Pixies make you want to blow the stars from the sky, it really has been some time, way too long, late on in the East London afternoon in what feels like the last of the Summer, the sun in the sky, planes flying overhead, pigeons and parrots watching on as the four of them just walk on to the big stage with no fanfare, no fuss, no big noise, just the four of them, that beautiful flying P logo simply projected behind then, that perfect P, things feel good. Bass player Emma Richardson up there alongside the three originals, drummer David Lovering, beautiful guitarist David Lovering and of course the one and only Black Francis up there as front man handling the rhythm and acoustic guitar duties and never ever saying a word. There’s a wonderful honesty to Pixies, a chemistry, a musical knowing, crafted yes, tight, so so tight but never ever anywhere near dialling it in. Never going through the motions when they so easily could, no hit them with a big one early, none of that putting on an actual show stuff, none of that business. Just the four of them, like they were just playing in their backyard to a few hundred friends rather than the tens of thousands who (mostly, besides the talkers, we’ll get to that in a minute) have their attention from the off. I mean they could have opened with Debasser and said something like “hey,how yer doing London? Good to be back here” and had everyone won from the off, but no, that’s not the Pixies way, hell, they didn’t even play Debasser did they? Not that we noticed what they didn’t play until much later, there’s more than enough here. The set opened with a relatively obscure Doolittle moment, the rather beautifully understated Gouge Away, they opened by singing to us that we could stay all day (or at least for the next hour or so if we wanted to), stay there just there chained to a pillar, rubbing away with holy fingers before the first of two versions of Wave of Mutilation (the refined UK Surf take on it came later) and that version of Jesus And Mary Chain’s Head On that they do so so well. The fact that they do it this way is so so much better, that they just don’t almost mindlessly perform it all, that they don’t just play to the crowd and instead really really play for the crowd and in doing just that Pixies do sound like it really does matter.

Isla de Encanta flies stylishly by, we really were expecting a whole load of new songs, don’t they have a new album out any moment now? They didn’t even do the new single. and of course Monkey Gone to Heaven is a highlight and if the devil is six just has to be screamed back at the four of them, screamed with them, and he does scream so well, no one screams like Black Francis. You forget just how much variety there is, what a catalogue they actually have, you get so comfortable with hearing those big songs so much, those big songs, the ones that everyone has borrowed from, you forget how Caribou fits together and how good it is. I never did get that “loud quiet” tag, they were never ever that obvious, those who borrowed heavily from them maybe were and “Hey!” and another change of pace and we’re chained again and it is very cathartic, it is possible to just let the songs take you over even in a massive crowd in the sunshine at a big machine of a music festival like this and “Hope Everything is Alright” and for a second there we though he might be asking us, but no, it was the start of Mr. Grieves and that is more than alright, they never ever actually said a word but they said so so much and those big smiles at the end really were heartfelt. 

Pixies are so compelling, those different bar lengths, the subtle craft that leaves you with so much more to hang on to without you really realising just how cleaver it all is, that different energy, the real art of proper song writing, those changing lengths, the depth of it all, the way they never quite repeat (when you might think they do). Was that almost a guitar solo?  A guitar lead solo? Pull out your lead, play with the end of it, make some noises that sound almost like Jimmy Page’s bow? Oh kiss the sky, Oh dance with me, oh let it rock. Pixies are why we’re here today, no one else, they don’t disappoint, although those who insist on talking loudly through the set do! Why are there so many people down in the body of the crowd talking so loudly to each other, shouting through the songs about things that are nothing to do with what’s happening on stage, I don’t give a shit how your mate is doing at uni, go stand at one of the bars at the side if that’s what you’re here for, I don’t want it right in my ear and yes I will turn around and tell you, and yes it did come to blows, shut the fuck up, no one came to listen to you! Velouvia came with an unexpected punch. Hey look, blood-boiling shouters in the crowd can’t ruin it, Pixies are doing something special up there… 

And the floor might not be concrete, it is mostly soil turned to dust and grass long gone on this second weekend of the festival, Cactus is beautifully moody and can you take off your dress and send it to me, just wishing I had something you wore, it feels almost intimate, just how is that dynamic working so well in this giant (and for this week rather corporate) East London park. The Vegas Suite is a new one, an actual new song from the new album and he’s coming today, he’s coming to save us. A beautiful song, a quiet moment, a genuine stand out with a glorious musical twist in the middle, an acoustic guitar and it leads so wonderfully on in to Heaven and everything is fine (and oh how Tim would have smiled, Cardiacs leader, like so so many other respected musicians, loved this band to bits) and you’ve got your good and I’ve got mine and no one else can scream like that and without a word that was quite a change in pace (again) and out there by the boxcar waiting and off to the nowhere planes and Here Comes Your Man and that gloriously gloriously sunny riff, that freedom, that just being out there (that riff always made me think of Buddy Holly) and oh how good is this set they’re playing? 

