[Originally published May 14, 2013]
The Pixies’ first proper studio effort embodies perfectly their recklessly unconventional college rocker persona. Every track incorporates that raw, fuzzy, unbridled sound later utilized by everyone from My Bloody Valentine to Deerhunter to Girls. That sound without which no one would ever have embraced a certain trio of long-haired Seattle upstarts and their fledgling garage-punk outfit – a mere three years, mind you, after this album’s release. (Kurt Cobain later admitted that “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was his stab at writing a Pixies tune, and it’s easy to see the connection.) But just because the record is sloppy doesn’t mean it’s a total mess – true, it threatens to fall apart at any moment, but the band manages to keep it together, and then some. Kim Deal’s plodding bass lines; the frantic, scorching siren that is Joey Santiago’s guitar; and Dave Lovering’s able-handed drumming come together to create something truly memorable.
Like Buddy Holly and the Ramones before them, some of the band’s best moments come out in their shortest, punchiest tunes – songs like “Something Against You” and tremendously catchy closer “Brick is Red.” The four-and-a-half minute “Vamos,” one of the few tracks that surpasses the 2-minute mark, even seems to drag a bit in comparison to these. But this only serves to further justify the group’s massive appeal among the bored, angsty, disconnected youth of the late 80s-early 90s.
Adding to the record’s disjointed feel is the tension, just barely palpable here, between leader Black Francis and Deal – tension that would demolish the band by the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind. Deal’s raspy yet oddly angelic vocals (used to miraculously eerie effect on “Gigantic” and the gleeful confusion of the band’s hands-down masterpiece “Where Is My Mind?”) collide haphazardly with Black’s yelping, paranoiac shout-singing – especially during the nonsensical hook of “River Euphrates” and the disturbed chorus of “I’m Amazed.” This goes without mentioning the countless moments when Black’s yelps turn to demonic screams and guttural growls – all of which are intensified by the masterful production of Steve Albini. Perhaps the group’s angst was directed not only at the deteriorating world but also at each other.
Surfer Rosa may not be a perfect record – that’s obviously not what they were going for – but with all its flaws, it’s still a brilliantly-assembled hodgepodge of bold ideas and a stellar cultural landmark from some of music’s true innovators. And after 25 years, it still hasn’t lost its sting. (8.8/10)