In comparison to and independent of Pixies’ previous efforts, Head Carrier has much to prove. Not only must it continue the excitement of their reformation, twenty years before the release of Head Carrier, but it must prove their place as cultural commentators. A pastiche of themselves is not an option, but it is what they offer. It is noticeable from word go, the title song, which offers little beyond contempt for the return. Deja vu, the return to the stage and the issue of keeping up appearances. Head Carrier is at least a moment of clarity for Black Francis, who suggests the band may be headed down the drain. The going gets rough from here, and even recent releases like The Night the Zombies Came, while much better than Head Carrier, hear the band playing catch-up with their sound. Perhaps that is the point, though, with the disdain seen for Where Is My Mind in some performances like the wildly different vocal variations Bob Dylan uses for his best-known songs.
That disdain appears on Head Carrier. Instrumental interest is what carries the early moments of this effort, a pale imitation of the alternative rock catch-up the band was making on Trompe le Monde two decades before. What Paz Lenchantin adds to Pixies is clear. Quality. Classic Masher and Baal’s Back are frankly weak efforts made better by her presence on bass guitar. Even her nod to Kim Deal serves as a classy move, a thank you letter to a tumultuous departure. Who knows whether Pixies will extend the same song to Lenchantin now that she has been booted from the band. It sounds like there is depth to this sound, the tricky balance of loud momentum and quiet, articulate instrumental tone is found on album highlight Might as Well Be Gone, the simplicity and repetition a neat quirk for the group. Oona may as well not be on the album for what little good it does, overwhelmed by the follow-up, Talent.
That last line on Talent, “what a waste of…” rings as an awkward last moment. Francis reflects, accidentally so, on the reformed Pixies’ state. Strong live work, idle studio attempts. Stories with no end, no message, but a tangible link to those religious meanings which Francis moulded the earliest albums with. Bel Esprit has the delicate wit and occasional roar of interest, the punchiness which once defined Pixies, right there for the taking. A passivity is the problem for Head Carrier. For all its bombastic thrills, the moody rut of Um Chagga Lagga, it never feels connected to the tangible feeling, the open wound of a reunion without a founding member. Head Carrier tries to pick up where Tromp le Monde left off, but for most, that is not a place of interest. A shame, too, since it is a strong album, a statement of intent before the band collapsed into a heap.
Francis and the group have continued sifting through the wreckage of what once was. They are yet to find anything which works for them. The wit is still there. Francis is still a bel esprit, though when he makes it the point of his song, a reminder to audiences that he is still writing, it makes the uniqueness, the energy behind it, mute. Pixies have coasted along on mediocrity ever since they reunited. A few scraps of strong material on Head Carrier make up for the weaker parts, the line of fine songwriting and instrumental value is walked without much desire to push further. Pixies has often sounded defeated by their previous image, and though Head Carrier gets them no closer to a new sound, it is a lack of energy in the face of this challenge which is most surprising. Head Carrier is a chance to set the world alight once more, but, after listening in, you would think the band just doesn’t have it in them anymore.
