Throwing severely out of balance the attractiveness of the current rock landscape, genius fug’mos Pixies are back on the tour circuit, pimping an elephantine boxed set (drool) and celebrating the 20th anniversary of their undisputed masterpiece and best work, Doolittle.  This here’s a clip from Conan pimping both events, the ennui of which alarmed me at first, but I might be a nervous bitch. They’re playing what is probably their tamest (though by no means their worst) tune, and it doesn’t seem like they’re summoning even close to the energy of their heyday. What happens when, on tour, they have to play “Crackity Jones” (and they will, since they are limiting themselves to Doolittle tunes), a significantly more manic, boisterous song? I hate to question the authority of Frank Black/Black Francis, a man who has transcended punk, indie, and rock to become one of the great legends of popular music, but maybe he should hit the gym or something. Beyond the fact that their collective unprepossessing nature can be measured in terms of dick retraction, their vigor leaves something to be desired. It would be one thing if he was delivering a new album, but a boxed set of previous stuff, and a tour featuring a 20 year old album would be better received with a modicum of the appropriate enthusiasm. A week of cardio and some creatine goes a long way in that regard.

At least they aren’t cancelling dates like Echo & the Bunnymen. Either way, you can be damned sure I’ll be getting into at least one of their performances (there’s rumors they’ll be at Coachella, nuckas). Let’s hope I’m not too fanboy-starstruck-childhood-memory nostalgic to give you the same objectively satisfying reports you’ve become used to in Scumbag Style’s short lifespan. HA!