On the Lips

Most bands with multi-orgasmic light shows sacrifice spontaneity for the syncopated choreography necessary to pull off the full psychedelic experience. The Flaming Lips don’t suffer this weakness. At Centennial Park a couple of weeks ago they managed to dazzle without any apparent stage direction at all. Unlike the carefully rigged and pre-packaged visual assault of current U2 or latter-day Floyd, the Lips appear to toss all of their goodies on stage and proceed to make their way through the toy box until it’s time to say goodnight.

It was a blast to take in- a bit like lead singer Wayne Coyne had invited the entire audience into his basement so he could put a show on for all of us. In an era where the Stones have become so sharp onstage they risk sterility it’s nice to see a great band that defaults to a looseness that only the best can be trusted with. Only the truly talented can manage poignant lyrical and musical moments while ten or fifteen Santa Claus’ heckle, dance and gesticulate at the ten or fifteen space aliens jumping to and fro on the opposite side of the stage.

I was originally going to leave before they started so that I wouldn’t spoil the memory of seeing Big Star, one of my true favorites- and one of the most elusive groups to catch playing live. I can’t imagine they’ve done more than a handful of shows since 1975 and I got to see one, and I was happy… and all that. But I decided to stick around for The Flaming Lips spectacle and I’m glad I did.

I’m also glad I took off before the encore of Sabbath’s War Pigs complete with the obligatory George W. Bush is evil film clips. What a buzz-kill. I wish these musicians would realize that some of us go out to a show hoping to get away from the war and politics for a little while. I’m happy I got to leave on a psychedelic up note as they serenaded me to my car with a song about a girl who uses Vaseline to cook with, or some such nonsense.

I love Wayne Coyne’s attitude, toys and music. But I honestly don’t give a damn about his personal foreign policy preferences. Why don’t cats like this understand that guys like Rumsfeld and Bush make it possible for them to play around, gaze at their navel and create art? Are we to send the artists and poets to defend us? Are we to stake the future on Michael Stipe or Bono’s ability to placate the enemy?

Alright Mr. Coyne, you don’t like the way Bush is dealing with world events- so what would you do differently… write a song about it!?

Please- stick to your strengths and leave the political statements to people who are supposed to be annoying, like Ann Coulter.

Ah well, I’ll remember the night for the confetti cannons, chest strobe and dry-ice bullhorn.

I missed the War and got to chill with the Mystics.

Not bad.