Dazzling return of the aliens of American indie-rock: encounter of the third kind guaranteed at the Grand Théâtre.
In the late 80s, those who heard the music of the Pixies for the first time had to pinch themselves to believe it. From what dimension did this strange collision of punk rage and honey pop, electric savagery and melodic sophistication, crazy hollering and flashing dreamy breakaways come from? Dragging along in their wake the stardust of New wave and Surf music, the songs of Black Francis and his peers were UFOs in the sky of American Rock. Foreshadowing Nirvana’s sonic bursts – the runaway imagination, the arty references (science fiction, surrealism), the dark humour and more – they could have guaranteed the Pixies a one-way trip to global success. It might have been their true singularity associated with their average American far-from-sexy look, which delayed their breakthrough. But time, which always rewards the inspired individuals of their kind, eventually fixed this anomaly. After a year of explosive concerts, a repertoire that hasn’t aged a day and a sudden burst of unreleased tracks, the Pixies’ return at the forefront is great news for all deviant Rock lovers. Revered by Sonic Youth, My Bloody Valentine or the Pixies, the Scots from The Pastels, who have been active for thirty years now, are veterans only as far as status goes: their Indie-Pop is not in the least rusty, as shows their recent Slow Summits, an album that has the pearly beauty of a summer evening.
Guitar and vocals