Happy Wednesday. Another Albini pick. Released two years before the decade began, Surfer Rosa is the foundation of 1990s alternative rock. It has the loud/quiet/loud, it has girl/boy vocals, it has weird songs with weird structures and weird chord progressions, and yet, it’s all very poppy. When a record exec tried to get Frank Black to write longer songs (rock bands were releasing five minute singles in the era), Black handed him a copy of Buddy Holly’s Greatest Hits, where the songs rarely lasted over 2:30 minutes. Pixies weren’t the first band to make catchy music out of dissonant noise – in 1985 The Jesus & Mary Chain’s Psychocandy made 60s girl group sounds wrapped in hissing distortion – but they were the best, and there’s a reason they’re still a popular touring act 30 years after they released anything worth listening to. Pixies songs could be about anything or nothing. “Gigantic” is probably about a black dick, “Where is my Mind?” is probably about doing drugs, “Cactus” is probably about lust and longing. Or the words could just be placeholders, given weight by the delivery – Black’s is either mad or yearning; Kim Deal’s is confident and happy. Pixies next three albums are good to great but to me, less titanic than Surfer Rosa. (Doolittle is great, Trompe le Monde has its moments, and Bossanova is essentially a really good Frank Black solo album.) Most of that has to do with the sound. Albini made sure this album sounds wet and hairy. On “Bone Machine,” the drums crash in with an accent on the one, throwing the album off-kilter right out of the gate. We’ve got that great snare sound, bass and slurring guitar, and then Black starts rambling like he’s saying whatever broken thoughts come into his head. It’s scary. It’s funny. It rocks. And it’s weird. One of the great album openers on one of the great albums. Still holds up super.