Wave Of Adulation: Black Francis

By J Howell

The Riot Room, Kansas City MO
July 27, 2009

Sometimes the universe works in peculiar ways. Barely a week before Black Francis’ solo show at the Riot Room was announced, my girlfriend and I were having a discussion about the best shows we’d seen, during which I raved about the Pixies live and she related a story to me about sneaking into an amazing sold-out Frank Black gig in San Francisco years ago. We both lamented that the Pixies were playing shows in the UK at the time, but none Stateside. A few days later, I was in joyous disbelief that Black Francis was not only coming to town, but also playing in a tiny venue where we could be literally two feet away. Thanks, universe!

Photo © 2009 J Howell

Having never seen Black Francis/Frank Black solo live before, but having been floored by the Pixies, I was half-expecting a set that was pleasant, but made me wish I were seeing the Pixies. I’d been a fan of Black’s first couple of solo records, but he’d kind of lost me after Teenager of the Year, not because what he was doing wasn’t up to snuff, but just because I was onto other things at the time. After Francis’s set at the Riot Room, I have to admit that I feel like a jackass for not paying attention to him the last few years.

Black Francis’ sold-out show was amazing. It wasn’t a Pixies gig, but almost immediately as he began, I was glad of it. Sure, he played a lot more Pixies material than I expected, and it was all great, but if you think of him in Pixies terms and haven’t checked out what he’s done since, you’re missing out on a huge body of spectacular work that, while different from his legendary prior band, easily holds up next to it.

The Riot Room, formerly the Hurricane, is a small venue with a capacity of maybe 250. Though the rain outside had eased the swelter of late July, apparently something was terribly wrong with the air conditioning inside. The place was packed and it must’ve been over a hundred very muggy degrees inside, especially near the stage lights. I felt bad for Francis as he took the stage in a room that felt like a sauna. Fortunately, he wasn’t fazed at all. He actually warned the crowd that he liked playing in the heat, and that he might go on for three hours or more, joking that if the room started clearing as he went along he wouldn’t be offended. Throughout his set, as painfully hot as it was, I was transfixed, and apparently so was everyone else, since the room was just as packed when he finished two hours later.

Black Francis started his set with “Cactus” followed by my all-time favorite song ever, “Wave of Mutilation.” Hearing him play these songs without the rest of the Pixies is somewhat strange but revelatory; they take on an oddly disarming life of their own performed with just Black’s voice and a Telecaster. Francis peppered the set here and there with Pixies songs, mostly from Doolittle, and though it was thrilling to hear barebones versions of some of my favorite songs, I was surprised to find myself thinking I would’ve liked more of his post-Pixies material when he was done.

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