The Flaming Lips Electrify the Tabernacle (Thursday, 5/19)

Last Thursday, the Flaming Lips transformed the Tabernacle back to a place of communal spiritual celebration by blending bliss and introspective disturbia in a lucid performance of their ’99 album Soft Bulletin. 

Before Thursday, I wasn’t a huge Flaming Lips fan – only having listened to a few snippets of their compositions – but a lot of my friends were going who said they put on an epic show (I found out later that according to Q magazine, they were listed as one of the "50 bands to see before you die"). I’m not one to throw the word “epic” around like it was a pair of Sketchers, so after I heard scalpers were slangin’ stubs for $10, I decided to scope them myself to see what I’d been missing. 

The Flaming Lips are a neo-psychedelic band, formed in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, in 1983, consisting of original members Wayne Coyne (lead vocals, guitars and piano) and Michael Ivins (backing vocals, bass guitar and piano), along with longtime member Steven Drozd (backing vocals, guitar, bass guitar, keyboards/synthesizers and drums), Kliph Scurlock (drums), and Derek Brown (guitar, keys, perc).  They have a reputation for constantly evolving — foregoing their early punk tendencies for their current forray into experimental space-rock. Right now, they sound like Pink Floyd and the Polyphonic Spree high-fived and threw water balloons at the Rolling Stones who ran away crying to be comforted by the Pixies.

They started their show strong and never let up. Here’s my experience of the first 10 minutes of the sonic fun-bath. Yes, I’d say it was epic:

Frontman Wayne Coyne grins with joyfully serious wisdom. He gushes excitement and tells the crowd in an endearing tone that while the songs on Soft Bulletin seem to have heavy metaphorical significance, they simply write what is ever on their minds at the time. I find this innocent and refreshing; I enjoy the enthusiasm he conveys. I bristle when he tells us that, "We've only played the Soft Bulletin in its enitrety... we've only done this one other time." The crowd erupts. "...We're going to have a great night together, we're all in this together." He periodically stops and fully and warmly extends his hands toward different parts of the crowd which is mindfully reciprocated. An eager buzz fills the venue for several minutes before the lighting changes.

My vision softens as the half circle projector screen hung behind the stage fills with an image of the universe. Pleasantly comforting descending tones pulsate as a digitized, multi-colored naked woman appears on screen and ritualistically points a drumstick she carries in several directions, coming teasingly close to crashing the cymbal on screen.  We are enveloped in striking yellow-light which shifts to constantly changing close-ups of red and white eyes.  A penetrating reverb begins to build, punctuated by aching frequency fluctuations.  One-by-one, the band members emerge from the center of the schizophrenically shifting eyes, to an entrancing black and white strobe effect.  Coyne, the only member not to erupt from the psychedelic eye wall, waves graspingly at the large candy-cane colored eyes until the oscillating oculars give way to red and white expanding concentric circles.  He turns toward the crowd and commences to bow and rhythmically sway as his plastic sheath is inflated.  Coyne’s clear “space bubble” is firm and he slashes the air several times with his arms.  After a few deliberate hesitations, he rolls himself forward, lifting off the stage and into the hands of the ecstatic crowd, as the naked woman, who had reappeared, forcefully and repeatedly smashes the cymbal.  My sternum vibrates and temples hum as the tabernacle crowd lifts Coyne to a building crescendo of flashing lights and discordant expectation.

He is finally pushed back on stage, deflated, and unsheathed.  As the woman blends with the ominous eyes, the two images explode onscreen and confetti, balloon, and joy explode onto the crown into their opener "Race for the Prize."

An artful performance, the rest of the evening bubbled with infectiously spasmodic melodies and beautifully melancholy lyrics -- a tarried mixture of hope and dread— sealed with renewing perspiration.  I’d consider myself a convert.

***

Credit belongs to my good buddy Greg Friedgood for the "Race for the Prize" video...man, I want an iPhone 4 :-(

Video of close-up perspective of Coyne's hamster-ball crowd rolling into "Race for the Prize"

Video of the teletubby throw-down that was "A Spoonful Weighs a Ton"

Link to Flaming Lips Website

Link to Flaming Lips Wikipedia