Black Francis
What is in a name? I had a stage name suggested to me by my father about 20 years ago during a time when I was considering seeking my fortune in the rock and roll business. “Why don’t you call yourself BLACK FRANCIS” he said. “Sure”, I answered, never questioning why. A few years later when I left my group The Pixies I decided to symbolically go another direction and adopted the inverted FRANK BLACK. I felt validated when someone I know in the business told me that just before this time, while driving Warren Zevon to his performance, had explained that he would be driving someone called BLACK FRANCIS on the following night, and that Warren had quipped “that guy ought to change his name to FRANK BLACK”.
I never thought I’d go back to the old stage name, although I secretly missed it. I never thought I’d go back to the old band, although I discovered during a reunion tour years later that I missed them, too. But these things are bittersweet, and all of the rekindled foreplay of performing the old BLACK FRANCIS songs never warmed to the full coitus of a reunion LP. Even the sessions we did manage for two new recordings (a song by Kim Deal and another by Warren Zevon) were fun, but the quick fuck was awkward.
I privately went back to the old stage name, if that even makes any sense, almost as a joke. I couldn’t get The Pixies back into a studio, but I would transform into my alter ego of yesteryear. I spoke the magic syllables aloud and nothing happened; just as I thought. Soon after my new manager asked me for a bonus track for a “best of” compilation to be released later in the year. And as I prepared for the session I became (honestly) gripped by the spirit of Herman Brood, and my bonus track expanded into an 11 song record called BLUEFINGER in just a few days. Thank you Herman. You were at the distant edge of my vision for years when suddenly I was under your influence like a cloud of opium, like the scent of the house of the rising sun. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. I had spoken the magical name and nothing had happened, but I was impatient, and like so many people, I thought the magic would reveal itself in an instant, as depicted in films. Magic is more subtle. And Herman Brood did turn me back into BLACK FRANCIS. Funny how things work out. You just never know.
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What is in a name? I had a stage name suggested to me by my father about 20 years ago during a time when I was considering seeking my fortune in the rock and roll business. “Why don’t you call yourself BLACK FRANCIS” he said. “Sure”, I answered, never questioning why. A few years later when I left my group The Pixies I decided to symbolically go another direction and adopted the inverted FRANK BLACK. I felt validated when someone I know in the business told me that just before this time, while driving Warren Zevon to his performance, had explained that he would be driving someone called BLACK FRANCIS on the following night, and that Warren had quipped “that guy ought to change his name to FRANK BLACK”.
I never thought I’d go back to the old stage name, although I secretly missed it. I never thought I’d go back to the old band, although I discovered during a reunion tour years later that I missed them, too. But these things are bittersweet, and all of the rekindled foreplay of performing the old BLACK FRANCIS songs never warmed to the full coitus of a reunion LP. Even the sessions we did manage for two new recordings (a song by Kim Deal and another by Warren Zevon) were fun, but the quick fuck was awkward.
I privately went back to the old stage name, if that even makes any sense, almost as a joke. I couldn’t get The Pixies back into a studio, but I would transform into my alter ego of yesteryear. I spoke the magic syllables aloud and nothing happened; just as I thought. Soon after my new manager asked me for a bonus track for a “best of” compilation to be released later in the year. And as I prepared for the session I became (honestly) gripped by the spirit of Herman Brood, and my bonus track expanded into an 11 song record called BLUEFINGER in just a few days. Thank you Herman. You were at the distant edge of my vision for years when suddenly I was under your influence like a cloud of opium, like the scent of the house of the rising sun. Bliss. Bliss. Bliss. I had spoken the magical name and nothing had happened, but I was impatient, and like so many people, I thought the magic would reveal itself in an instant, as depicted in films. Magic is more subtle. And Herman Brood did turn me back into BLACK FRANCIS. Funny how things work out. You just never know.
John Lennon and Yoko Ono claimed the Amsterdam Hilton in 1969. The Pixies headlined their first big rock show in Holland in 1988. Herman Brood reclaimed the Hilton for his country in 2001, and now I feel he has even claimed back The Pixies, or at least me, BLACK FRANCIS.
Warren Zevon and Herman Brood were both blessed piano players. And you know, I am crazy for Leon Russell. “Who are my influences” I’ve been asked about a thousand times, and I just never really know what to say. Piano rolls are cool, sheesh, they shaped the 3 minute pop song; but even as they threatened the station of the human piano player, the piano player stayed at his bench, and would not be outdone (or will ever be outdone) by the fantastic machines. I don’t know who my influences are, but I love the piano players who stayed true.
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