The Pixies have always existed in their own gravitational field — a band that never really fit any particular scene but instead created one of their own. At the Hollywood Palladium in 2025, that gravitational pull was on full display. The legendary alt-rock pioneers tore through a sprawling 27-song set that felt both timeless and alive, a collision of noise, melody, and beautifully controlled chaos. For a group that first cracked open the indie underground nearly four decades ago, The Pixies remain one of the most compelling live acts on the planet — unpredictable, unpretentious, and still thrillingly weird.
There’s something about seeing them at a venue like the Palladium that feels right — big enough for the roar of Doolittle, intimate enough for the eerie whisper of Surfer Rosa. The band walked onstage without a word, as they always do, plugged in, and detonated right into “Gouge Away.” No banter, no countdown, just instant combustion.
The Setlist
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Gouge Away
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Wave of Mutilation
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Isla de Encanta
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Planet of Sound
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Chicken
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Motoroller
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Vamos
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Death Horizon
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Here Comes Your Man
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Motorway to Roswell
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Hey
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Mr. Grieves
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Bone Machine
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Debaser
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Cactus
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Caribou
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The Happening
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The Vegas Suite
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Primrose
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Snakes
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Mercy Me
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Monkey Gone to Heaven
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In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song) (Peter Ivers & David Lynch cover, sung by Emma Richardson)
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Where Is My Mind?
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Nimrod’s Son
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Blown Away
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Into the White (sung by Emma Richardson)
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Tame
“Gouge Away” and “Wave of Mutilation”: Controlled Chaos
The opening combo of “Gouge Away” and “Wave of Mutilation” hit like a one-two punch straight from 1989. The band — now consisting of Black Francis, Joey Santiago, David Lovering, and new bassist/vocalist Emma Richardson (formerly of Band of Skulls) — came out tight and unrelenting. Francis’s voice, still razor-edged and unpredictable, cut through the mix with that familiar deranged urgency.
“Gouge Away” sounded as feral as ever, the crowd screaming back the chorus as the floor began to tremble. Santiago, stoic and surgical as always, tore jagged guitar lines through the mix, alternating between jaguar shimmer and feedback bursts. By the time they dove into “Wave of Mutilation,” the energy in the room was molten. The song’s surf-rock undercurrent felt like a sly nod to their Los Angeles surroundings — a twisted postcard from the dark side of the California dream.
The crowd was instantly locked in — a mix of aging diehards, Gen Z revivalists, and everyone in between. It’s always striking how The Pixies’ music connects across generations. Maybe it’s the simplicity beneath the chaos, maybe it’s the fact that every song feels like it’s teetering on the edge of collapse. Whatever it is, the Palladium crowd was hooked.
Digging Deep: “Isla de Encanta” to “Death Horizon”
Without a pause, the band blasted through “Isla de Encanta,” that early Spanish-sung punk burst from Come On Pilgrim. It was raw and unhinged, a flash of their early days when they were just another noisy Boston band with impossible ambition.
“Planet of Sound” followed — a track that always plays better live than on record. The distorted bass, the space-age riffing, and Francis’s barking delivery made it sound like a transmission from another planet. Then came “Chicken” and “Motoroller,” two newer cuts that showed off the band’s recent creative spark. While the crowd naturally leaned toward the older material, the new songs held their own — tighter, groovier, a little more patient but still distinctly Pixies.
“Vamos” was the first real highlight of the night. Joey Santiago stepped forward for his now-legendary solo, a frenzied mix of tremolo picking, amp feedback, and sheer noise-art. He didn’t play the guitar so much as wrestle with it, and the audience went wild. It was pure Pixies theater — unrefined, chaotic, brilliant.
The haunting “Death Horizon,” one of their more atmospheric newer songs, slowed things down. Richardson’s bass pulsed softly beneath Francis’s cryptic lyrics, and Lovering’s drumming kept it restrained, almost funereal. It was a welcome breather — eerie, cinematic, and hypnotic.
The Heart of the Set: “Here Comes Your Man,” “Hey,” and “Debaser”
The room erupted as soon as those opening chords of “Here Comes Your Man” rang out. The song’s jangly sweetness, so unlike the band’s typical darkness, has always stood as their most conventional pop moment — and live, it’s irresistible. Francis didn’t over-sing it; he let the melody glide, while Richardson’s harmonies filled in the Kim Deal-shaped gap beautifully.
“Motorway to Roswell” followed, and it was one of the evening’s emotional peaks. It’s one of those songs that feels cinematic — the alien imagery, the lonely highway vibe, the slow build to that heart-wrenching chorus. Francis sang it like a man half-remembering a dream, his voice cracking just enough to remind everyone that beneath the madness, The Pixies have always been about melancholy.
Then came “Hey.” You could feel the entire Palladium inhale at the opening bassline. It’s one of those songs that defines The Pixies — sleazy, seductive, and haunting all at once. Richardson handled the backing vocals with grace, her voice weaving perfectly around Francis’s gruff delivery. The chemistry between them felt natural, unforced, and honest. When the chorus hit — “Hey / Been tryin’ to meet you” — the crowd sang it back with devotion.
“Mr. Grieves,” “Bone Machine,” and “Debaser” arrived in a quick, furious burst. Each song hit like a bullet — short, sharp, and manic. “Debaser” predictably brought the house down, the crowd howling “Slicin’ up eyeballs!” at full volume. For a moment, it was 1989 again, and everyone in the room was possessed by the same anarchic joy that made Doolittle one of the defining records of alternative rock.
