Well void hath extended no longer! - And as we entered the Horden Pavilion on Monday the 15th of March, filtering through gates that streamed forward in an amalgamation of the young and old, we sat in the courtyard and waited patiently for the universal call to arms familiar to most events of similar proceedings. Cries and screams of Pixie related dreams were heard throughout, and suddenly the lights dimmed. So through gaps we maneuvered like serpents; squeezing our bodies under, around and through people whose scowls at our tenacity were quickly forgotten and lost to the opening strums of dancing the manta ray. Black Francis wailed his distinctive wails amidst a series of multi-coloured spotlights that illuminated the band and allowed the opening infamous B-side song to receive the attention it deserved. The claps of many joined in a collection of hysteria at the outbreak of waves of mutilation, and as the song progressed it appeared a sense of nostalgia had fallen like a spell over the members of the audience; seizing even the most brazen of individuals as the song played out behind an arena of closed eyes. I bleed left a sea of sweaty and charged patrons as Kim Deal peered out from behind her bass and through the dimness she remarked with cheek ‘that’s half of our set already…wow!’
It was hard to imagine that the recording of the Doolitle album, for which the concert was based on, had occurred over twenty years ago. Further, that the cries of yesteryear, bellowing from the stage ahead, were still so applicable to an audience of mixed age and generation. But nay, and as the songs kept rolling so to did the dancing and the floor space saw fifty something’s next to eighteen year olds- and there was something oddly timeless at play as crackity jones faded into la la love you. It was becoming apparent that the band were not a forgotten product of a generation now long passed, but rather that their music had the ability to affect people in similar ways, irrespective of birth year. No 13 baby caused a gentlemen in front of me to remark ‘I want this song to go on forever,’ and indeed it seemed it would; such was the enthusiasm of the crowd as whistles were whistled and smiles from the band acknowledged.
And then, amongst the sheer build up to a song that many had treated as an anthem of youth, hey heard the screams of thousands fill the arena, reverberate off walls and proverbially set the place on fire. It, amongst others, would be the resulting factor that disallowed me the luxury of speech the day after. Gouge away was to be their final song from the Doolittle album and as the last words strayed from Francis’s lips people screamed and held their breath as the question on everyone’s mind began its beg ‘would there be an encore?’
And encore there was as the group reemerged to thunderous applause, the ruckus continuing as a second, though stripped down, bout of wave of mutilation entertained. Into the white followed before the group fled backstage once more, waiting a full five minutes before delivering their final series of chords. Velouria, Nimrod’s sun and Vamos all seemed powerful closers, and just when there was time for one more song where is my mind arrived without warning, further cementing an entire collection of individuals who would be voiceless for days to come. As the lights finally returned we trickled back out into the Monday night streets where, through the haze and smoke of it all, we smiled and found seats- no longer able to walk…the sheer impact of the event overwhelming and we were happy to have been a part of the seen sights and feats.
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