The last gig I went to was on the first of this month, and in the capital of this country. It concerned a former ‘alternative’ band (and once-former band) going by the name of The Pixies.
It was very good. They played a surprising amount of Trompe le Monde, which is an album I enjoy when I hear it, but am not that familiar with. Funny; I started out right in the front. Right in the frenzy of all the Pixie lovers (I like them, but they are far from my favourite band), and it was great. except everyone was enjoying it more than I was. And because I wasn’t all that familiar with the songs playing at that point, I decided to take a breather. Get a glass of water or something, and then I could rejoin the huddled masses when songs more beknownst to me would be ringing out above our heads.
It was after about two literal minutes of walking – nay, struggling – through the crowd that I realised I had no money on me, and water was at least a twospot. ‘Fair enough’, I done thunk, ‘I shall sup from the taps in the bathroom’. So I was forcing myself against the tide of humanity, and my trailing leg was getting really tired – as was I from the constant desire to be polite and not just barge past people.
As I figured there was no way I was going to actually escape this crowd til the end of the set, and I had traversed too far to actually backtrack to my friends and the action, and they started playing ‘In Heaven’ (aka ‘the woman in the radiator song’), I dejectedly stopped where I was and attempted to make the best of a bad situation. I was, after all, seeing the legendary Pixies!
By this point they were playing all the songs a non-obsessed heathen such as I would consider favourites. Velouria, Monkey Gone to Heaven, Debaser (odd, because I hated that song at the time of release) and the other obvious choices, but I was feeling isolated. Isolated from those with whom I had travelled, or was staying with. From the glorious pit and those skinny, flailing indie limbs. From being able to see the beads or torrents of sweat emanating from the generous dimensions of Frank Black.
Ah well, you live and learn. And they didn’t play my favourite Pixies song of them all…