Live Review: Pixies, The Murlocs

Returning for their fourth post-reunion tour, Pixies have a new weapon in their arsenal in the form of last year's album Head Carrier, which saw a balanced return to their classic sound with fresh songwriting and a renewed edge.

In support, The Murlocs fulfilled their obligations, but a 40 minute opening slot of mid-paced, bluesy, garage-rock fell flat ahead of the headliner's dynamic onslaught. The end of their set was more interesting with a fuller sound courtesy of frontman Ambrose Kenny-Smith adding a second guitar, but it was too little too late.

Pixies' defining approach to their current live show is one of economy. With four stick clicks they were straight into Gouge Away from their seminal Doolittle album, and from then on there were zero words spoken to the audience, little interplay between band members and just song after song in rapid-fire procession with nary a lull between songs (bar a few guitar changes). The breadth of their catalogue was on full display as they roared through new songs from Head Carrier - Um Chagga Lagga and Frank Black's blistering throat shredder Baal's Back particular highlights and easily the equal of the band's older songs.

Four figures — all clad in black and fairly static in their movements — were like an immoveable core in the eye of a storm as strobe lights, smoke and the music created the shapes and sounds around them. Joey Santiago's guitar was urgent, dissonant and cut through more than ever while drummer David Lovering led from the back, the heartbeat and conductor of the band. Paz Lenchantin is well and truly embedded as a key member of Pixies 2.0, exuding both confidence and deference to the songs.

Here Comes Your Man, Gigantic, Bone Machine and La La Love You were glaring omissions from the setlist, but it was hard to complain on the back of 30-odd songs that demonstrated what a gloriously weird and obtuse band Pixies are. They instilled mass singalongs to Monkey Gone To Heaven, Where Is My Mind? and Hey and then realigned synapses with the 30-year-old frantic dash of Isla De Encanta, the manic schizo-gallop of Vamos and the fractured surf-thrash of Broken Face. Disappearing in a wall of noise, smoke and white light, Pixies remain the perfect example of a reformed band still creatively alive, committed to their songs and audience.