'90s Throwback: Praising The Pixies

  
    While it makes sense to review current, lesser-known books/music/whatever, I feel obliged to share my opinions on both the new and upcoming as well as the past and long-gone. Besides: what's old news to me could be something that sparks a new obsession for you.

     Anyways, I'm almost embarrassed to admit that I just recently got into The Pixies. I'd been a longtime Modest Mouse fan (this year marks the sixth anniversary of our love affair) and I'd often heard critics and classmates bash them as being Pixies rip-offs. Though they belittled Isaac Brock, I took the insult personally, and for some immature reason directed my contempt towards The Pixies rather than the jury.

    I first heard a Pixies track on Fight Club, I believe, and thought nothing of it. Actually, I probably thought: "this band ain't got shit on Modest Mouse." However territorial I was about my baby daddies, I ended up giving The Pixies a fair chance while dating my current boyfriend. He made me a mixtape (featuring The Cure on one side, Pixies on the other), and as soon as the first notes of Kim Deal's bass line in "Here Comes Your Man," made their way to my ears: I was hooked. I was way in love by the time "Mr.Grieves" ended; "Is She Weird?" instantly became my theme song, and the deal was forever sealed as "Monkey Gone To Heaven" and "Havalina" brought a fitting closure to the tape.

     Needless to say, that mixtape found itself on repeat for quite awhile. Did Isaac Brock rip off of them? My verdict, despite my apparent bias, is always going to be "no." Like I said in my previous post: take inspiration from everything but make it into something new. I remain convinced that Isaac is just a funky dude producing the same music other quirky people like him produce: unconventional, unorthodox brilliancy.

      Maybe the lyrical content is similar: life, death, heartache, self-deprecation, self-criticism; the same shit everyone else sings about more or less, no? I feel that both bands speak out in respect to their very different world views and values. Both bands' works feature musical composure that varies from slow and melancholic to upbeat and dance-y. Both bands have their fair share of different, yet similar infectious guitar hooks. Catchier bass riffs? I'd have to say The Pixies. Isaac Brock takes the trophy for literary lyricism. Both bands have cemented a special place in my heart.

     Which came first: the chicken or the egg? Who gives a shit.







My current MM obsessions:
A Different City
I Came as a Rat
Styrofoam Boots
Doin' The Cockroach

Swamplandia! by Karen Russell

      It's hard to give this book a proper review without revealing too much. I'll say: the prose is poetic; the plot twists are eccentric but entertaining. My qualms with Swamplandia! lie not with Karen Russell's writing style (the metaphors are beautiful), but with the broader implications of what such a lackluster book that was so well-received by critics says about society's values.

     I'm not going to analyze any geographical discrepancies or fuss about minor inconsistencies in character traits and development, as my Contemporary American Lit class focused on. Russell spins a very imaginative tale that requires little imagination to follow: the allegories are so painfully obvious; she does the thinking for you. She really doesn't explore any themes in such a way that hasn't been done before. The only unique twist lies in her elaborate sentence structure, which leads me to believe that this book was written more for capitalist gain and entertainment than anything else.

      If I'm right about that, I'm not bashing her for it: she's brilliant for seizing the opportunity. If you can sing really well: sing. If you can paint really well: paint. If writing is your forte, then by god, write your heart out. Look towards Madonna, Picasso, Nabokov and ingest all the inspiration you can, but please: don't regurgitate it. Museums are packed with Van Gogh; library shelves crammed with Joyce and Hemingway. Create something worth clearing space for, not something that will make it's way to the landfill in a year or two. Unless, it seems, in the case that some man in a suit is prepared to write you a substantial check to do so.