Much like my love affair with the Archers of Loaf, The Beastie Boys took root some time ago. It's funny how things just get under your skin and stay, like someone stitched them into your flesh and once and awhile pulls the string.
Pleasure is pain, baby.
Speaking of pain... well, really speaking of phlegm... I saw another lover last night... the Pixies. Back in action on a Doolittle Tour, the fab four thankfully brought out more energy than I could muster. I won't complain too much... I still went to the freakin' show you know... but I was definitely ill. Hopped up on painkillers, cold meds and just enough bingers not to rot my already crusty lungs, I descended upon the Pixies wearing a Dead Weather t-shirt. What a fucking dork.
My hazed head followed through Doolittle, song by song, and energetically opened up to the several encores that included hits from Come On Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa (my fav). Kim Deal, though surrounded by fat, bald men, can still bring me to my knees (or was that the near-lethal combination of the cures what ails ya?). Whatever it maybe, she is still so rad. Closed the show with "Gigantic". Oh yeah.
The Pixies are not the only band to kick back to their roots and play an old, multi-platinum album for adoring fans. Liz Phair did it with Exile in Guyville last year, and it was awesome. But what is it that is simultaniously alluring and appalling about these oldies but goodies rehashing their hits? Are they out of fresh air? Should I be worried that all we have to look forward to in the next decade is remakes and re-releases? Hell, what am I talking about... if the Archers want to get back together and do a Icky Meddle tour, I'm totally there.