Oh how good is it that the songs do all the talking and more, there really is no need to say a single word, they know it, we know it and Vamos a jugar por la playa and what is that song about? It is almost like a beach here, no grass left in the park, and there we were on a Wave Of Mutilation again, the far slower version, beautiful and he’s on his knees, acoustic guitar trying to get feedback out of the amp, it is the details, that’s where their devil is. And Where is my Mind, and oh we know this one from the telly advert, we’ll shut up for a minute and sing along say half the crowd who just won’t shut the flip up, it really is a great version though, the annoying elements can’t ruin that either, no way is anyone going to ruin this today, and those whooooooos through the crowd send shivers and I swear he was trying to talk to me and not the other fish and try this trick and what is that “stop” about at the start? And way out in the water see it swimming and they end it all with their version of Neil Young’s Winterlong, a song they originally recorded way back in 1990 and all the things we thought of yesterday. And you know what? I like that they never said a word, not a single work, I like that the smiles at the end were more than enough, the four of them, arm in arm, just standing there smiling at the end of a brilliant set of songs played with more than enough passion, played with so much craft. I like that their new single came out today and they never played it or even mentioned it, I like all that and even though Oyster Song (the new single they never played) turns out to be a rather good new single, as does Your So Impatient and you’d think they’d be so impatient to play those new songs, you’d think they’d be busting apart to play their rather good new songs but that is not how Pixies do it and you’ve got to love the way Pixies do it, Pixies make you want to blow the stars from the sky, Pixies were wonderful, the talkers couldn’t spoil it…

yes, Pixies were the highlight, Pixies were the only real reason to be here, and once again, there wasn’t much demand we rush over to the park too early.  I mean we did check, we did do all the checking out of bands on the bill ahead of time, and yes All Points East often throws up something good and we were kind of curious about Jockstrap, we went down the front and waited for them to come on. Hey, let’s really give it a go, try to find a connect, but their fans, even those wearing their t-shirts for gawd sake, they just won’t shut up and Jockstrap (awful name) have some wonderful details, some dazzling details, some quiet details so please shut up! She, Georgia Ellery is also a member of Black Country, New Road, a band who promised so so much in their earlier days and then kind of didn’t later on, she’s there, trying to hold all the attention. The two of them are up on the big big stage in the afternoon sunshine, he’s sitting there like he’s at the office, pressing buttons, keys, whatever he’s doing, she singing, flouncing, twirling and they really have a big crowd wanting it to happen, it really is busy down the front, packed and quite a way back but so many in the crowd just won’t shut the flip up and Jocksstap are about the details as much as their big pictures and I’m starting to think there’s a hen party going on next to me, why the hell are these people here? I mean, these tickets aren’t cheap, why have you paid just to be in here talking loudly with your annoying mates, shut the fuck up! And Jockstap (that really really is an awful name!), as interesting as they threaten to be just aren’t connecting and some of it, like 50/50 is just too throwaway and no, let’s get out of here, they’re given away free ice cream over there, save the feather boa for another day, leave the room, the sonic boom, nah, the awfully named Jockstrap promised much, they didn’t connect, even Greatest Hits or Glasgow, it just didn’t quite happen, instead they (and their crowd, you’re not in a damn club or a bar listening to some records, shut the hell up!) sent us off for ice cream. Oatly Tropical flavoured ice cream, lick responsibly said the sign, just walk up to their stall and there it is, vegan, free and delicious, how goooooood is that vegan ice cream!

Aziyaand her pop art distracted for a moment over on the unsigned stage with her crush for Tom Verlaine and such, no don’t throw it all away, Aziya sounded good for a moment or two, worth further investigation maybe. The Kills were just awful, but then they always have been, we’ll leave them, you know the policy around here, we haven’t got time for all that filling our time and space with the negative. Monobloc sounded like lots of the current indie pop rock crop without adding that much of their own, they were better than some of we saw today, not as good as the free ice cream that really was the only thing that really got anywhere near being as good as those Pixies, but then Monobloc (or The dreadful Kills for that matter) don’t really care about what we say or where our garden is and what we’re MSPaint doing here? Did they accidentally get booked on to the wrong bill? Was this some booking agent flip up? Some cruel joke played on the band?

