PIXIES! May 6, 2015

Date:  May 6, 2015

Band: The Pixies (Indie Cindy Tour)

Venue:  Iron City Birmingham

Experience with band: Been to a show.  Didn’t slam. Loved them from when I heard them first in ’90.

Crew:  Wife, Me, Chris, C-Wife, and some other girlies. (All names changed to protect the innocent, but none of these are still innocent. I know for a fact that my wife isn’t.)

A special note about why Wife likes them:

One time, Valentine’s Day 1991, I called WEGL, the Auburn University radio station, for a dedication.  “Will you play me Pixies, La La Love You and dedicate it to my Favorite Girlfriend?”  They did. I got some.  Sometime in 1995, I asked The Frigidaires, “Hey, can you learn La La Love You for our wedding?”  They did. I got some.  Last month I tweeted Birmingham Mountain Radio “Quick! Play me…” They failed.  But I still got some.  So there ya go… anytime I’m with Wife and there’s Pixies involved I get some.

Crowd:

Old and thin <— Not the people, just the quantity.  Nobody looked like they had done any warm-up stretches for the pit, like me.  They did look like they had a healthy meal in the cafe, though.  

Opener:  John Grant

Okay, so, I expected somebody that I’d heard of for a Pixies opener.  Why?  Not because they’re one of the most influential indie bands ever and they have a following of folks that would love to open for them, but because the tickets were $60.  That’s still a lot for me, for one ticket.  So I decided I wasn’t going to go.  It was a Wednesday night and I’m older, and working, and have kids and all that stuff.  But bring on the ground-breaking radio station, Birmingham Mountain Radio (@bhammtnradio on Twitter), and a chance to win 2 free tickets.  That’s right, I scored with a quick and dirty cut&paste Facebook post.  Enough about the cost… well, one more. $35 t-shirts?! 

I hadn’t heard of John Grant but I kind of enjoyed his weird alt-country, shoot-yourself-in-the-face (well, maybe, arm) cynicism.  He was like a devil child of Seth Rogan and Frank Sinatra.  Great voice.  I looked around and there was only one guy who knew all the words,  and he was John Grant.

PIXIES!

They know their music and that is what they did! Right from the get go.  No words of hello, screw you, more monitor, I need a beer. Nothing.  Black Francis went right into the tunes.  The first three songs seemed like a warm up jog for a sprinter. They were hit songs but were played so weird and slow I didn’t know what the next note was going to be.  

The stage was a little bare. There was lighting and some fog, but the speaker stacks were small (compared to the crazy noise at the Slayer show), no back drop, no props — all about the music.  More speakers may have been better for the crowd in the back, because I could still hear the conversations around me without even trying. I imagine the folks in the back were having more of a problem.

DATE NIGHT!  

The crowd did pile in, finally.  They didn’t sell the place out, but it looked like it.  Which makes me think that $60 was a fair price. Nah.  It was date night. For every girl there was a boy (or the something like that.  Insert rainbow image into your head here) I brought my date and I thought it might cramp my style. So Chris and I ditched our wives and hit the front rows.  Pre-pit optimism runs high.  I always figure that there will be at least ten other people who don’t mind getting sweaty and bumping into each other, and they will all move to the front of the room and have a blast!  But, no.  

CINDERBLOCKS!  

Besides, every dude hanging on to his dates hips and swaying with her, there were a few statues in the way.  This chic stood on the third row like this the whole time! 

We tried our damnedest to get something going, but it felt like I was apologizing faster than the beat was moving.  Finally I gave in to date night and texted Wife to come join us.  She did. We hip bumped.  Stood behind this boor and made fun of her.  Smiled at each other and kissed when they played La La Love You.

About 40 minutes into the show, the few guys around us started to move a little.  A 4-1/2 foot girl behind me raised her elbow to protect herself from a bump that never happened. It was a move that said she’d been here before, knew what was going on, saw the potential for a bruised toe.  A dude next to me started to pogo and I joined him with a glancing shoulder. Bump, bounce, bound, bump. Found Chris. Bounce, bump, mosh. Ignore ugly look from some lady, a glare from another chic who was born after Come On Pilgrim was recorded, and a scream from the Hobbit girl. Geez.  Stopped dancing after that song ended.  I bet Wife would have yelled at me if we were strangers, too.  

WAITING! 

We were there — waiting. As Chris says, "Man, if they want to slam, they know we're here."  The first set ended.  I was wondering if some of these folks even had lungs and beating hearts, but they yelled enough for the encore and it happened.  A great rendition of Cactus flew from Frank’s mouth. Then the guy who had been howling “Debaser!!” all night finally got his wish. The crowd energy spiked!  A huge, 6’4” dude came flying into our area.  He knew we were there and ready.  A couple of steps this way and that and we had cleared a 20-foot area.  We grabbed a few other guys away from their dates.  A baby pit had been born!  I took a push from the front, stumbled to the back, followed by another push and stumble.  Oops!  Bumped into the Hobbit.  Now she was a Grumpy Dwarf Banshee mix. “Hey! You MotherF***! A**hole! Son of…!” and she shoved me as hard as she could.  Okay… whatever… shake my head and continue on.  I guess I finally ruined her entire night.  

“Debaser” ended and a single drip of sweat formed on my brow as the lights came up.  Everyone was smiling except the Hobbit girl and that Sad Sap girl.  It would have been better if everyone started smiling earlier in the show.  

And, I know you’re wondering… Wednesday, school night, 11:30, a little older, a little wiser, but it was the Pixies after all, right?  Did I get some? Hmmm… I’m not telling.

Peace!