Monkey Gone To Heaven


I did not grow up listening to the Pixies. I never even heard of them until well into adulthood. Is that an embarrassing oversight? Well, even the best encyclopedia has oversights. Late 80’s American alternative music has never been my focus and there’s an entire field of it out there that leaves me bewildered and unimpressed. I get that the scene was reactionary towards the overstyled excesses of the Duran Duran era, and I get that a lot of it was important and good, but it’s hard for me to get excited about a musical genre where even the women don’t wear makeup. Like, grunge was, like, the pre-normcore and pre-grunge alternative was, like, pre-pre-normcore, and I’m like totally anti-normcore. But mostly it’s just a rejection of things my friends’ older siblings were into. ‘Cause I kind of missed the boat with the whole Generation X thing. What was that all about? So, coming from all that, the first time I heard a Pixies song my initial reaction was “what is this fabulous new indie sound and who are these promising young upstarts?” Doolittle, their best work, really has not aged at all. There’s nothing about it that dates it as an artifact of 1989. It could be on college radio, and is.

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