A Big Black Tomato

The Black Francis show at Safari Sam’s in Hollywood began with: waiting. No surprise! Every time an artist who’s had a big turn in the limelight does a show at Safari Sam’s (bigger than the local dive, but certainly no arena), they seem to establish their dominance with a looooong sound check. Lackeys run the stage, testing drums and guitars over and over, never tiring like eager-to-please office interns. Check, check. Check. Check…Finally, big, bald legend Black Francis made his entrance, trotting onstage unannounced. He looked jowly and cheerful in his plain black T-shirt and jeans.

Someone yelled, “He’s a big, black tomato!”

Perhaps not the most flattering of spontaneous outcries, but no one could deny it.

With that, Black Francis, his faithful drummer Jason Carter and bassist Dan Schmid meandered into their set after Francis spent some time gazing into the dim lights over the stage and requesting, “Could we not have it dark in here for the rabbit song? There’s a lot of chord changes.” He referred to “Rabbit Hole,” which has not been released on a CD and can only be found on his website. The diehards recognized it and leapt excitedly. While Black Francis eschewed the stage antics that might court the rest of the crowd, he won them over with his irresistible lyrics (“There’s a hole for every soul!”) and manic delivery.

Then, Black Francis explained to the crowd that his latest release Bluefinger is not simply an album inspired by a Dutch painter (as has been widely reported), but rather his “opera” about “the life and times of Herman Brood.”

That night the crowd found out that Black Francis is a sincere frontman. He made it clear that he believed every word he shrieked and uttered by closing his eyes and bearing into his chord changes. Scrawny-armed bassist Schmid bobbed around like a Muppet, bravely bearing more musical weight than most bassists do. (There was no lead guitarist, just Black Francis strumming away, so Schmid was tasked with adding interest to the arrangements). Carter is a very capable drummer who, behind big bug-eye sunglasses, looked like a nice college kid (although he’s probably much older than that).

The crowd was really warmed up by the time Black Francis got to “Tight Black Rubber” and had trouble calming down long enough to listen to Black Francis’ long tale about dishware in the Amsterdam Hilton. Francis couldn’t help but notice and declare (without malice), “I always hear, ‘That Black Francis, he never talks.’ So I’m trying to appease here!” The crowd noted the weight of the situation and went quiet.

However, the band rushed into “Angels Come to Comfort You” before anyone could find out what exactly became of the dishware that Black Francis so admired. Then for “She Took All the Money” Black Francis proudly brandished a harmonica and played the lead parts with gusto. It sounded terrible, but the crowd didn’t seem to care. After the song Francis admitted to using a harmonica in the wrong key. He sheepishly joked, “What is ‘key,’ right?”

Fortunately, Francis proved his prowess on the mouth harp in “Lolita” and also swept the crowd off their feet with a magical rendition of “Threshold Apprehension,” a crazy song about fear with haunting backing vocals and just enough aggression. Francis also shared his goals (or anti-goals) for Bluefinger. He said that, despite being produced by a blues guitarist, the blues were “the enemy.” However, Francis corrected himself saying: “Well, white blues was the enemy,” which made more sense.

As a rare and unexpected treat, Black Francis plunged into three Pixies songs: “Cactus,” “Break My Body” and “Motorway to Roswell.” He managed to mix in “Get Away Oil,” a song from one of his solo records, but it didn’t feel out of place—proof that Black Francis has again embraced the quirky, yelping style that made him one of the most admired frontmen ever.

When Black Francis halted his music-making and said “Have a good night” the crowd knew that their cozy evening of glory had ended. (Francis is famous for refusing to do encores.) They also knew that this man is no has-been. His mind is still conjuring lyrics as weird and wild as one can hope for and shouting them until his soul shakes. Well, at least until our souls shake.