from the LP At War with the Mystics, Warner Bros. Records, 2006Part of being a good entertainer is knowing what your audience digs, what they hate, what will make them smile & what really makes them grooooove; well, it’s no secret that Flaming Lips frontman Wayne Coyne has got that part of the equation completely figured out, so much so that recent tours of theirs have resembled a lysergic circus as much as a rock concert (I realize this is a point of contention for some---get over it, have some fun). I’ve always been very “hit or miss” when it comes to the Lips discography, tending to lean towards the early indie stuff more than the last decade or so of orchestral madness, but when they do hit it for me, it hits hard. Knowing that Coyne famously roomed with one of Texas’ larger LSD chemists for a while back in the day makes me wonder if their gradual evolution, from abrasive punks to cartoon-like anti-paranoia superheroes, has had less to do with getting recognized than it has with keeping an acid-damaged mind happy and far from the heebie-jeebies. Whatever the raison d'être, I was totally blown away by their presentation a few summers ago when they shared a bill with Ween at Red Rocks (note: it took the stage crew longer to clean up the Lips’ mess than it took to assemble Ween’s entire set): opening with “Bohemian Rhapsody”, the confetti cannons, the giant hands (which, incidentally, is what your extremities start to feel like when you’ve been using ketamine a lot…), the dancing aliens & santa clauses, and closing with a cover of “War Pigs” while images of Bush, Cheny, Condoleeza, et al. flashed continuously on the screen behind them---all of the above tricks pointing to a truly cagey performer, which at least partially explains their place as one of the strangest and longest-running alt-rock bands still in existence.
