A Ben Cohen Ink Comic


By Ben Cohen a “legendary master of the left field.” -BRP!

“Unintentionally misunderstood since 1975.” –Anonymous

“A big f@#k you, to the audience.” -B. Pendarvis

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Friday, January 22, 2010

Pixies and the State of Fasion Part II of II

We walked out of the W, turned right, went across the street and into the Wang Theater.  The ornate classic city theater is actually impressive.  The juxtaposition of the environment that catalysts this moment 20 years ago with this arrival are somehow fitting.  The high sealing was accompanied by an appropriate sound track of looped sequence.  All music fitting for influencing the Pixies.  The crowed was diverse, which made for interesting seating arraignments (seating being the only issue that night).  Erin and I were sandwiched between; sell out drunk frat boys (that may have been trying to regain shreds of their progressive childhood) and two snotty music shique girls dressed in black.  I only mention theme, because they were equally annoying from opposite ends of the spectrum.  One two drunk to participate (or add your DK euphemism) and one two cool for school.  Who knows what they thought of us.  The diversity in all its cross-sections were present and really spoke to the amount of influence the Pixies had grown over the decades.  The opening act was preformed by the obtusely enthused Rain Machine (side project for one of TV on the Radio band members…you might recognize their songs Wolf Like Me and DLZ, two of my favorites from the last 5 years).  The girls next to us were quite rude about what was an amazing moment for Rain Machine… which basically started off with potential and then never left the ground with dorky luster, but no reason not to be happy for them.

20 years ago in this area of Boston, in some dank space the Pixies recorded Doolittle their junior effort.  The thing about the Pixies is that their best album depends on when you entered into the mix (for me it has been hard to shake my Bossanova bias).  However, Doolittle while it may not have my favorite songs (see Surfer Rosa), it is arguably the most solid start to finish album. With the B-Sides added in (much better live then on the recording) the show was not missing much, but just in case they still snuck in Where is My Mind? (from Surfer Rosa) in the end.  It was the ultimate in Fight Club and it was the ultimate in person.  Add in some amazing videography that conceptualized the albums themes in an eye opening way, you almost didn’t need the band there to have an amazing performing arts experience.  Then again, these are some of the world’s best stage performers (yeah I know, you wouldn’t think it looking at them…but trust me, they are).  It was absolutely a special anniversary experience, with historical context that elevated the moment.  It was wonderful having Kim Deal play bass and curator.  For Erin and I as parents and Vermonters we do not get to experience these types of events like we have in our youth, so it was really wonderful to be there and to have everything go so well, with such convenience.

The show ended and we left with the massive crowed.  Out front were a fire truck and two ambulances.  As we noticed this, a man on a gurney was being ushered through past us.  Too much show, I guess.  Just after that was an 8 foot green figure strapped to the back of pick up (he couldn’t have fit in the ambulance)…it was the Hulk.  We waived our way through stalled traffic and pasted the long line waiting to get into the W’s electric dance bar.  We were laughing at this point (at the Hulk and the line to get into the W, not at the man on gurney).  These drunk “girls” dressed ridiculously entered the elevator along with us and another “older couple.”  They were piping the DJ into the elevator.  The girls got off and the four of us laughed.  I commented that we had a bar in our rooms.  We could pull some drinks in the elevator instead of paying and standing in line down stairs…but hay we were all to old to pull off such a spontaneous idea.  Therefore, Erin and I had a good night instead.

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