At some point in the early 2010s, Pixies band leader Black Francis aka Frank Black finally stopped separating church and state. Whereas before he treated the Pixies’ back catalogue as a sacred vault, and his second band, the Catholics, as an unmodulated well of new ideas, somewhere around the recording sessions of the EP’s that would go on to make up 2014’s Indie Cindy, it seems he decided to say ‘Fuck it’ and bet it all on Black.

Since then, Pixies have been steadfastly releasing new material, reaching an unshakeable balance that always eluded them in their first formation all those decades ago. Even the recent departure of Paz Lenchantin, who after 10 years with the band, was finally welcomed as a constant member by their fans, made little waves, unlike their previous bassist shifts. The Pixies have a new player, Emma Richardson, of Band of Skulls fame, a new album, and a new tour — so it goes. 

New bassist or not, it isn’t like a new album by the Pixies is a heart-stopping event anymore. Over the past decade, the band has put out five albums, outdoing their early output in volume at any rate. And much like Beneath the Eyrie (2019) and Doggerel (2022), on The Night the Zombies Came, all the individual elements are adequately grafted in. Yet that strange verve that once made the Pixies such an unequaled and deranged presence — both on stage and on the airwaves — is sadly in short supply. 

The pastiche that Black has built up for himself is all here; country swingers, shimmering indie, gentle surf – and all of it is reliably good. That tame reliability has become both a vantage and a crutch for these contemporary Pixies. Even when they break out of first gear on amenable stompers like “Ernest Evans” and “Oyster Beds,” their bite seems dulled. Where before the band would fill every hanging space in a song with screeching guitar work-outs, disturbed vocal squeals and discomforting lyrics, here, they sound terminally competent, staying in the pocket and getting on with it.

Like it or not, Pixies have little bars to clear at this point in their lives. And there is plenty to be said for fans taking it as a personal slight that Black cannot or will not recapture the madness of a 20-year-old lost artsy kid now as he circles 60. And yet, that shaking spark, dimmer or not, will never fully go out. In that, the beauty of a truly great, rightfully revered band lies. That’s why no matter what precedes it, every time Pixies do drop a new album, their fans will always carry that coiled feeling of “maybe this time.”