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Pixies

Until the Pixies, my musical tastes were usually dictated by what was popular among my fellow schoolmates while still fitting into my angry teenage mind frame (ie. although MC Hammer was way bigger than say -The Cure- back then, there was no way anyone was going to make me drop my black jeans and t-shirt and overall antisocial attitude in favor of baggy silk pants and busting a move to Can't Touch This on one of those violent, monthly school dances). When you are exposed to metal through friends at a young age, of course you'll develop an interest in the genre. Iron Maiden, Metallica and Slayer were the soundtrack to my early high school years, the aggressive nature of the music a projection of my early attempts at independence (if I couldn't do it financially and socially, might as well do it musically right?); then, in the later stages of high school, the gloomy kids exposed me to The Cure and their brand of depressed, mumbled pop which, although easier to my parents ears, was subtly way darker and twisted than any of the cartoonish metal bands I loved before.

Like many teenagers back then, you relied on the different crowds of the schoolyard microcosm to find out where you fit in. By proudly wearing similar clothing (oh I remember the dangerous search for Doc Martens shoes, it was a huge step; I had to make my parents drive all the way downtown to visit stores where the clerks had tri-colored hair and tattoos on their necks, I had specific wants as well, they had to be "eight holes" and mahogany colored - but the more exotic they were, the cooler you were, no wonder some kids had them imported from the UK at exorbitant prices. To wear them at school was proof that you had what it takes, that you had trekked through the treacherous city jungles and brought back the Holy Grail... that you were worthy of being acknowledged as being alive) you were basically applying for membership in one crowd; one false move could be disastrous; you had to pick and choose everything very carefully and this was especially true with musical leanings. The Cure and Jane's Addiction were the top two unavoidable bands; everyone had to own at least one t-shirt with their effigy in their possession. Outside of these two however, we were allowed a certain degree of freedom, but any other band we liked had to be silently approved somehow. And this is where the Pixies came into my life.

Although I later found out that many of my school chums knew of the Pixies, I didn't discover them through t-shirts or notebook scribbles. Around the same period, my family would regularly go up in the Laurentians to a camping site where we owned a trailer. The place was like a small village where there were many activities during the summer weeks. On this site, there was one tall teenager with long hair on top and shaved sides who was obviously different from the other kids. In this place however, contrary to school, everyone seemed to get along and all differences were set aside. I wasn't closer to him than any of the others there, in fact, I wasn't even really close to him at all. But one night, while talking music, he mentioned the Pixies and when I told him I never heard of them, he brought me and my cousin to his trailer and made me listen to parts of Surfer Rosa. It didn't hit me immediately, but I could hear right away this was like nothing else I had heard before. It was harsh and pounding at times, almost like metal; quirky and beautiful at others, like the gloomy pop I listened to at the time. It felt like a perfect balance between both worlds, yet at the same time they were situated in a whole new dimension. You just couldn't pinpoint their sound. My new friend lent me the tape which I listened to on a loop that night on my sister's pink and white walkman. Me and my friends fought over the walkman and who got to listen to Where is My Mind? more often than the other.

I remember absorbing every single note, chord change from their songs; trying to figure out the words to some songs, being fascinated by the spanish lyrics (why wasn't he singing in english?) and being shocked by the swear words (-You fucking DIE!!!). This was incredible. None of the bands I had listened to previously had this effect on me. My first musical epiphany. I went on to buy all their albums on tape (Bossa Nova was their latest release at the time) and I listened to them until the tape got used and tangled up. When Trompe Le Monde came out, I got rid of the tapes and bought everything back on CD, but even that was later sold to move to Sweden. By that time I didn't feel the need to buy them back immediately since I pretty much knew every song by heart and had kept the mp3s. I didn't listen to them as much anymore, but I have always been grateful for the path they paved for me. They gave me what I was looking for in music, not a membership pass, but the proof that music truly could affect lives through a cunning chord change or switch in dynamics. It was brilliant, challenging and artsy and even though I came to realize they were not as obscure as I first thought they were and that I was not the first and last person to be affected this way by them; I will always remember those very private moments where I was the only one in the world who got to hear them, in the backseat of the car as we headed back to our house on the south shore once the summer vacation ended. Could you be in love with a band? I certainly felt this way towards the Pixies and when I learned of their untimely split up (with Frank Black heading off in one direction and Kim Deal's Breeders in another), I can honestly say that it brought tears to my eyes. How could they do this to me? I was too young. I never had the chance to see them play live and even though they have settled their qualms an regrouped today (much to the surprise of everyone), my first impressions have been watered down and seeing them today could never be like seeing them back then.

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