from the LP Surfer Rosa, 4AD records, 1988
My good pal Shannie & I shelled out the $60 per ticket to see the Pixies on their most recent tour (where they played Doolittle front to cover) without even thinking about it; we had both missed them when they re-united for that tour in ‘04/’05, and given their propensity for spontaneous combustion (not to mention Frank Black’s inclination to get ate up with the dumbass from time to time), it was a no-brainer. They didn’t disappoint. I fucking love this band so much!!! Their brand of mildly deformed ruckus will never loose its appeal, imprinted onto more memories of my wild & misspent youth than virtually any other indie rock band: nights spent driving around aimlessly in cars tightly packed with angsty teens, smoking bowl after bowl and blaring the Pixies, or days at the beach rocking them on the boombox, eating blotters and making funny faces at the old people collecting shells. This was one dirty little album, and on this track Black managed to cover premature ejaculation (“…stuck here out of gas, out here on the Gaza strip, from driving too fast…”), the disagreeable tang of, well… (“…one sip from the salty wine, dead sea make you choke…”), and his love of Asian women (“…ride the tiger, ride the tiger…”) all in under 3 minutes time. I’m not going to hold my breath for another tour, but if it happens, I will pay any price for the opportunity to see them just one more time.
from the LP Surfer Rosa, 4AD records, 1988
