"Lovely legs, there are- what a big black mess, what a hunk of love-"

Words that evoke good sex and summer days. Easy pervasive giddiness, due mostly to Kim Deal's lethargic delivery and her primal bass line. A perfect song.

"Love, crash, bang, wakka wakka, bam thwok-"

Makes me think more of babysitting sticky little kids, trying to get them to run around before naptime. Forced hurtful giddiness—a reference that would slightly shame Fozzie Bear with its... un-invited-ness?

I heard thirty-seconds of the Pixies's new song the other night. It debuted on i-tunes, and since I don't drink Pepsi by the case anymore, I didn't have any credits for free music. So instead I clicked on the sampler—and what I got was hard to process. About a year ago, Kim Deal lifted the world with Title TK—just an awesome record. This was different.

My feeling: it's an ex-Mrs. John Murphy's interpretation of what the new Pixies should sound like, and that's telling. The creative silence from a certain other band member is deafening. It booms: DAMAGE CONTROL. Now I don't know what happens inside the band—but it's more or less inferred that one man's pride tore the original band apart. The most sensationalized casualty of his hubris: Kim Deal's incredible songwriting. So what better way to christen the band's reunion than popping an old petty tumorous zit? Thus, give Deal a shot at redefining the new band's sound.

If she had pulled another 'Gigantic' or even 'Silver' out of her pocket—I would have been applauding it, saying "crazy move, but you nailed it." Instead... we get the Pixies through an awkward 'kookie' filter. Deal is not the 'kookie' one—she's the grounded one. Remember, the Breeders went platinum.

There's only one man who has a vision for the and—who has a grip on its sound,who can pull them all back up into outer space like those new-fangled space elevators are puported to do. And that man is singing back up on BAM Thwok.

I haven't really commented on the song, because the jury's still out. I might even have to dismiss the jury. And I guess I should repeat something: I've only heard thirty seconds of the song, and eat my words three square meals a day.