I Believe in Mr Grieves.

Black Francis

So I saw the Pixies last night.  I barely know how to approach this in order to describe it, Readers.  I'll try.  Seeing The Pixies is kind of a bucket list type of item for me; so this was a pretty big deal for me.  The surprise bonus?  Imaginary Cities opened.  I discovered them a few months ago and dig them, so yay for me!  Go ahead and high five your monitor. 

So my friend, Janna picked me up and we drove down to the venue.  It was raining, hailing, snowing and really generally atrocious out.   My feet were soaked up to my knees all night, but I sucked it up because Readers:  The Pixies.   We took our vouchers to the ticket pick up window, where we encountered the angriest booth operator of all time.  We made the mistake of saying something along the lines of "This system of getting tickets is a pain in the *expletive*".  She didn't want us to say that.  Not at ALL.   I tried to get a look at her manicure while she was bobbing her head around and waving her nails at us.  I think they had flames against black polish and the words, "CONCERT GOERS CAN GO STRAIGHT TO HELL" were written on them.  Something like that.  tsk.  We canadian people are not used to rude service.  Not used to it AT ALL.  I am still indignant. 

I turned around as the woman was still frothing at us to inform the people behind us that if they wanted to get their tickets this century, it would be advisable not to try and relate to the ticket booth operator in any way.  No eye contact, don't speak. 

Imaginary Cities

We eventually exchanged the vouchers for tix and made our way into the arena and found some sweet seats right behind the sound booth.  We only might have stolen those seats.  We didn't 100% steal them, because nobody made us move.. but we kind of were supposed to be in the general standing area- but ever so accidentally ended up in row A in the center.   Stop looking at me like that, Readers; it was the PIXIES. I couldn't have taken such brilliant photos if I didn't steal someone's seats.  GAWD.

Imaginary Cities opened and they were marvelous.  Their lead singer is some kind of brilliant.  She's like punk rock 60s gogo with clever lyrics.  Janis Joplin meets the Ronettes.  Recommend.  Very unique.

Eventually, it was time for the Pixies.   Huh huhuhuhh... The lights went out... Huhuhhuhuhuhuh... I was excited but my feet were very wet, so I took off my shoes hoping that they would magically dry out (which they did not).  I considered ringing out my socks into the sound booth because hey-  those guys were probably too busy to notice.  But I didn't, just to clarify.  I just stood there with wet socked feet.  5 minutes later, I smelled my wet feet and discreetly decided to put my shoes back on.  I don't think the two superhigh guys beside us noticed...  Because they were super high.  I'd even developed a plan to steal their ticket stubs in case someone wanted to take their our seats back:  I'd ask to check the superhigh guys' tickets and then switch them with OUR tickets and be all "Yeah guys, you're in the general standing area I guess...  move along." 

Well that was just a plan.  I wouldn't have been brave enough to DO it.  STOP JUDGING ME.  I'm on a diet, remember??? It's not like I really wrung my socks out into the sound booth and stole those high guys' ticket stubs.

 

Anyhow, the show started with clips of a particularly gross Salvidor Dali art film and a smoke machine.  This made me nervous.. like what if the Pixies were now art-house performance artists?? I had flashbacks to a scene from Spaced involving a drag-clown, a disgruntled nerd and a Vacuum cleaner.   Once my heart restarted and I stood back up from the razor scene, the show began in all it's greatness- And it was great.  Visually as well as their performance.  They did every song from Doolittle; my favourite Pixies album.  They did it seamlessly and were fun to watch.

 Readers,  I haven't been to a concert where I knew ALL of the lyrics in a very long time.  I wasn't the only one, either.  All of the other Gen X people were singing too, grey thinning hair covered by funky hats, edgy-ish tshirts pulled over hairy, middle aged bellies.  It was kind of like the PTA showed up in disguise.  Actually, the crowd was pretty well mixed.  I saw teenagers, I saw seniors.  I saw a girl wearing so much mascara that I wanted to wash her face with my wet socks. 

I think that means I'm curmudgeonly.  I can't tell.


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