The band David Bowie called “the psychotic Beatles”
“Tomorrow belongs to those who can hear it coming.” That was a quote David Bowie coined in promotion of his 1977 album Heroes. In fitting style, the reverberations of that record would resound long after its release, rattling the foundations of the Berlin Wall in the process. It is not without irony, therefore, that the release was decidedly uncommercial–largely too dark for the radio and too perturbing for tender fans. It is often the case that this uncompromising combination is what makes for the most timeless music.
This was further evidenced by Sam Fogarino of the band Interpol, who once told Q Magazine in 2011 that he thought Pixies were the most influential band of the last 25 years. He said when he first listened to them he “felt vile”, then he “felt violated”, before arriving at the conclusion that they were “the most brilliant fucking thing since sliced bread”. The guitarist, whose scything style is comparable to Joey Santiago’s playing – if it’s comparable to anyone’s at all – proclaimed that the level of the Pixies’ influence “hasn’t changed because it’s ageless music and that’s a very rare thing to stumble upon.”
It is a quote very much akin to one frequently applied to The Velvet Underground, another band who landed in the unfortunate, clichéd realm of ‘being ahead of their time’. “I was talking to Lou Reed the other day,” begins the classic quote from Brian Eno, “And he said that the first Velvet Underground record sold only 30,000 copies in its first five years. Yet, that was an enormously important record for so many people. I think everyone who bought one of those 30,000 copies started a band! So I console myself in thinking that some things generate their rewards in second-hand ways.”
As it happens, when David Bowie was asked about the Pixies, he borrowed that famed quote from his old friend and collaborator and dubbed them one of the most influential acts of a generation. In fact, he lauded them with even greater flaterry than that, adding: “The first time I heard the Pixies would’ve been about 1988, I found it just about the most compelling music outside of Sonic Youth in the entire eighties.”
While many people in Europe will wonder how that same “30,000 copies” quote can apply to the Pixies, their debut record, Surfer Rosa, was actually first released exclusively in the UK via the ever-reputable 4AD label and was only available in their native US as an import. In the States, they were as much of an unknown entity as The Velvet Underground were in their pomp despite the fact that Surfer Rosa was reimagining modern music in many people’s eyes.
Bowie even offered up an explanation for this, positing: “In America, they just didn’t ignite people the way they ignited them in Europe. There was such a lot of sludge in America at the time and I think the Pixies had a real hard time pushing their way to the surface.”
However, for the forever forward-thinking Bowie, he saw a trio of excellence in their stylings from the off. As he explains: “Three elements, I think, made them important is the sound of the band, which is the pure dynamics of keeping the verse extremely quiet and then erupting into a blaze of noise for the choruses.”
His analysis continued: “The other thing is the interesting juxtapositions that Charles [Black Francis] brought together, quite sordid material at times I suppose. The permutations that he created within the different subjects that he dealt with were so unusual that it caught my ear immediately. It was the sense of imagination, and I use ‘imagination’ not lightly, not in terms of it being a fantasy which most people define imagination as but being able to understand the affinities of something and have those affinities illuminate the subjects.”
When it comes to their hugely melodic structures, and wry sensibilities harvested from the twisted melon of a giant screaming man who made his guitar look like a ukulele, Bowie saved his finest analogy till last. “There’s a great sense of humour underlying everything that Charles does,” he remarked, “I always thought there was a psychotic Beatles in there.”
In truth, the tenets of both bands are very similar: their structures are melody-driven, their choruses are sing-along hooks, humour and their odd wry wink is interwoven with profundity, plainness, and platitudes mingle with the utterly bizarre, and at its heart, its all still doo-wop pop. The difference is that The Beatles borrowed extreme ideas from the edges of culture and clothed them in acceptable mainstream clothes, and the Pixies ran around screaming in the nude. Clearly, Bowie was always going to be enamoured.
As it happens, the late Starman would go on to cover the Pixies track ‘Cactus’ with his rather strange Tin Machine venture and latterly perform live renditions of it along with ‘Debaser’ many times over. Clearly, Bowie and the Pixies share a kinship in their uncanny knack of being able to perturb and beguile in equal measure at exactly the same time, offering a glimpse into a bohemian world for those who heed the otherworldly come-hither finger that leers out of the music.
