Credited with producing arguably some of the best alternative rock music of the 80s and 90s, Pixies owned the venue and everybody in it; the change in line-up making little difference - new bassist Kim Shattuck is a perfectly acceptable replacement after band founder Kim Deal's departure earlier this year.
After an unbearable 60 second countdown, the four-piece take to the stage and are greeted by a chorus of screams and cheers - the screams and cheers of those eager to relive the heydays of indie rock, and of those who have merely heard stories. Without uttering a word the band break into 'Wave of Mutilation', the first of a 28-course feast hosted by Black Francis and co.
The first few songs are welcomed like old friends but it's not long before Pixies erupt into 'Where Is My Mind?', followed immediately after by 'Here Comes Your Man' - the noise is relentless and both tracks are met by roars of admiration. Francis is crazed, barking and grunting indecipherable words - he says nothing to the crowd; no words are necessary.
The set doesn't simply dwell in nostalgia; 'Indie Cindy' and 'Bagboy' - the band's first single releases in nearly ten years - are tracks every bit as brilliantly twisted as those heard on début album Surfer Rosa, only now more refined or clean, if you will.
The band leave the stage after twenty-six songs, only to return moments later to answer to the chants and stampedes of feet that demand their presence once again. Within seconds, the opening riff of 'Monkey Gone To Heaven' slices through the room and the crowd rupture into applause while Francis stares on, nonchalant. If there was one moment that summed up the atmosphere, it was the 3,000-strong crowd of fans screaming "THEN GOD IS SEVEN" in unison - evidence that Pixies are a timeless, inimitable chunk of music history, and that while people age; music doesn't.
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