1,385 THE PIXIES, Big Special, London O2 Brixton Academy, Saturday 17th May 2025

 

This seems to be becoming a habit, and happily a quite welcome one… for the third year in a row, I get to take my son Logan to see veteran US alt-rock innovators The Pixies! This time it’s a first for me since 2016 (gig 1,012) at their spiritual London home of Brixton Academy, the band promoting another post-reunion album in 2024’s “The Night The Zombies Came”. Another set of jagged and seething garagey grunge and acerbic backwoods psycho-hillbilly riffery and imagery, it’s another pretty decent addition to their post-reformation body of work, whilst still not matching the startling and groundbreaking quality of their 1980’s canon. I guess main man Black Francis just can’t stop churning them out, so carry on mate!

Second night oop the Smoke this week too, and good thing too, having noted on Wednesday that the Piccadilly line was closed today, so our usual Osterley parking plans were out! Instead, we set off just after 3 and drove all the way through London (skirting the Thames, Clapham Common and the Chelsea Flower Show site!) to our intended pre-paid parking spot. However, on arrival, said spot was chaotic and wholly shonky, a rammed and tiny backstreet car wash with no discernible parking spaces in sight, and cars backing in and out with careless impunity. I quickly gave that up as a bad job and drove off, luckily finding a street spot practically across the road from the venue. Result! Had to circumnavigate this cavernous old theatre venue to join the priority queue but we grabbed a barrier spot, house left, on entry. Result two! Chatted with fellow barrier-grabbers, including a gent whom I’d seen at recent Skids and Wedding Present gigs (!), before 2-piece support Big Special kicked off at 8. “This is our new national anthem, it’s called “Shithouse”,” announced the drummer of this 2-piece early doors, which nailed their colours to the mast somewhat! With their relentless thudding taped hardcore backing track and bilious barked polemic lyrics, they struck me as a white Brummie Bob Vylan; no bad thing on the whole, but a bit harder on the ears than Bobby and Bobbie… An early, slower “Coming Around” gave brief respite in its’ gothic Nick Cave-isms, and they finished on their best number “Dig”, a synth pulse backing track overlaid by the frustrations of inner city life, but apart from that I admired their conviction and politics more than their sound…

The Pixies themselves sauntered on at 9 to an eerie backing track, opening with a galloping triad of newies, “You’re So Impatient” with its groovy descending choral hook being the best of this early trio, before a breathless “Planet Of Sound” seemed set to fire the gig into life. Being the contrarian he is, however, Black Francis then switched both guitars (to a time-worn strumalong acoustic) and gears into a sleazier, slower-burn and more Violent Femmes-like backwoods murder ballad vibe, nonetheless pleasing the masses with a jaunty “Here Comes Your Man”, then astonishing this old fan with a low-key but still brilliant reading of “Ed Is Dead”, possibly my favourite Pixies song. Full of surprises tonight, then, the old bugger…! 

More akin to my last time here in 2016, then, this was a return to the usual Pixies trope of whatever the utterly non-communicative Francis is in the mood to play, in whatever order he feels like! So this slower burn early section took us up to another guitar swap for Francis, back to the electric for the sinister build and roaring climax of “Gouge Away”. Logan noticed a nascent mosh to our right, so off he went, and his timing couldn’t have been better, with the strident chimes of a thunderous “Debaser” next up… The place predictably utterly erupted for this, easily tonight’s set highlight, which also heralded a stupendous mid-set moshpit catnip run, including the 4-alarm blare and breathy interlude of a careering “Tame”, the brooding anthemic “Monkey Gone To Heaven”, and an eerie yet excellently off-kilter “Velouria”, guitarist Joey Santiago coaxing squalling noise for its’ intro from his massive bank of pedals.

On went the acoustic again (hey, it’s a marathon, not a sprint!) for a swayalong “Hey”, tall and willowy new bassist Emma Richardson thereafter taking vocals for the more plaintive “In Heaven” and chuntering set closer “Into The White”, by which time I was in the mosh myself, seeking out my offspring. “White” rounded off a mammoth 33-song 2 hours (!) set, Francis then leading the band in a well-deserved bow before we gathered breath, thoughts and dropped keys (!) and hit the road, a slow egress through London onto a clear M4 getting us home about 1.15. So, in stages frustrating, contrary, unpredictable, quixotic, incendiary and quite quite brilliant, this was as ever a typical Pixies gig... But let’s face it; if they want to keep coming back as regularly as recently and delivering these types of performances, I guess so will we…!

