Pixies – Oyster Beds Review

Their run of form in the lead-up to The Night the Zombies came has been questionable, but Pixies are putting their weight behind this one. Doggrel was a great listen until the finished product came out – its last-minute mixing changes staggered what was a near-complete overhaul of their sound. Cold feet got in the way of such a release, so we wait with bated breath, catching left hooks and worrying glimpses of their next album. Oyster Beds is another slice of this particular attempt at being relevant. But Pixies were never going to pick up those catchy beats. Their strengths lay elsewhere and it sounds like they are not returning to what makes them such a bold force to be reckoned with anytime soon. It is not a matter of wanting more of the same, it is simply trying to understand this new flavour of work.  

The trouble with Oyster Beds is not a disregard for their popular past – holding Pixies to this standard is unfair. No, the problem is with the future of the band. Oyster Beds is brief, big on nonsensical lyrics, and has a punchy set of instrumentals that are trying to claw at some form of relevancy. But when bands are now evolving their sound, it feels a tad strange to hear Pixies go through the motions. They are stuck with the rudimentary, boundary-pushing noise of their past because it is what they know. It sounds as though they have expired all options for where they could take it, and instead rely on Frank Black to fill in the hefty gaps between instrumental uninterest. Oyster Beds highlights a worrying problem with bands who cannot shake up their fundamentals and yet try and reach for something else. New ideas in the old format are just a pastiche of what was once popular.  

For Oyster Beds, it means clunky lyrical pieces which border the nonsensical from Black. Homes in the Dadasphere and pools at the bottom of the ocean where those delicious sea-faring creatures live. What it means for Pixies is surely something unexplainable. But the emotional volume of their song is no longer in reach. Their lazy repetition of “hey,” for the outro is a stark disappointment, as is the instrumental break which is no different to the underlying guitar work heard earlier or later in the track. It sounds more like a breather for Black than anything else. It sounds like the light punk noise which would be used for a movie of barely likeable teens running amuck.  

Pixies is more about sound and feeling than lyrical or instrumental interest. A shame since Black and Joey Santiago are exceptional musicians, or were in this matter. Oyster Beds is a sincere letdown not in what it does but in what it lacks. They are trying to capture a magic which has, sadly, left them. It feels unfortunate more than anything. Pixies still has the polished core of what made them such a strong live piece but the studio work has slacked off, a loose understanding of what now makes their audience, and themselves, tick into new territory. They are ill-defined and underwhelming, trying to grasp what made them such a force to be reckoned with. Oyster Beds is a symptom of a much larger problem for the band.