Deep Cuts and Dreamscapes: “Cactus” to “The Happening”
If the first half of the show was pure adrenaline, the middle stretch was all about mood. “Cactus,” with its twisted romance and grinding rhythm, was a dark delight. Francis delivered it with the same sardonic grin he’s had for decades — still a little sinister, still a little funny.
“Caribou” came next, and it was transcendent. The song’s strange, soaring melody filled the Palladium like a cathedral hymn. Santiago’s guitar shimmered, Francis wailed, and the song built into a wall of sound that left the audience in awe.
“The Happening” and “The Vegas Suite” brought the vibe into surreal territory — the former all UFO paranoia, the latter shimmering like a mirage. “Primrose” and “Snakes” showed that even after all these years, the band can still stretch creatively without losing their edge. “Snakes” in particular was a highlight — a crawling, psychedelic slow-burner that felt both new and ancient.
“Mercy Me” came as a surprise inclusion — a brisk, tight track with the energy of their early years but the polish of a band who’s learned restraint. It was followed by “Monkey Gone to Heaven,” and the crowd lost it. That song remains a kind of secular hymn, with its apocalyptic imagery and unforgettable refrain. Hearing thousands of voices scream “God is seven!” in unison is a reminder of just how weird and perfect The Pixies’ vision has always been.
Emma Richardson Takes the Mic: “In Heaven” and “Into the White”
One of the most striking moments of the night came when bassist Emma Richardson stepped forward for a pair of songs that showcased her beautifully. First was the David Lynch cover “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator Song)”, originally from Eraserhead. It’s a haunting, minimalist piece, and Richardson’s ethereal voice gave it life. The lights dimmed to blue, and her delivery felt like something from another realm — delicate, ghostly, and mesmerizing.
Later, she took the lead again on “Into the White,” that haunting old B-side once sung by Kim Deal. It’s always been one of The Pixies’ most underrated tracks — a hazy, atmospheric slow-burn that feels like it could play over the end credits of a dream. Richardson handled it with reverence but not imitation. She made it her own, and by the time the song dissolved into a haze of feedback and smoke, the crowd was spellbound.
Richardson deserves enormous credit — stepping into a role once defined by Kim Deal is no small task. But she’s carved out her own space, and tonight, she felt fully part of the band’s identity.
The Finale: “Where Is My Mind?” to “Tame”
Of course, the room went nuclear when the first notes of “Where Is My Mind?” floated through the speakers. It’s one of those songs that transcends the band itself — woven into the DNA of pop culture. But hearing it live, from the source, is something else entirely. Francis sang it with a weary tenderness, and Santiago’s reverb-soaked guitar swirled like a tide. The crowd sang every word, arms raised, voices trembling.
They could have ended there, but The Pixies weren’t done. They followed with “Nimrod’s Son” — manic, off-kilter, and weirdly funny — then “Blown Away,” a deep cut that pulsed with a raw, grungy energy.
Finally came “Tame,” the perfect closer. Francis unleashed his trademark scream — primal, cathartic, unrestrained. The song hit like a car crash, all jagged edges and adrenaline. Santiago’s guitar snarled, Lovering pounded his kit like he was exorcising demons, and the entire room seemed to combust in a final, glorious explosion of noise. Then, just like that, it was over. No encore, no farewell speech — they simply walked off, leaving the reverb hanging in the air like smoke.
The Performance
What’s remarkable about The Pixies is how little they’ve changed — and how little they’ve needed to. They don’t rely on stage banter or big production. Their power lies in precision and personality. Each song feels like a self-contained universe — brief, intense, and perfectly formed.
Black Francis remains one of rock’s great frontmen: unpredictable, sardonic, and full of contradictions. His voice — that blend of melodic croon and banshee howl — still carries all the menace and vulnerability that made it so iconic. Joey Santiago continues to be one of the most inventive guitarists alive, crafting tones that sound like they were beamed in from another dimension. David Lovering, the band’s quiet anchor, is a rhythmic powerhouse, his drumming deceptively simple but always right where it needs to be.
And Emma Richardson? She’s the glue that holds the new incarnation together. Her harmonies, her basslines, her understated charisma — it all works. She honors the past while bringing something new and vital to the mix.
The Crowd and the Atmosphere
The Palladium crowd was electric but reverent — no mosh pits, just intense focus and joyful movement. Every generation was represented: graying Gen Xers reliving college memories, younger fans discovering these songs through Fight Club or Spotify. The energy was communal, reverent, and alive.
The sound was crisp but raw — perfectly imperfect, just like The Pixies themselves. The lighting was sparse, mostly washes of red, blue, and white, keeping the focus squarely on the music. When “Where Is My Mind?” hit, the lights dimmed to near-darkness, just silhouettes onstage — a haunting visual echo of the song’s theme.
Final Thoughts
The Pixies at the Hollywood Palladium weren’t just a nostalgia act — they were a reminder of why alternative rock exists in the first place. They don’t chase trends, they don’t pander, and they don’t fake anything. What you get is honesty, weirdness, and unfiltered emotion — the same qualities that influenced everyone from Nirvana to Radiohead to Weezer.
In 2025, they still sound as essential as ever. Their songs haven’t aged; they’ve evolved. The tension between melody and noise, beauty and abrasion, remains their secret weapon. Watching them perform, it’s clear that The Pixies are still exploring, still restless, still perfectly out of sync with everything around them — and that’s exactly why they still matter.
Grade: A-