The Pixies: Surfer Rosa (4AD)

"WHERE IS my mind?" smirks huggable Black Francis, and you can't help but rattle your jewellery. If "bloody your hands on a cactus tree/wipe it on your dress and send it to me" doesn't win him the Nobel Prize for most sweet peas in a pod without due caution, then I don't know what will. A full and healthy appreciation of (The) Pixies is entirely dependent on a terrible, terribly good, sense of humour. Any attempt to locate their muse would flounder face-down in a pool of warm beer, sweat, and semen. So laugh with the devil, basically.