There are few bands who can successfully get away with sounding both completely out of their minds and totally in control at the same time. The Pixies have always existed somewhere in that space, a bizarre intersection of noise, melody, surrealism and sharp pop instinct.
With ‘The Night the Zombies Came’, they’re not reinventing that wheel, but they are giving it a distinctly Halloween-tinged wobble and a fresh coat of oddball gloss. From the off, it’s clear this isn’t a ‘comeback’ record or some desperate attempt to relive the glory days. It’s very much a Pixies album made by people who are aware that they’ve influenced generations, and couldn’t care less. This is not a band chasing trends. If anything, they’re actively ignoring them, possibly while muttering something cryptic about poultry and the end times.
The title track, nestled near the centre, is probably the best encapsulation of what this album is going for. It’s menacing without being overly dramatic, with just the right amount of Black Francis paranoia. The pacing is tight, the instrumentation sits in that classic Pixies pocket, dry, dynamic, and ever so slightly unhinged, and lyrically, it’s the kind of dreamlike apocalypse tale you’d expect from a band that always sounded like they were writing about the end of the world, even when they weren’t.
Elsewhere, the band alternate between short bursts of punk weirdness and slower, more contemplative moments that still carry the weight of their earlier work, just now filtered through a few more years and a few less sharp corners. ‘You’re So Impatient’ is two minutes of glorious noise, jagged, crunchy and immediately infectious. It’s a bit like being yelled at by someone who’s probably right, even if they’re not making a lot of sense.
Then there’s ‘Chicken’, which, and I cannot stress this enough, is about a decapitated chicken that’s still thinking. It shouldn’t work. By all rights, it should be the point you roll your eyes and skip ahead. And yet, somehow, it lands. There’s something so committed to the absurdity, so beautifully odd, that you just sort of go with it. That’s the magic trick the Pixies have always pulled off: even if this album is a little more ‘clean and tidy’ overall than some older fans, and admittedly I might like.
Musically, everything is tight. Joey Santiago’s guitar still sounds like it’s being beamed in from a flying saucer, and David Lovering keeps everything anchored with drums that manage to be both loose and precise, no small feat. Paz Lenchantin’s bass lines are thick and driving, and her backing vocals add a cool, almost haunting counterpoint to Francis’ more manic delivery. Personally I’m sad to know she’s departed the band for pastures new now.
Lyrically, it’s hard to pin down. You’ll get snatches of meaning, themes of mortality and decay, maybe even some biting commentary, but mostly it feels like being caught in someone else’s dream logic. Sentences appear to make sense until you really think about them. Which, honestly, is exactly what I want from a Pixies record. Let the pop stars write about breakups, I’ll take the existential barnyard horror, thanks.
By the time the album closes, you’re left with that weird, slightly shell-shocked (yes, more chicken references, I’m not sorry) feeling that only a truly eccentric band can provide. It’s not exhausting, if anything, it leaves you wanting to go back and unpick the bits you didn’t quite catch. That’s probably the best compliment I can give it. This is not a ‘one and done’ kind of record.
‘The Night the Zombies Came’ isn’t a reinvention. It’s a reaffirmation, a reminder that weird can still be smart, noisy can still be intentional, and ageing rock bands can still be exciting without resorting to nostalgia-fuelled box ticking. It’s messy, melodic, mischievous, and completely, unmistakably Pixies…even if their best work is probably behind them.
Author: Tom, Cardiff Store
