INDIE CINDY BY PIXIES

There are only a few possible albums from reformed bands that could have been potentially more exciting that the idea of a Pixies reunited giving us Indie Cindy - their first studio album since 1991. Perhaps a new Smiths, Nirvana or Beatles LP? But really, those aren't forthcoming in this world, or the next, so what we have are 12 tracks, some released last year as EPs, but now forming a coherent album, which deserves to be treated, if not with kid gloves, then at least with some reverence.

For, Pixies are the most important American indie/alternative group of the 1980s, and hugely influential, as well as beloved. Doolittle remains arguably the single most astonishing guitar band record ever released - nothing, not even punk, could have prepared us for the violent, witty, and weird references to Surrealist French film, serial killers, sexual abuse, Satanism, and, well, monkeys going to heaven. Sung and screeched, of course.

That was then, let us come to the new album. Frankly, many reviewers have been unduly harsh - their main complaint being this is not a work of total genius (which their early albums are), uncanny revelation, and horror pop. With Kim missing, some even claim it is merely a Black Francis/Frank Black record. This is cheap and easy to say, and too reductive.

Instead, put it this way - if a new band had released this as their debut, it would be considered one of the best of the year. Indeed, there is something very generous about the valedictory nature of Indie Cindy - a something for every fan approach - that still allows a certain trademark bizarro style to emerge across the whole - seamless eclecticism. Of course, the fantastic guitar work is there, the sudden tonal shifts, the surprising melodic aspects, the lyric references to Weird Science, the Tijuana tingles, the abrasive vocals, but also, something approaching, at times, a Beach Boys sense of the sublime (Pixies were always into surf music).

Songs like 'Greens and Blues', 'Bagboy' and 'Jaime Bravo' are as accomplished as any of their career, and while the album as a whole is more romantic, pensive and even gentle than their previous work, tending more to the 'Here Comes Your Man' and 'Roswell' vibe than 'Debaser', it still packs a punch, at times genuinely alarming and fun, at others just pleasantly retro. Probably the least of their studio albums, but more than a footnote - an excellent album by a band that is one the finest of all time. Hopefully next time, Pixies will go a little more helter-skelter on us, but for now, this is better than radio silence from the rings of Saturn.

A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.

Poetry vs. Literature

Poetry is, of course, a part of literature. But, increasingly, over the 20th century, it has become marginalised - and, famously, has less of an audience than "before". I think that, when one considers the sort of criticism levelled against Seamus Heaney and "mainstream poetry", by poet-critics like Jeffrey Side , one ought to see the wider context for poetry in the "Anglo-Saxon" world. This phrase was used by one of the UK's leading literary cultural figures, in a private conversation recently, when they spoke eloquently about the supremacy of "Anglo-Saxon novels" and their impressive command of narrative. My heart sank as I listened, for what became clear to me, in a flash, is that nothing has changed since Victorian England (for some in the literary establishment). Britain (now allied to America) and the English language with its marvellous fiction machine, still rule the waves. I personally find this an uncomfortable position - but when ...

IQ AND THE POETS - ARE YOU SMART?

When you open your mouth to speak, are you smart? A funny question from a great song, but also, a good one, when it comes to poets, and poetry. We tend to have a very ambiguous view of intelligence in poetry, one that I'd say is dysfunctional. Basically, it goes like this: once you are safely dead, it no longer matters how smart you were. For instance, Auden was smarter than Yeats , but most would still say Yeats is the finer poet; Eliot is clearly highly intelligent, but how much of Larkin 's work required a high IQ? Meanwhile, poets while alive tend to be celebrated if they are deemed intelligent: Anne Carson, Geoffrey Hill , and Jorie Graham , are all, clearly, very intelligent people, aside from their work as poets. But who reads Marianne Moore now, or Robert Lowell , smart poets? Or, Pound ? How smart could Pound be with his madcap views? Less intelligent poets are often more popular. John Betjeman was not a very smart poet, per se....

E Y E W E A R, THE BLOG - FREEDOM MEANS BEING UNAFRAID TO WRITE WHAT YOU THINK

Search This Blog