Coyne is an unabashed populist, a firm believer that weird doesn’t have to be alienating. Over the course of nearly two hours, that feeling rarely abated. After a preamble of “Also sprach Zarathustra” AKA the 2001: A Space Odyssey theme, the entire stage appeared to explode as the band transitioned to the breezy, euphoric melody of “Race for the Prize.” A shocking amount of confetti appeared from all directions all the lights strewn about the stage flashed a seemingly unending parade of gigantic balloons were ferried from the side of the stage out into the crowd Coyne raised a 20 foot tall silver balloon of the words “Fuck Yeah Eugene” over his head. He seemed genuinely excited that “the real Santa Claus” was standing at the front of the stage. With his slight figure covered in a red suit and his shaggy hair adorned with a fan-made crown covered in pink robots, he enthusiastically addressed the crowd. The man absolutely radiates playfulness and joy. The live show seemed like a giant party where the bigger themes get pushed to the side in favor of a “let’s get WILD” mentality, a place where people confuse “weird” with “obnoxious.” This would be like Halloween, New Year’s Eve and Las Vegas all rolled into one and would be my own personal hell.Įvery single one of these concerns (and many others! I’m pretty anxious!) were running through my head as I stood at the front of the stage, and every single one of those concerns were washed away the second Wayne Coyne stepped onstage. Their relentless enthusiasm for fresh sounds and Wayne Coyne’s lyrical concerns about life on this big-blue-rock-floating-in-space make for a captivating listening experience. On record, the Lips deftly balance the whimsical with the existential. I’m a grown-ass adult with grown-ass adult problems and my patience for twee is thin. I worried too that I had moved beyond the ability to fully enjoy the Lips’ live experience. Even for a band known for outlandish ideas, this seemed desperate. It didn’t help that a couple days before the Eugene show, it was announced that the band wanted to release an album pressed with Cyrus’ urine. The Lips’ schtick in the Miley Cyrus-era seems to be tilting towards “wild” and “edgy” bullshit rather than the inspired insanity of previous eras what seemed like a one-off goof with a pop star has gone on uncomfortably long. When I mentioned to a friend that I would finally get to see them live, he mused, “It might be too late.” The same thought had crossed my mind. The Flaming Lips have long been one of my white whale live bands, i.e., a band that I love that still tours that I have never seen in concert.
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