Pixies
Doolittle
1989, 4AD/Elektra
I can’t listen to Doolittle anymore. I don’t hate it, but I’m finished with it.
There was a time when I loved it. There was a time when it was everything to me. It was my first Pixies album and right away, I thought that it was as good as music got. After my very first listen, I had a new favorite band (“Sorry, Beatles, you’re now #2”). No music had ever punched me in the face like that before. No music had ever screamed at me like that before. It was raw blunt force trauma with catchy hooks. The songs were jagged and jittery. They were quick little things that sliced through space and time like razors. And they were all so good and instantly infectious, not to mention darkly funny. They were stuck in my head all day, a constant source of energy and inspiration.
And now I’m done with it. Have been for at least fifteen years. I think I used it all up.
I was 19 and a total dork in 1995 when I bought Doolittle at a used CD store and Black Francis was 23 when he made it. A whole lot of life was waiting to happen to both of us. Over time, I think both he and I would relate less and less to this album’s shrieking young smartass, however brilliant he was, and move on to other things.