Now if ever a band were out of place then it was the Mississippi synth-driven hardcore punk flavoured (dare we say almost nu) metal band, a sound characterized by unlikely combinations of things thrown together in a sometimes frenzied set of rage against those deathgrip synth-driven guitarless machines and a front man who only cut one leg off his jeans and one arm off his shirt like some almost rebellious old school paint programme and well they have the attention of a small appreciative crowd, a few hundred are watching and wanting it to kick off on the small stage, the one or two fans already familiar with them can’t quite get a pit going but hey MSPaint and their Post-Americanism have something, they don’t have those Rage hooks, they don’t quite have the bombs, but they are good, their is a confidence, someone wants to tell us this is some kind of Industrial dance punk whatever the hell that is, it is all synths and bass lines, but it really is a Rage Against the Deathgrips thing and that front man has the right attitude, they have the energy, they have something that hints they might just be kicking off. This was the wrong time and place today but MSPaint were good, they made a few new friends, they grabbed more attention as the set moved on. they had nothing to lose and everything to gain, they were good, what were they doing here?

And there’s nothing much grabbing us on the other big stage at the other end of the festival, not really, there is only LCD Soundsystem left now, we’ve checked out other things on the other small stages, we’ve had some more of that deliciously free ice cream, we found a fiver on the floor (cash is king), just the main event now. Now lots of people who’s musical opinions I really kind of respect tell me they’re good and I need to give it another go, that James Murphy’s LCD Soundsystem are many magnificent things, it never has done anything for me though andI have tried. I can get why it appeals to others, that no messing thump, the gently drive, the restrain, but it does nothing, too polite, too safe, too nice, they’re the electric car version of rock ‘n roll when you want a filthy V8 coming at you, they’re a a slick alcohol free pint, I imagine the kind of people who go to bloody “Glasto” and think Coldplay are the cutting edge like them, and oh l tried. I really wanted to like them and yes the crowd aren’t helping, the crowd are damn well talking again, the cheapest ticket was eighty-five quid, surely you didn’t pay that just to talk through the headline band’s set?! Yes, I know, I got in free, we’re on the press list, if I had paid I’d be well pee’d off, I kind of am anyway, shut the hell up with your damn cackling!). Oh look, this is way too slick, too well behaved, they really are the kind of band who would own a New York Michelin-starred restaurant, they’re like Broadway Market on a Hackney Saturday, all standing around eating ten quid scotch eggs and people who don’t really need music to really really matter like nothing else does. Oh look, I tried, we tried (and people are talking too much), we retreat to the edges, we watch on from the sidelines for a bit and then politely drift off and leave them to it, they’re not for us. Over to Mr Fog for an observation…             

“LCD Soundsystem, one of my very favourite bands at All Points East last night: Barely audible over the sound of THE ENTIRE CROWD TALKING throughout the set – except for right at the end when they all suddenly remembered to sing along to All Of My Friends. Quieter parts of the gig (including what I gather was a tribute to a fallen comrade) were completely obliterated by the sounds of several thousand people bleating and squawking and blathering at one another. Completely ruined the whole thing – and the band seemed to be in their usual fantastic form as well. This is why I don’t go to big shows any more”.  

And that was that, Pixies were beautiful, they said everything they needed to, the free ice cream was delicious, MSPaint threatened to be even better than the free ice cream and hey we walked to the park, we got in free, we didn’t spend a penny all day, we found a fiver, the weather held and I guess LCD Soundsystem are good at what they do, they certainly looked good from the side, just way to slick and nice and polite, just way too slick for for us… (sw)

previously: ORGAN THING: Loyle Carner, Nas, André 3000, Cymande and more at All Points East, Victoria Park, London, what a beautifully positive day it was…

Post Script: Turns out the fallen comrade Mr Fog referred to was, as James Murphy told it to the crowd, ‘‘Yesterday, we lost a very dear friend of ours, Justin Chearno. We’re all fucking destroyed. We’re trying our best. We love him and miss him. This sucks. Thank you for being here and being a part of it.’’ Chearno was a co-founding partner alongside Murphy of the Michelin-starred restaurant and wine bar ‘The Four Horsemen’ in Brooklyn, New York” which kind of makes my comment seem a little flippant and I probably should remove it, but that was made before I knew and it kind of is the kind of band they are. Respect to Justin Chearno’s friends and family, to the band who clearly were having an emotional time  “And, later, a tender moment came as Murphy put his arm around keyboardist Nancy Whang as Dance Yrself Clean drew to a close. Next, he dedicated the tear-soaked ode ‘New York, I Love You but You’re Bringing Me Down’ to their dearly departed friend. It was powered by grief…” Respect to James Murphy and his band, they just don’t really do it for us..

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