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The year was 1989 and the world was wholeheartedly ready for something new.  That’s when Doolittle came along.  The album feels as massive and groundbreaking today as it did back then and even though it’s inspired countless other bands in the last 20 years, it continues to sound unique and refreshing.

Frank Black brings the rage and Kim Deal the sweetness.  It’s an unlikely combination filled with an uncanny sense of balance alongside reeling guitar rhythms that couldn’t be any more jarring except when combined with lyrics about mutilation and gleeful guns. Like a bitter dream, the lyrics unfold as a challenge to the senses one cannot ignore even if he/she chooses not to accept.  The caustic edge of the music behind it can even cause you to lose sense of your body’s position in space when played loud enough.

There’s something magical about a band as epic sounding as The Pixies who can deliver the same sense of angst the album never lost as it’s been working to help form the experiences of generations of people who will never quite be able to leave it behind.  The band played in front of large video screens showing appropriate visuals for each song, running hearts for the gentler “Here Comes Your Man” and guns for “There Goes My Gun,” for instance.  In many ways, Frank Black looked statuesque and immortal even when screaming out “Friend is Foe” at the top of his lungs.  Kim Deal, always the lighter counterpart, stood behind him stage left rocking out in her own way.

It’s almost obvious to say that The Pixies can play Doolittle with the energy and tightness as your wildest hopes but it was also great to hear some other tracks when the band emerged back on stage for two separate encores.  Beginning with an alternate version of “Wave of Mutilation” (UK Surf version) as sensitive as the song could ever be rendered, The Pixies quickly moved on to “Into the White” then left the stage again.  For minutes that felt like eons, the crowd sweated with anticipation until receiving a much more aggressive second encore that was more of an assault than anything witnessed earlier on between “Nimrod’s Son” and “U-Mass.”  It was almost alarming to hear one of their most lush and graceful tunes “Velouria” follow and end the night.

Beyond that, there is an essence almost indescribable that results from fans young and aged shouting out “God is seven!” and emphatically singing along to their favorite songs.  In some cases, the band’s audience following helps take their already effective sound to a new level.  The songs’ unlikely sort of anthemic quality is heightened and it’s impossible to not feel their sense of ubiquitousness. Somehow, these words over the past two decades have become shared and have almost risen to a whole new possibility.  While we could have all easily grown up to be debasers, the quality of our character is much more hopeful than all that.