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Doolittle, Pixies

Elektra Records, April 18, 1989

Track Listing: 1. Debaser, 2. Tame, 3. Wave of Mutilation, 4. I Bleed, 5. Here Comes Your Man, 6. Dead, 7. Monkey Gone To Heaven, 8. Mr. Grieves, 9.Crackity Jones, 10. La La Love You, 11. No. 13 Baby, 12. There Goes My Gun, 13. Hey, 14 Silver, 15. Gouge Away

Black Francis once recalled dancing naked and alone in the hard dark of his college dorm room, moving wildly and possessed by the howling under-sonics of Lust for Life. I remember him as Frank Black, in daylight, at the wings of the stage after he warmed up for Iggy Pop in an old Roman amphitheater. He was hopping up and down just like the rest of us sweaty, indigent pagans down below. Surely it was the same fire in his eyes, the same madness, The same electric demon that now stuffed his savage veins as it did back then as he bobbed and twisted, rippled and danced before his shriveled and torn idol in the hot frenzy that was August. It was hard to tell who was who then. Which orgy was which.

Doolittle is a precious hell. A shamanic plunge-trip. More mature, more biting than Surfer Rosa, a bit more focused, less playful (shit why compare), but it still retains all the fierce squelch and guitar whine. The Pixies really knew how to wail, to screech, to squeal, roll over, then stop … only to screech and squeal and wail again. I saw god as I was trampled during “Debaser” at their reunion tour. I’ve got red marks on my back to prove it. This album unloads monsters. Feels like a good rape. There are eyeballs torn out. Monkey’s paws swallowed. 6-fisted devils and lapping curls that gouge and mutilate. This is self-inflicted misery at its best. Waves of wounds. Here comes your man baby and he’s got a big friggin stick! But it’s only you who will use it on yourself in the end. Bleed for me. Claw away. Man is five. We are all alone and naked in the room. Nobody looks. Nobody cares. Nobody gets out unscathed. So dance.