If only on tv. Last night VH2 showed an entire gig, at Belfort. Running time was two hours, but in truth it was closer to one hour, with one hour of bleedin' adverts. Friggin' music television.
I wasn't sure which era the gig was going to be of, prior to transmission, as the digital TV guide said something along the lines of "the legendary Pixies play at the height of their powers", which definitely had me scratching my chin for a while.
The good news is, the scream is back. I thought that one of the reasons the Pixies might never reform was because Charles Thompson was afraid of letting the scream out again, that as he grew older and settled he wouldn't want to unleash whatever demons were behind it (y'know, like Pete Townshend won't play guitar properly anymore because he thinks it'll end up with him downing a bottle of Remy Martin every night, and with a needle hanging out of his arm). It was quite touching, watching the loving glances between the band, especially during Joe's solo in Isla De Encanta, (which was as blistering as the good ol' days) nearly brought a tear to this old cynic's eye.
Fingers crossed for the album.