You can barely throw a limited-run vinyl without hitting a
band that claims to be influenced by the Pixies. They stand as one of the most
brashly innovative alt rock bands even to this day. As Ben Sisario points out
in his entry in the 33 and 1/3 series, “Doolittle”, the seminal album
by the same name is so irreplaceable that not only is it never duplicated, it’s
rarely even imitated. Even bands that proudly invoke the Pixies heritage seem unwilling
or unable to display their bloodlines loud and proud.
So then, why did this album released in 1989 by a small alt
rock band sell more copies after their dissolution than during their heyday?
Why do their stop-go songs sprinkled with nigh-unintelligible lyrics reeking of
sex, death, violence and rage resonate so persistently? Sisario, impressively,
comes as close to pinpointing the answers as anyone ever may, combining the
style of a storyteller and the attention to detail of a historian.
His book alternates from scenes of personal discussion with
lead singer Charles Thompson to insightful and incisive backgrounding on the
state of alt rock and the industry. Even for readers with not the slightest
clue of why they should care about the Pixies, Sisario presents a compelling case
for why the Pixies were and to some extent still are avant garde. You don’t
even have to like them. After reading and listening to Doolittle, you will at
minimum respect their contributions.
Sisario has the advantage of studying and personally
speaking with Charles Thompson at a time providing clarity of hindsight.
Thompson and his band have since reunited in 2004 for touring and begun
producing new music only recently, though with a slightly shuffled roster.
Pixies songs have long perplexed listeners with their
lyrics. Thompson explains his inspiration and songwriting process in detail,
reaffirming some claims he’s made all along while at other times providing
glimpses into authentic meanings. Citing surrealist filmmakers as influences on
his style, Thompson might have lost the reader if it weren’t for Sisario’s
constant and highly welcome explanation.
While Sisario occasionally includes the terse input of guitarist
Joey Santiago, drummer David Lovering had little to offer and estranged bassist
Kim Deal seems to have stonewalled any attempts to include her side of the
Pixies story. A regrettable exclusion, though it does not noticeably impact
Sisario’s ability to explain why the music itself matters. In fact, he
admirably avoids mucking most of the book with personal interjection until the
very end, where his 121-pages-proven musical chops give him more than enough
clout to draw some conclusions.
Readers of “Doolittle” might find themselves surprised,
impressed, taken aback, disappointed, or all of the above. It will depend largely
on their existing knowledge of the Pixies. Musical pariahs who have long
claimed Pixies songs to be overrated strummings behind rambling incoherence
might find themselves googling “un chien andalou.” On the other hand, members
of the if-you-haven’t-heard-the-Pixies-you-don’t-really-know-about-music-at-all
club might find themselves ever so slightly disillusioned. Sorry guys, “Silver”
really doesn’t mean anything. Even Thompson himself doesn’t know what it’s
about, describing the lyrics as “throwaway rhymes.”
Sisario’s thesis on Doolittle is incredibly approachable,
weaving personal encounters of the alt rock-kind with well-researched
conclusions and elaboration. He leaves even the completely oblivious with a rock
solid grasp of why musically inclined folks can’t seem to shut up about the
Pixies, while at the same time satiating alumni with fascinating minutiae and
inside stories from the band. I would go so far as to say that this little
analysis stands as a necessary companion for any owner of “Doolittle”, an album
that will forever mark a paradigm shift in alt rock history.
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