1,384 RIALTO, DESPERATE JOURNALIST, London Scala, Wednesday 14th May 2025

 

Yup, it was next up… after their splendid acoustic Rough Trade set, last time out, I booked to see returning stylish post-Britpop glam-dram purveyors Rialto at their headlining London show. I mean, I didn’t need too much persuasion anyway; if another dose of their widescreen 60’s inflected kitchen sink drama soundtrack music (amply displayed on their very listenable new “reunion” album “Neon And Ghost Signs”) wasn’t enough, then there was also the identity of their support… only Fierce Panda label-mates Desperate Journalist, who as we know are pretty much as good as it gets right now for UK bands, their insouciant goth-Smiths vibe particularly soaring in the “live” environment. A slightly odd couple, this, labelmates rather than soundalikes, but both are well within my wheelhouse, so a midweek shlep up the Smoke it is!

I hit the road at 4 straight from the office for a good run, parking up in Osterley and tubing over to Kings Cross for 6.30. Doors at 7, so I joined a modest queue, then grabbed a not-to-be-relinquished barrier spot house right, chatting to some fellow front row punters to take us up to Desperate Journalist’s emergence, prompt at 7.30 for this early one. Kicking off with the dramatic Simple Minds “Sons”-esque bass-led slow burn build into the plangent chorus of “Everything You Wanted”, then juxtaposing that with the dismissive snark of the bouncy “Why Are You So Boring?”, it was clear from the off that this was a band in a hurry tonight, keen to take this one-off opportunity and slam-dunk it big time. All elements in perfect synchronicity as ever, but props to the solid driving bass of Simon Drowner, the foundation upon which the Desperate Journalist sound is built, as well as the strident vocal performance (rising above an initially slightly echoey vocal mix by mid-set) and scary kinetic conviction of wild-eyed vocalist Jo Bevan. She means it, maaaan… 

A brilliantly chosen 10 song DJ vignette showcased all aspects of their dark, goth-tinged post-punk canon, from the “Passion Of Lovers” proto-goth backbeat of “Afraid”, through a slightly understated but still widescreen “Cedars” (which also featured a stellar mid-8 guitar break from Rob), to the beetle-stomping hurtle and circular mid-8 hook of oldie “Cristina”, my highlight tonight. We even got a greeting from the Ice Queen herself, with, “everyone having a good Wednesday?” although this was quickly qualified with, “that’s the extent of my banter…!” A brooding, sweeping “Be Kind”, which featured the usual mid-song pregnant pause, catching most folk out tonight, was followed with set closer “Satellite”, slightly understated and slower paced yet still its’ usual soaring self, to round off a dynamically delivered 45 minutes. Bloody lovely! 

Follow that Rialto! Grabbed a breath after bouncing along to DJ’s set, before a pit photographer asked to take a pic of my Comsat Angels t-shirt; turned out he was best mates with erstwhile CA bassist Kevin Bacon! Then a quick loo break (loads of steps in this place, so this was like climbing the Matterhorn, or taking a piss in Wetherspoons!) nonetheless got me back in place for the full 5-piece band’s onstage arrival, just after their scheduled 8.45. Easing in with glitter-stomp newie “I Want You” and Boo-slightlydelic oldie “Hard Candy”, it was evident that they weren’t out to match their support for sheer dynamism, instead relying on the louche 60’s atmospherics of the material, and their moody yet melodic delivery. An early “Untouchable” was case-in-point; preceded by vocalist Louis wrestling with a water bottle cap then telling a story of seeing The Fall’s Mark Smith do the same one time at Glasto, albeit less successfully (the contents ending up down MES’ leg!), this was shorn of the lush orchestration of the recorded version but still managed to feel soaring and stately, with Louis giving it full beans on the vocal outro. “When We’re Together” was an eerie late night torch song and early highlight, Louis delivering the hook off-mic, before they tried a second album oldie, “London Crawling” coming across all slow burn Ziggy-era Bowie. Backing vocalist Liz joined the band for the Pulp-esque funky stomp drama of “No-one Leaves This Discotheque Alive”; then my set highlight, oldie “Broken Barbie Doll” was euphoric and desolate in equal measure, delivered with insouciant understatement. 

“I’ve always wanted to play this venue!” gushed Louis, also informing us of his mum’s attendance tonight (!), before the most Rialto-sounding of the new numbers, the sweeping 60’s “Put You On Hold”. Eschewing the encore ritual, Louis teasingly asked, “is there another one you want to hear?”, a tremendous “Monday Morning 5.19” sending everyone home early and happy. A quick chat with Fierce Panda boss Simon Williams, then I was off and running, nearly jumping on the wrong tube but turning myself around, home for just before 1. A great night out, then, well worth the midweek shlep; I think the overt oomph of DJ shaded it for me over Rialto’s more considered languid style, but nonetheless 2 contrasting yet equally worthy sets!