Frank Black - 93-03

What Frankie did next

When a musician from a band as influential as the Pixies puts his or her name out there as a – gulp – solo artist, the received wisdom is often etched in stone long before any of the actual work has surfaced. With Frank Black, that situation is slightly more curious.

Much of what people remember as a Pixies ‘sound’ stemmed from a melting pot of clever dynamics, brutal production and otherworldly narratives. Black Francis, it must be said, was only ever solely responsible for the latter of these angles, and as such, his solo ‘vocal’ career follows much the same trajectory. Indeed, a joke article in Select magazine in the early 90s claimed fans could make up their own Pixies lyrics with just a few choice words. ‘Alien’, ‘Dog’, ‘Government’ and various US states were all included, but this really missed an obvious point. Surely, the most exciting thing about the prospect of a Frank-Black-Francis solo record was the potential for anything to happen. Musically, at least, this promise was followed up.

93-03 charts the whole sordid affair, across a staggering nine albums. There are three-chord Stoogey blasts, as well as more weightily constructed tracks that act as mini rock operas. Robert Onion, for instance, is a fabulous romp that moves from ponderous to plain singalong, to highly metaphorical singalong and back again. (I Want To Live On An) Abstract Plain does the same with an added dose of surrealism for good measure.

Plus, all of these are pop songs. Headache sounds as jubilant as it did in mid-94: breezy, non-committal and still massively affecting. Musically, it may not be a million miles away from Here Comes Your Man, or even Monkey Gone To Heaven, but it betrays a man having fun in the studio, not shackled to the quiet-loud formula or three other people.

I Don’t Want To Hurt You (Every Single Time) is up there with schlock-rock monoliths The Cars and REO Speedwagon. It could even be a cover. Culled from 1996’s The Cult Of Ray, it deserves to be added to the pantheon of songs frequently covered by later generations, and it also contains the couplet “My heart is just a muscle in a cavity/But it hurts so bad/And I’m trying to say I’m definitely blind”, so Frank wasn’t writing about monkeys anymore (well, not all the time). Although, as he himself admits in the fine sleevenotes, he “wanted to be part of the underground world, not the Top 40 world. I wanted to be an artist, not get invited to parties”, even at its most mainstream, Frank Black’s music is still pumped by a dark heart.

The quality levels remain high across the 22 tracks (and across the much more esoteric live CD, with a tracklisting that will vary depending on whether you buy the American, European or Japanese edition), with a slight peak around about 1995-96. Perhaps by this point Black’s sights were set on becoming what we know him as today, through later works such as Honeycomb. Working with the very best musicians, from the worlds of soul, country or wherever, he has of late made some of the most heartfelt and ‘accomplished’ music of his career. But on 93-03, the joy comes largely from the sound of the transition. And bloody good songs.

Cooking Vinyl | COOKCD 407 (2-CD)

Reviewed by Jake Kennedy
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