Over a decade ago, legendary Pixies frontman Black Francis sat down in a BBC studio to announce his band's break-up before informing the rest of its members, later coldly notifying them via fax. It was a confusing end for the Boston four-piece, but as years passed, it became increasingly apparent that their career had undeniably determined the course of the indie rock and mainstream alternative of the 1990s. From the lo-fi nonchalance of Pavement's Slanted & Enchanted to the loud-soft dynamic of Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" (Kurt Cobain once admitted that the 1991 mega-hit was a rip-off of the Pixies' "Gouge Away") to the hipster faves of today, the seminal college-rockers' influence is undeniably pervasive.

And finally, after a relentless eight months of touring, the Pixies' long-awaited homecoming arrived last week in a two-night stand at Lowell's Tsongas Arena. They shared the stage with fellow Bostonians and legends-in-their-own-right, Mission of Burma. I was lucky enough to attend last Wednesday's show amid a grab-bag audience of budding alterna-kids, aging scenesters, collegiate cognoscenti, reverent punk rockers and even a handful of soccer-moms- it was worth the wait.

Opening with B-side and Neil Young cover "Winterlong," bassist Kim Deal, guitarist Joey Santiago, drummer Dave Lovering and the erstwhile Black Francis (known for the last decade as Frank Black) emerged from the wings of the fog-shrouded stage. Though older, wider and balder, even years of retirement and solo work could not mask their ever-youthful, unweathered ferocity. As if they had never left, the Pixies continued with the surf version of "Wave of Mutilation," with Deal's girlish harmonies complementing Francis' gravelly snarl. Segueing into a cover of cult-director David Lynch's "In Heaven," Deal approached the mic alone; her subtly sexy, whispered vocals first joined by a simple bass riff, and eventually enveloped by a deluge of crashing cymbals and frenetic distortion.

Most astoundingly, Wednesday night's two-hour set confirmed that history has truly turned opinion into fact; every Pixies song-from the masterful "Debaser" to obscurities like "In Heaven"-can truly be deemed "classic." Largely drawing from the first half of their career, the Pixies treated fans to gems like "Vamos," "Bone Machine," "Nimrod's Son," "Monkey Gone to Heaven," "Velouria," "U-Mass" and a myriad of others.

Considering the band's cataclysmic break-up, to see them performing with such freshly passionate ease and cohesion-and not as a capitalizing nostalgia act-was particularly gratifying for those too young to remember their more youthful days. From Kim's ever-present smile to the instantly recognizable, guitar-jabbing intro of "Here Comes Your Man" to that same song's classic repetition of the line "so long, so long," the evening seemed as much an excerpt of musicology as it was an overwhelming display the American underground's heritage and still-thriving vivacity.

It would be criminal to ignore Mission of Burma's pummeling set. Following an inconsequential warm-up act, The Bennies, the Boston post-punkers took the stage-minus tape-looper Martin Swope. At once cacophonic and melodic, the trio's set highlighted their career. From their influential, 1981 EP Signals, Calls, and Marches to their acclaimed, 2004 reunion album ONoffON, it was a bombastic display of early noise-rock at its most deafening and essential. Best of all, fans were treated to classics like "Academy Fight Song" and "This is Not a Photograph" before Mission of Burma concluded with the anthemic "That's When I Reach for My Revolver."

Yet as engaging as Mission of Burma was, they could not compare to the Pixies. Reprising "Wave of Mutilation" (this time the Doolittle version,) clad in all-black and masked by sunglasses, Frank Black sang, "You think I'm dead, but I'll sail away!" with his triumphant, signature growl.

Finally closing with a phenomenal "Gigantic," the Pixies shed their instruments, but rather than retreating from the stage, they chose to revel for several moments, seeming overwhelmed as they waved to the adoring and grateful arena. After two hours, they finally encored with "Where Is My Mind?" ending the epic performance with its finest moment.

As I left the arena on Wednesday, I knew when the last notes penetratingly escape from their final shows later this month in New York City, there will be no question: the Pixies mattered; that's all there is to it.