The Pixies - 31 Aug 2005 - Alexandra Palace, London
Alexandra Palace: A curious venue for a rock gig; a grand old arena in which you could easily picture great exhibitions showing technological wonders of the Victorian age being held there. This architectural landmark is all the more conspicuous as it is located in a not entirely pleasant North London suburb. Apologies to anyone who lives in Wood Green but it is a shit-hole: streets of shabby Edwardian terraced houses radiating from a tacky, generic modern shopping mall. My friend and I grumbled about resorting to stepping foot in a Yates pub in order to get a drink. (Chances of a pint of real ale? You're havin' a larf, ain't ya?). Then again, if we had dared to enter any of the traditional pubs in the area, judging by the clientele, we probably would have had our testicles ripped from our scrotums and fed back to us.
Onwards to Alexandra Palace which sits atop a big hill (one that doesn't look so steep until you foolishly decide to walk up it). My friend and I had a swift pint of Bud at the bar. (Chances of a pint of real ale? You're havin' a larf, ain't ya?). As we looked out from the balcony we saw a lithe young woman performing what looked like ballet exercises to an indifferent, balding, middle-aged bloke on the grass.
I have to admit that I missed The Pixies the first time around but I am always late to catch on to the latest music trends. I only started to "get" techno about five years after everybody else (although I never liked the cheesy party stuff) so I only became aware of The Pixies as a result of the grunge bands of the nineties that they inspired - Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and suchlike. I kept meaning to buy some of their records but I never got around to it. It wasn't until I heard “Where Is My Mind?” at the end of Fight Club that I suddenly remembered that I really ought to buy some Pixies.
The Pixies are back, older, wiser, a bit flabbier and perhaps slightly amazed that anyone is still interested. And they look like your parents. Bassist Kim Deal, whose drug addiction was instrumental in the band's original demise, dressed in sensible white blouse, black trousers and sweater, looks as if she'll be going to pick up the kids after the gig and maybe attend a PTA meeting. She grinned throughout the whole show as if incredulous that all these kids had come to see them play. In fact, they all exuded a slightly meek if not apologetic quality as if to say, "Um, we're going to play some songs for you now if that's OK?" It was quite endearing.
There was nothing meek about their performance: they ploughed through their back catalogue with gusto, creating an awesome racket, much to the crowd's approval. The crowd exhibited an interesting cross section of thirty/forty-something fans who had been there since the beginning and revelled in the band's reformation and new, younger fans who had only recently discovered them.
All in all, a blinding show.
I should also mention the excellent support band, The Futureheads, an art school punk outfit who make an impressive noise in a Jam/Clash style. They are a bit of a one trick pony but it's a bloody good trick. I wonder about their longevity; there are, after all, only so many songs you can write with spiky guitar stabs and every member of the band singing, "Eh... oh... uh-oh-eh-oh." But still, their cover of Kate Bush's "The Hounds of Love" kicks arse.
Onwards to Alexandra Palace which sits atop a big hill (one that doesn't look so steep until you foolishly decide to walk up it). My friend and I had a swift pint of Bud at the bar. (Chances of a pint of real ale? You're havin' a larf, ain't ya?). As we looked out from the balcony we saw a lithe young woman performing what looked like ballet exercises to an indifferent, balding, middle-aged bloke on the grass.
I have to admit that I missed The Pixies the first time around but I am always late to catch on to the latest music trends. I only started to "get" techno about five years after everybody else (although I never liked the cheesy party stuff) so I only became aware of The Pixies as a result of the grunge bands of the nineties that they inspired - Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and suchlike. I kept meaning to buy some of their records but I never got around to it. It wasn't until I heard “Where Is My Mind?” at the end of Fight Club that I suddenly remembered that I really ought to buy some Pixies.
The Pixies are back, older, wiser, a bit flabbier and perhaps slightly amazed that anyone is still interested. And they look like your parents. Bassist Kim Deal, whose drug addiction was instrumental in the band's original demise, dressed in sensible white blouse, black trousers and sweater, looks as if she'll be going to pick up the kids after the gig and maybe attend a PTA meeting. She grinned throughout the whole show as if incredulous that all these kids had come to see them play. In fact, they all exuded a slightly meek if not apologetic quality as if to say, "Um, we're going to play some songs for you now if that's OK?" It was quite endearing.
There was nothing meek about their performance: they ploughed through their back catalogue with gusto, creating an awesome racket, much to the crowd's approval. The crowd exhibited an interesting cross section of thirty/forty-something fans who had been there since the beginning and revelled in the band's reformation and new, younger fans who had only recently discovered them.
All in all, a blinding show.
I should also mention the excellent support band, The Futureheads, an art school punk outfit who make an impressive noise in a Jam/Clash style. They are a bit of a one trick pony but it's a bloody good trick. I wonder about their longevity; there are, after all, only so many songs you can write with spiky guitar stabs and every member of the band singing, "Eh... oh... uh-oh-eh-oh." But still, their cover of Kate Bush's "The Hounds of Love" kicks arse.
posted by Steve Kane at 7:40 PM
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