Pixies - 'Wave Of Mutilation - The Best Of' (4AD)
5/5
By: Toby L
Oh, screw the conventional wiffle-waffle, scribe-you-like build-up - Pixies could re-release their repertoire every single f**king year and we'll stamp five stars of approval across its flaccid 'cash-in' arse without so much as even the merest of reservations, time and time, and time, again.
For Black Francis and his wily bunch were the 80s' most important purveyors of college-rock, bar-none. Actually - scrub that. One of the most important rock bands of all time.
And all because: they were brutal, hilarious, brilliant lyricists; invented the loud-quiet noise-punk dynamic that since went on to define the likes of Nirvana and any other influential rock-band of esteem a decade on; and utilised the importance of condensing genius into a five-year stopgap, thus conceiving their burning out defiantly before the case of 'irrelevance' crept into the room and crashed the party.
The band's return in 2004 is, thus, a much-celebrated one. And a chance for their tagged label 4AD to begin rubbing the hands, dusting off the old masters, and ringing up the CD-pressing plant in an admirable display of reacquainting the rock-masses with this glorious guitar-shredding quartet. Mmm, $$$. So: 'Wave Of Mutilation' - the band's second 'best of' collection, following the latter-90s' 'Death To The Pixies' package. From the searing, ragged, off-beat stomp of 'Bone Machine', if you're not immediately ensconced, it's because you're an absolute tosser and smell really badly.
The appeal of the band, to this day, remains tremendous - a rare case where the uber-cool leather-jacket brigade, solemn arty-types and drunken indie-populists could collectively rejoice in the presence of a group where elitist image was exempt, and tunes were all. The scope of their matter was vast, too: rollicking, Spanish-y strums - 'Nimrod's Son'; harmonious, 60s beat-pop - 'Here Comes Your Man'; epic, strings-embossed grandeur - 'Monkey Gone To Heaven'; dark, schizoid anthemery - 'Caribou', 'Where Is My Mind?'; sing-along crossover-joy - 'Velouria' / 'Dig For Fire' / 'Gigantic'; and terse, heavy-handed bouts of strop-plop - 'Planet Of Sound', 'Gouge Away'.
Yes, in the band's latest 23-track compendium, not once does the mind wander, or the eyebrows lower. Even 15 years on, the effect of the Pixies is completely pummelling, religious and that of utter supremacy over any and all that lingered from their time.
Go on - sell your soul, capitalist child. You've got the records, you have the 'b-side' album. Now run off and scoff the DVD and 'greatest hits' (again). In this oh-so-rare instance, it's not like you'll be left disappointed (unless you're an impotent slackjaw).
Artists in this article: Pixies
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