Purveyor of Iniquities

Just over one year ago, Angharad and I went to see the Pixies over at DAR hall. Laurel bought too many tickets, and Rule conveyed two of them to us (I don’t remember whether or not I actually paid for them. If not, sorry, Laurel. That’s partially why I’ve been so careful to pay for things since.).

I’d never been one for the Pixies; not for any great reason, I’d just never gotten into them. But the first song really struck me: “In Heaven” from David Lynch’s Eraserhead. Sitting way up in the bleachers, I really enjoyed the show and could see Angie bopping back and forth in her seat, unable to keep from smiling. The music spoke to me in a way that the Pixies hadn’t before, and the showmanship was great, too, but something about the self-consciousness of the performers got to me too. It kept me from enjoying myself too much, seeing these 40-year-olders on the stage on their self-dubbed Sell Out tour. In hindsight, I might have seen this as a symptom of some greater malaise. Angharad almost certainly did, though it took her another 9 months to decide what to do about it.

Compact disc set 937 out of 1000 made of the show that night–December 7, 2004, number 2 of the 12 final shows, though they’ve done more since, right?–sat untouched here for months, first on her dresser, than in her nighttable, and more recently on a bookshelf. Tonight I ripped off the plastic and popped it into my laptop; Gracenote’s CDDB knew just what it was. The sound is good if a bit tinny at times. I only know a few of the songs, but I can close my eyes and see the stage and imagine Angharad sitting to my left, utterly hypnotized by it all.

After the show, we walked home up 18th St. and got caught in a downpour. We spent probably half an hour under the awning of some tony restaurant, reading the menu over and again and trying not to meet the stares of the few diners left inside.

She was happy then, I think. There’s evidence. And so was I, probably.