Pixies at the Palace: No Leap Into Greatness

If the Pixies’ music were a movie, it would be scripted by William Burroughs and directed by David Lynch, with a score by the Velvet Underground. (Still photographer: Robert Mapplethorpe.)

As rock ‘n’ roll, the Boston foursome’s ongoing encounter with obsession, dread and the struggle of the flesh and the spirit yields an unruly, intriguing clash of harsh minimalism and soaring escape.

For a band with so many identifiable antecedents, the Pixies do a remarkable job of forging an original vision, and their blend of experimentation and accessibility has brought the group to the forefront of the alternative market. But at the Palace on Thursday, the Pixies didn’t take the leap into greatness that seems in their range.

There was nothing slick or compromised about the no-nonsense, no-frills, down-to-business performance, but the Pixies threw out the personality with the pandering. Remote and reticent, they acted as if contact with the audience or flamboyance on stage would somehow cheapen the act. Or maybe they’re just shy.

Instead of enlarging on their music, they chose to distill and concentrate it into a thick, hard attack. The taut but free-swinging sound repeatedly gained and lost momentum, and the set was more monochromatic than the current “Doolittle” album, which boasts an amazing scope.

Singer Black Francis likes to create deranged characters with his assortment of growls, whispers, pants and shrieks, which can get labored and self-conscious. Solution: more leads from bassist Kim Deal, whose vocal on the cult hit “Gigantic” (winningly pronounced gi-gayan-tic and riding a “Sweet Jane”-like riff) was one of the show’s high points.