(BMG)
The Boston band’s slide towards mediocrity continues, with the high point a song about a headless chicken

Is there an act that has had a second coming as underwhelming, yet at the same time as long-lasting as that of the Pixies? The astonishing run of albums from 1987’s Come On Pilgrim to 1990’s Bossanova still stand as one of the cornerstones of modern-day indie rock. Yet the records released over the past decade – of which this is the fifth – have been noteworthy mainly for the homeopathic quantities of excitement contained therein.

The Night the Zombies Came doesn’t buck the trend. Much of the record recalls the more laidback moments on Bossanova: the odd surf-guitar inflection from Joey Santiago here, more restrained vocals from Black Francis there. None of it is especially awful, but there’s such a paucity of memorable songs that it’s like an echo of an echo of former glories. Even when some energy is injected, as on You’re So Impatient and Oyster Beds, it’s more huff-and-puff than blowing anybody’s house down. Still, at least humanity’s lengthy wait for a song that starts from the perspective of a decapitated chicken has finally been addressed (on Chicken), so there is that at least.