Black Francis: Here comes your man

By Kelsey Whipple

Published Sept. 21, 2007

If there was a rock hierarchy, it's pretty safe to say Elvis would be the king of rock, Thom Yorke would be the king of weird and Kanye West could be king of cool. And if he were ever to belong anywhere, Black Francis would have to be king of crazy.

After all, everyone — at least everyone in the alt-rock minority who still can't believe Billy Corgan pulled the Pumpkins back together, for worse or for worse — knows that Black Francis is a little left of center. Heck, he even knows it.

It's easy to imagine Francis waking up every evening, taking a look in the mirror, and, after slicing up eyeballs, cranking out another album as he changes his shirt.

His latest of 15 releases without his late '80s companions, the Pixies, is a return to what he does best, as well as a return to his stage name — Charles Thompson IV doesn't cut it.

On Bluefinger, Francis' wails and shrieks go beyond banshee, and, combined with jagged, riotous riffs, the album's 11 songs are a welcome return to Francis rocking out just because he can. And boy, can he.

The focus of Bluefinger, for reasons unknown, lies on artist/musician Herman Brood in some way or another.

It's easier to understand Francis' abstract lyrics than his decision to use the deceased Dutchman as a muse, but Francis has been known to pull off the peculiar. "You Can't Break a Heart and Have It," a Brood cover, is the freak-out Francis stifled during his Nashville sessions in recent years, and its 2 1/2 minutes are a painless one-two punch to the eardrum.

It soon becomes apparent that although this is Francis' most deliberate solo album to date, the hype created by the return to his Pixies alter ego is baseless.

His standard live-to-two-track style has one texture: rough.

With the exception of "Lolita," a song drowning in harmonica, most of the songs follow Francis' typical loud-quiet-louder formula, a too-direct approach critics have never endorsed.

"Threshold Apprehension," originally a bonus track on Francis' 93-03 album, is a literal shout in death's face. Complete with '80s synth, the lyrics include Lou Reed-esque couplets such as "Grand Marnier and a pocket full of speed/We did it all day 'til we started to bleed."

Francis' wife, Violet Clark, takes over the song's spoken-word backing vocals and sounds uncannily like Kim Deal while Francis squawks a frenzied "Threshold, threshold, threshold..." throughout the refrain. When the squawks turn into "Are you feeling ... apprehensive?" the only answer is "yes." "Threshold Apprehension" is easily the greatest Pixies song that never was.

"Captain Pasty," on the other hand, is a song in which riffs and vocals race but neither wins. Francis sounds like Kurt Cobain, but that's been done before and better.

"Angels Come to Comfort You" is an eerily commendatory song about Brood's suicide with lyrics nothing short of quirky and an outro just short of heart-wrenching.

In the end, Francis might have grown up to be a debaser, but his most recent effort is a Frank Black/Charles Thompson/Black Francis affair, not a Pixies album.

It's the freak-out we've been waiting for, but aftezr rumors that the Pixies were heading back into the studio, it's not the way we were hoping it would happen.

And with all of the Brood brooding, it has to be asked: Where is his mind?