Thursday, December 09, 2004

"Wanna grow...up to be...be a DCeiver!!"

Under normal circumstances, I doubt you could have kept me away from DC9 last night, which played host to Los Pimpos and Walken in a bill that could only be described as a potential train wreck. Seriously. This is the kind of shit I live for. This may have been the single worst live rock show of the fucking year. If you were there, please fucking tell me about it. Check out the picture of Los Pimpos on their website, and consider this: someone shot and killed Dimebag Darrell Abbott last night, yet these assclowns were allowed to perform unmolested. No justice, no peace, bitches.

What kept me from this pinnacle of the suck? I had something better to do, yo.


Posted by Hello

And that something better was Pixies tickets. DAR Constitution Hall. Row N, bitches (not the best seats at DARCH I ever had--those were Row B for Rufus and Tori, but these seats were nonetheless, awesome. I had only seen the Pixies one other time, at Trax in Charlottesville, and I spent the entire night at the back of the place, so I was probably closer to the stage last night.

So much has changed since I last saw the Pixies. For starters, Trax is now a parking lot. Musically, we've lived through all sorts of bands who've forgotten the lessons of the Pixies. Creed and the torrent of mid-tempo baritonica that followed. Rap-rock's descent into utter Durstian crapulence. Now everyone who didn't get to take the head cheerleader to prom has got their own emo band. But the Pixies remain one of rock's most awesomest creations. They truly drank deeply of the rock gods' most vintage sauces. The first time I ever heard the Pixies, I turned off the tape because I worried that I wouldn't be allowed to like them, because I did so very very much, and it was clear that these guys had kicked the ass of every rock rule that had been written. Seeing this reunion tour, I was worried that I had finally become some old piece of crap like the bitches who let Mick Jagger and company tour every five years on a new album of shitpot runoff for tickets that sell starting at $1200. But after the show last night, I say if the Pixies wanna sell out, then I'm buying.

After chowing down on some tasty bird from El Pollo Rico, Wife of DCeiver, Bic Dickford, Ticket Obtaining Hottie Elissa and myself headed downtown to the DAR--the Pixies being the greatest living accomplishment of Constitutional democracy that I or anyone could name. The first band was called The Bennies. With any luck, our paths shall never cross again. They were a loud, tuneless, heap of hesher cheekflapping bilge. Honestly, Bic and I could only take a few minutes of them before fleeing for the lobby. Sorry Bennies--while it's nice to see that spina bifida or whatever did not stop you from rocking, I'd now recommend you go out and get some physical condition that will actually help you START rocking. That's from my overflowing Carafe of Vaguely Hostile Recommendations (we like The Upstate Life's "carafe metaphor").

Brooklyn's TV On The Radio, however, was the second band on the bill, and let me just add an amen to the blogchorale that's praising their luck of seeing the second show instead of Tuesday night's show, where the Datsuns opened. I think the Datsuns are a fine band--better than Los Pimpos--but TV On The Radio? Total. Value. Add. These guys brought it like the Shortlist Winning Motherfuckers that they were--shimmering, quaking walls of guitar rotating throughout the place, rhythm freaks moving in lockstep, and Tunde Adebimpe calling down ghosts from the rafters. This word gets overused a lot, but: awesome. You must trample the weak and hurdle the dead to get to their next headlining gig in town. I officially forgive David Andrew Sitek for participating on the Liars' shitty, shitty, shitty new album.

As for the Pixies--dude. Kim Deal's voice is a fucking time machine, and she was ripping off meaty slices of thick bass--each note seemed to have veins and capillaries and shit. Black Francis and I have, until recently, been on the same diet, apparently, but he's still got the most shivering howl in rock and can bust off the wicky-wicky strum like he's lighting Molotovs. David Lovering is a gangly ball of furious pummel, and Joey Santiago...is there a band he couldn't play for? Oh it was sweet. The aural equivalent of rolling, roiling detonations. Dig the set list (courtesy
The Upstate Life):

Ed is Dead

Gouge Away
Cactus
Bone Machine
River Euphrates
Velouria
I Bleed
Mr. Grieves
Monkey
Caribou
#13 Baby
Dead
Hey
Debaser
Tame
Gigantic
In Heaven
Wave of Mutilation (UK Surf)
Here Comes Your Man
Nimrod's Son
Holiday Song
Vamos
Where Is My Mind

ENCORE:
Isla De Encanta
Something Against You
Crackity Jones
Broken Face

Actually, though, they played "UMass" as well. But it's not The Upstate Life's fault, he got it from the 9:30 Club Forums, who are about as reliable as the Bush administration--and by that, I mean, they are a bunch of grinning, dickfaced incompetents.

Actually, that's not very fair to the 9:30 Club Forums, is it? I take most of that back.

Back to the show, very heavy on the good stuff, and I guess peace has been made with "Here Comes Your Man", which was honestly fun to hear. Personally, I thought that "Monkey" through "Gigantic" produced the most orgasms. I ordered the CD of the show just so I can relive those eight songs in succession--it was heavyweight title rock right there, folks (let's just admit it now: "Monkey" really is top ten for rock songwriting--no, top five, all time--let's just come to terms with that, okay?). They didn't play the song we're naming our theatrical company for, but I didn't care. We all have a handful of bands that shape our thinking about rock music, and the Pixies were definitely one of mine. Last night, their reconvened efforts were glorious, and they really made me feel like I wasn't crazy for feeling the way I have about them all this time.

Oh, kiss my ass, oh let it rock!

[the massivest of shout-outs to Elissa, for making the whole night possible.]

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