IN REVIEW: Pixies - "Indie Cindy"

The first Pixies album in 23 years was never going to live up to expectations; everybody knows that, the band most likely included, and the most immediately refreshing thing about Indie Cindy is that it doesn't even really try. It's almost as if they knew full well that anything they put to tape would be scrutinized, analysed and measured up against the impossible standards of their original run of records, particularly Surfer Rosa and Doolittle. Faced with such a daunting task as matching alternative rock's most hallowed discography a quarter century after its inception, who could possibly stand a chance?

Certainly not Pixies; they'd already had two failed attempts at recapturing that magic in Bossanova and Trompe le Monde, two records that were good but not great, more tools to spice up the inevitable greatest hit compilations than transcendent staples of rock. Let's not forget that Pixies didn't break up because they got too popular or that critical acclaim was too much to bear; they broke up primarily because the tension between band members (particularly Black Francis and Kim Deal) reached a breaking point.

That a legion of self-entitled, elitist snobs (most of whom weren't born when Surfer Rosa was released) has painted a target on Indie Cindy and fired away isn't necessarily surprising; Kim Deal's departure from the group early into the sessions has led many to declare this album an abomination, a tragic bastardization of everything that made Pixies special because their bass player and occasional songwriter quit the band. With all the talk about how this album supposedly shouldn't exist without Deal in the band, it's worth noting that it wouldn't have existed with her (of all band members, she had been most hesitant to write and record new songs).

This is of no matter to butthurt "fans" and critics who wrote Indie Cindy off before they'd even heard a note. Which is a shame because, if you can separate yourself from your preconceived notions of what this album was supposed to sound like in your head, you'll find it's far from the travesty it's being slandered as.

Common sense dictates that the band's sound couldn't stay exactly the same over twenty years removed from their last album; people change, and this is no different for bands. Aside from a select few (AC/DC, Slayer, The Rolling Stones off the top of my head), bands can't help but sound different by their third decade of existence. Think about the difference between Pearl Jam's Ten and Lightning Bolt, or The Tragically Hip's Up To Here and Now For Plan A; pine as fans might for those bands to rehash their oldest, biggest successes, they can't and won't because they have changed as bands and people. Granted, the transition is easier to take when it's a slow, steady evolution rather than a 20+ year full stop, but it's not like Pixies spent that time in cryostasis.

So, what's the difference? Well, Indie Cindy is at times more muscular than past albums, judging from the wallop packed by opener What Goes Boom, and (especially) Blue Eyed Hexe. At others, it's kinder and less menacing, like the Foo Fighters reminiscent single Greens And Blues, wistful future single Ring The Bell, and spacey acoustic jam Andro Queen. They do dabble in strange adventures occasionally, such as the off-kilter back-to-back of the title track and Bagboy. Sometimes, they do achieve that nostalgic sweet spot between the big dumb rock sound that spawned Nirvana and the manic weirdo pop that preceded Modest Mouse, though most of Indie Cindy prefers to acknowledge neither; partly because they'd already done that and mostly because hundreds of bands have tried their hands at it in the years since Kurt Cobain professed his love for Pixies.

Maybe, rather than the easy excuse of Deal's departure, this is the crux of what has made Indie Cindy so reviled; it's not revolutionary in any way. Whereas their '80s and '90s output is placed on a pedestal as the sound that went on to define a generation, Indie Cindy is content simply to be a good rock record. The thing is, Surfer Rosa and Doolittle weren't designed for world domination either, and the majority of their worshipers would never have even heard them if not for the rise of Nirvana. That's an easy detail to forget after so many years of praise, but it's important to keep in mind. Pixies didn't ask to be alt-rock deities and, when it came right down to it, they didn't want to be.

At the end of the day, you can spend all the ink in your pens and all the breath in your lungs arguing over whether or not this album should exist, whether or not it would have been better with Kim Deal, or whether or not it destroys their precious legacy. Pixies probably don't give a damn what you think; this album was never going to be made on your terms. Or Pitchfork's, or Spin's, or The Observer's, or any other critic quick to chalk it up as a misguided failure. If you can't get over yourself or your preconceptions for 45 minutes and try to just enjoy Indie Cindy for the (admittedly poorly titled) batch of good rock songs it is, this record was never intended for you in the first place.

April 29, 2014 • Pixies Music

Highlights Greens and Blues • Bagboy • Blue Eyed Hexe