If it's sophisticated musicianship, seamless note-perfection and flamboyant stage charisma you're looking for, 9pm, Saturday evening on the Other Stage is probably not the musical Utopia you have in mind. The occasional bum-notes from the respective guitars of Frank Black and Joey Santiago are difficult to ignore, as is bassist Paz Lenchantin's sometimes grating inability to hold a note in tune. Then as frontman, Frank Black is sometimes guilty of forgetting seemingly unforgettable lyrics, and the interaction from stage to crowd is... minimal, at best.
But ultimately, this is the Pixies; and the aforementioned attributes are not qualities on which the 80s forefathers of grunge built their mythical reputation. Instead, everything you love about the band was provided here in glorious, savage, indulgent abundance as the Saturday evening sun set on Glastonbury's Other Stage. Whether it was Santiago's paranoid, shredded guitar, Dave Lovering's manic drumming, complimented perfectly by Lenchantin's playfully menacing bass, or Black's deliciously twisted screech... simply put, as a live act the resurrected Pixies have never sounded so good, so brutal, or so vital. Indeed, as a performance it's most reassuring of all that it doesn't just justify their reunion - it sustains and enhances the bands uniquely contorted mystique, in spite of the sets flaws. The new songs in 'Bagboy' and 'Greens and Blues' slots seamlessly in between the classic material, and the Biblically twisted songs on which they made their esteemed name ('Wave of Multilation', 'Caribou', 'Hey') have never sounded so fresh, or so ferocious. As for every third syllable in 'Debaser' that Lenchantin breathlessly struggles to hold, she plays Kim Deal's beloved bass lines to perfection; and makes for endearingly enthusiastic yet oddly mesmerising stage presence (especially in contrast to otherwise static band mates). Then where Santiago slightly fumbles 'Wave of Mutilation's opening bars, his perfectly withheld note in the bridge of 'Isla De Encanta' is nothing short of exhilarating, as are the twisting and turning leads in 'Crackity Jones'. Then where the lyrics to 'Where Is My Mind' briefly, bafflingly evade Black during the song's haunting outro, he more than makes up for it with his infamously possessed, maniacal delivery. Ultimately, what's perhaps most comforting of all is how effortlessly it elevates them above the cash-cow, bucket-list novelty act so many iconic band reunions inevitably amount to - and doesn't so much prove them a rough diamond as it does slightly scratched sapphire. Because warts an' all, you simply can't help but admire this new invigorated incarnation of the Pixies. It's almost like they never went away.
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