Pixies' Black Francis treats Galway gig like it's no big deal

Lead singer might lack enthusiasm for banter but moments of pop perfection prove a salve for the fans

The Pixies performing at The Heineken Big top for The Galway International Arts Festival. Photos: Andrew Downes

There has always been something cartoonish about the Pixies. No matter how serious their collective demeanour, the suspicion lingers that they are taking the mickey.

At the Big Top in Galway, they turn in a perfectly competent show, but one that seems to follow the quiet-loud-quiet dynamic of their best-loved songs. They no sooner have the crowd leaping around to one of their classic tunes than they follow up with a mellower number, and the mood becomes more subdued again.

It doesn’t help that Black Francis is so taciturn as to dispense with between-song banter entirely. There’s no ‘Hello, Galway!’, and one gets the impression that he doesn’t care where he is. In a packed tent, it just seems discourteous.

Which is a shame, as his voice is in fine fettle, Joey Santiago remains mercurial on lead guitar, and David Lovering on drums is as reliably steady as ever. Some would argue that the Pixies should never have carried on without their original bassist Kim Deal, who left for the final time in 2013, but on the evidence of Friday night’s performance, Paz Lenchantin has filled her shoes with great aplomb. Indeed, her solo vocal on Gigantic is easily the high point of the night, delivered with subversive glee.

Here comes your man: Pixies front man Black Francis didn't seem unbelievably enthusiastic on the night. Photo: Andrew Downes

Every successful band has its golden years, and for the Pixies it was that period from their Surfer Rosa debut album in 1988 to Trompe le Monde in ‘91. Much of Firday night’s set is drawn from that early incarnation. Wave of Mutilation, Debaser, Velouria, Here Comes Your Man; all sound as ferocious as ever, two to three-minute blasts of pop perfection.

Black Francis’s muse might not have ever served him quite so well again. The later albums – Indie Cindy, Head Carrier  and Beneath the Eyrie– have stuck to the formula, but lack the magic dust that differentiates great art from the good.

Black Francis must know that, surely. It is only on the final number, Where Is My Mind?, that he finally engages with his audience, raising his hand to give a little wave. Then it is all over. He doesn’t introduce his bandmates, and there is no encore. Not to sound petulant, but it feels like he is taking us for granted.