relationship is primarily a nonspoken one.
”It`s scary how uncommunicative we are,” Thompson says. ”It`s very much an accident, what happens in the studio. We put four people in a room with amps and guitars, and things just start happening.”
It`s no surprise that Thompson is a longtime fan of film director David Lynch`s, though he says he hasn`t seen ”Twin Peaks.”
”The guy just makes cool movies, and I try to make cool rock songs,” he says. Thompson, like Lynch, enjoys juxtaposing opposites, the mundane and the shocking. Though he`ll sometimes discuss the content and ”meaning” of his songs, Thompson prefers to leave things vague.
No wonder his best music is often so unsettling and haunting.
”The Happening,” for example, could be about the experience of going to a rock concert or some other hyped-up event, and Thompson explains it`s ”more UFO-oriented; it`s all fiction, based on hope more than anything.”
The overriding emotion, however, is one of extreme anticipation.
The song finishes with Thompson spitting out words in a breathless torrent: ”I was driving doing nothing on the shores of Great Salt Lake/When they put it on the air I put it in the hammer lane/I soon forgot myself and I forgot about the brake/I forgot about all laws and I forgot about the rain.” ”I just try to write songs that can stand up next to the classics,”
Thompson said. ”I mean, Link Wray`s `Chicken Walk,` a song from the `50s, is a totally great song. It isn`t particularly dangerous sounding or anything. So why is it great? I don`t have an explanation. It just is.”
In other words, stop making sense. And turn up the stereo.
