Brighton's best...
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Frank Black & The Catholics...
review The last time I saw Frank Black live he was Black Francis and I was too small to see the stage. I could glimpse Kim Deal through gaps in the sweaty melle if I jumped high enough, and hovered in the air for as long as scientifically possible. ‘Doolittle’ and ‘Surfer Rosa’ were the soundtrack to ‘Bec : The Pubescent Years’, and much of the sequel. Ahh, that joyful Pixies ruckus...It’s now well over a decade later and we are in a fit-to-bursting point Concorde in honour of Mr. Black and his merry backing band The Catholics. We’ve heard he’s been playing the odd Pixies song lately, perhaps warming up for their imminent reunion, and their arrival on stage is indeed heralded by a Pixies number. It’s ‘Cactus’ with it’s heady anticpation: “Make your dress all wet and send it to me...” and the crowd go ballistic. The boy behind me is gibbering and squealing feverishly like a 9-year old girl at a Blue concert, jumping up and down on the spot like he missed his last Ritalin every time he recognises a Pixies intro: “Aarghhh! I know this one!”. Yes my sweet, we all do, that’s why most of us are here... And indeed there are several more Pixies tunes to keep him screeching, including ‘Caribou’ and a ‘Velouria’ that sets the studenty crowd frollicing so gaily tweed-burn is a certainty. For a moment I wonder what it must be like to be in The Catholics, playing some of the coolest songs ever written, except they’re not your tunes... But they have their own charm - there’s flat-capped Stephen Dorff meets Jack Nicholson on bass, a blonde Raveonettes-u-like guitarist with perma-fag, and their secret weapon, Hank Marvin meets Andy Warhol meets Jarvis Cocker. He could be Joey Santiago’s Maths teacher and he might even be the one from Wayne’s World who’s not Mike Myers. Whoever this wonder-geek channelled, he came and he gave without taking. Aside from being a stunning musical virtuoso gliding from lead guitar to piano to slide guitar, he has every rock shape in the book - the twirling windmills, the hipthrusts, he’s even throwing trigger fingers at the crowd - but he is delightfully geeky in his undertaking of these moves, following a crazy guitar solo by nudging his specs up the bridge of his nose and fluffing up his hair. He’s the perfect foil to the workman-like rocking of the other two geezers and the drummer. And then of course there’s Frank Black. The decade hasn’t been kind to his midriff but he still has a lovely voice, like gritty honeycomb. He leads his compadres through an interesting enough set but - well, it ain’t the Pixies, nor does it pack half the punch of Kim Deal’s post-Pixies baby The Breeders. Some of the songs hit the spot, most alas don’t really touch the sides, and I find myself kind of glad when it’s all done and dusted. With charming modesty the band line up at the end to wave goodbye to the crowd, and then they are off. In some ways the obvious missing ingredients leave me panting for the Pixies reformation. But should you go back, meet up with your childhood sweethearts, or is it like looking up Friends Reunited - it seems like a good idea, but in the end aren't you just comparing how far you’ve come, is there anything left to say? Why taint a beautiful memory? For more music listings and reviews see our gigs page on this site.
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The Aquarium Theatre Bar
