'I haven't looked back': Black Francis quit his day job to tour with the Pixies. Now he's on the road again

Black Francis may not be a household name, but in some circles, he's considered indie rock royalty.

The front man for the seminal band the Pixies, the outspoken singer and guitarist — whose real name is Charles Thompson IV, and who also performs solo under the name Frank Black — has been writing and performing songs for more than three decades.

Black Francis was in Toronto on a tour stop, and he stepped into the q studio for an interview with Tom Power, where he talked about everything from quitting his day job to a folkloric character named Catfish Kate to why he thinks you should take up painting.

How are you finding touring at this stage in the Pixies' life?

I mean, it's fine. We survive quite well in the touring bubble. It's very dull in terms of the day-to-day. But we like it that way. Then our little reward is the show; that's the thing that we look forward to. Occasionally we look forward to a meal, I suppose. But beyond that, it's like doing laundry, going to art museums sometimes.

Do you have moments on stage where you go, "Man, I've been doing this for a long time and there's still an awful lot of people coming out to hear these songs." Do you get that moment of gratitude?

It's a little more egotistical than that. I mean, I'm in the frickin limelight, you know? I'm not going to be like, "I've got so much gratitude right now for the beautiful people out there." No. I'm gonna be like, "Hey, man, I am the f--king guy." I gotta get an ego stroke somewhere. [Laughs] I mean, we don't demand it. We don't demand the adoration. But they're there. They paid the money. And we're trying to give everyone their money's worth. We're very aware of that.

I was looking at your setlist. You're doing 40 songs a night.

They're ditties. They're short. You know, don't give me too much credit for that.

You're Bruce Springsteen, man.

They play over three hours. We don't have any breakdown raps or anything. We don't have a lot of shtick, that's for sure. And I've got nothing against shtick, but we're just not any good at it.

On the new record there's a song called Catfish Kate. I heard this is a song your dad told you when you were growing up?

It's part of a whole series of stories about this character, a blackjack hooligan, who's this Scottish ruffian character — quasi criminal, quasi hero, in the 1800s usually. Some of them in the Wild West, some in Shanghai, some of them back in Scotland. But he had a girlfriend named Catfish Kate, and there's one particular story about how she got her name. So I was all jammed into a corner looking for a lyric at a session, and everyone kept bugging me about it. So I was like, "All right, fine. You want a lyric? Here's a lyric. Let's do Catfish Kate and see how it comes out."

You did anthropology in school; I did folklore in school. It's interesting when folk stories like that stick with you.

Even popular music, it's a form of oral tradition, right?  Or it's a cousin. Even a band going out and playing their most popular songs in a set, it's like, "OK, you guys all have this reference point. You all had this record that you bought back in the day. And here we are in a personal appearance and we're all going to revisit those songs and those moments. We all know how it goes. It goes a little something like this." It's ancient. That's oral tradition. Folk stories are the same way.

When you talk when you talk about music, you often say stuff like, "You know what, I've got a job to do." It's nice to hear an artist talk about that sometimes.

Maybe it's false modesty or something, I don't know. People are always getting all kinds of ego strokes for pontificating about the amazing views they have as artists. And that's all valid. But you have a relationship with the people who are patronizing you. "Do the thing you do. Here's some money. Do it again." I mean, the whole reason to be in a band was to not work a straight job. Obviously there's the love of music, but in terms of, "Ok, what's the goal here? Do I get to quit the straight job? Yeah? I can give my notice today? Awesome." I haven't looked back since and neither has anyone else in the band.

What day job did you leave?

I worked in a warehouse and Joey worked in another warehouse. It wasn't necessarily financially sensible at that particular junction; it wasn't like the mini LP import, whatever, was going to make me any money necessarily. And it did not. But I got to get in a van and drive out of town. Toronto was probably one of the first places we came, the Silver Dollar Club. Got paid 200 bucks. I remember the old guy with a cigar counting down the 20 dollar bills, and I was like, "Yes, two hundred bucks." I mean that filled up the gas tank, got us back to the States or wherever we were going, to the next show. It was validation.

You also paint when you're on the road. What does that give you?

Escape. There's no one there. It's just me and Charles Mingus or whatever I'm listening to. I can do it all day. I send my kids off to school in the morning and then I go down and paint and that's all I do, pretty much. And I get to listen to a lot of music that way, so that's nice. I mean, I'm not good or anything. I just do it. I recommend it for anybody, really. It's a pretty old thing to do. It's pretty primal. It's like pigment on your finger or on a stick and you make a mark on something. You can analyze it all day long, but it's just what people do. People say, "I'm not artistic, I'm not very creative, I'm not very good." Shut up. Just do it. Would you tell that to a little kid? No. Here's some paper and some pencils, just go nuts.

This interview has been edited and condensed. Written by Jennifer Van Evra. Produced by ​Mitch Pollock and Vanessa Nigro.