Flaming Lips - Bournemouth

[m_thomp]

Taken from our website. But should you want to see it in glorious technicolour and see pics from the show then click the link:

 

Flaming Lips - Bournemouth International Centre, November 5 2006 with nice pictures

 

In the foyer of the Bournemouth International Centre sits Chris Brown, the 13th best town crier in Europe, champion of Dorset and official town crier of Wimborne. He is in full regalia and surrounded by children of various ages, who sit at or chase each other around tables, clutching hot dogs and fizzy drinks.

 

To their left are two boys aged about twelve, deep in conversation. "Normally I'd say you need to have a knowledge of the artist when you go to a gig," is the erudite opinion of one, "but with this, it doesn't seem to matter as much. I just really wanted to see the show." His friend, wearing a Guns N' Roses t-shirt, nods in agreement.

 

Behind them sit a young couple with pink streaks in their hair and bright orange false eyelashes. They're talking excitedly about having managed to sneak backstage and meet the band, who will later dedicate a song to them. It is 5:45pm and The Flaming Lips aren't due onstage for several hours, but already it's apparent that the audience they attract is, well, diverse.

 

What that audience will make of Deerhoof, who take to the stage at 7:30pm, is anybody's guess. Experimental, random and very loud, their live show is in some respects not unlike that of earlier incarnations of the Lips. Except for the fact that they have jazzy inclinations and a female Japanese singer, that is.

 

Satomi Matsuzaki is short and whimsical and doesn't stand still. Like most people in the history of Deerhoof, she has no musical training. It's difficult to hear what she's singing about most of the time but her boundless energy is infectious and you can see quite easily why a band like The Flaming Lips - most of whom are at the side of the stage nodding their heads to the music - would gravitate towards a band like Deerhoof.

 

The crowd seems to like them too, jigging along to their bug-eyed freakouts and watching the facial contortions of John Dieterich as he wrestles all manner of sounds out of his guitar. Deerhoof leave the stage triumphantly, enthusiastic applause and one or two shouts of "More!" ringing in their ears. Mission accomplished, then.

 

It seems strange that 20-year-old Sam Duckworth, who has the rather unweildy stage name of Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly, should follow as the second support act. He's a current Radio 1 darling and is clearly very popular with the younger members of the audience (a young boy is in the front row, singing along word for word) but after the sonic maelstrom that was Deerhoof it's difficult to see his inoffensive, earnest folk-pop as anything other than dull. The highlight of his set is a cover of the Steve Miller Band's Abracadabra, but that probably says more about Duckworth's songwriting than anything else.

 

Accompanied by his troupe of musicians, he shuffles off at the end of his slot and makes way for Wayne Coyne, Michael Ivins, Steven Drozd and Flaming Lips touring drummer Kliph Scurlock, who come on to finish setting up their gear, as they always do. It's all very intricate and includes all manner of stage props; anyone who's seen the Lips before knows exactly what to expect - that they will open with Race for the Prize, close with Do You Realize? and do a cover of either War Pigs or Bohemian Rhapsody as an encore - but none of this matters because the show is ridiculously, unashamedly fun. And that, probably, is why it attracts people of all ages. And town criers.

 

When the stage has (finally) been set up, Chris Brown strides up to the microphone with his son Alfred to introduce the band and encourage people to "smite George Bush". Then Wayne Coyne appears at the side of the stage in a giant plastic bubble and walks out onto the crowd like a hamster in a huge transparent ball, a broad grin on his face as he rolls around the audience before wobbling back towards the stage.

 

As Race for the Prize erupts into life, giant balloons float out into the crowd, Coyne firing streamers into the air and swinging a lantern above his head to create a dizzying, exhilarating atmosphere. There probably aren't many bands who've opened with the same song for such a long time, but this extraordinary entrance means the Lips get away with it. To the left of bassist Michael Ivins, Sam Duckworth and his friends are dressed as santas and dance alongside Chris Brown and his son; on the other side of the stage are girls in alien costumes. Coyne's wife Michelle is in the pit dressed as Wonder Woman, batting balloons back into the crowd and taking photographs of the band, all of whom are routinely hit by the balloons, though they do not seem to mind. Someone has managed to convince the security guards to stand at the side of the stage rather than in the pit and they look on in utter bemusement.

 

Apart from Race for the Prize and She Don't Use Jelly, the set is culled from the Lips' two most recent albums, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots and At War With the Mystics. The light show - which has always been inventive - includes a strobe machine that Coyne straps to his chest for The W.A.N.D (it's been on tour with the Lips for a while now); a mirrorball that descends from the ceiling and spangles light everywhere during Vein of Stars and Do You Realize? and bright green lasers either side of the frontman, which only serve to reinforce that aura of benign eccentricity that's been surrounding him for the past few years.

 

It's a fairly short set and runs the gamut from jump-up-and-down singalongs (Yoshimi and The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song - to which the town crier knows all the words), unabashed silliness (She Don't Use Jelly) and the genuinely touching (Vein of Stars, My Cosmic Autumn Rebellion). The biggest assault on the senses, though, is The W.A.N.D, which involves smoke, a loud haler, strobes and lasers and is almost difficult to watch all the way through - and Do You Realize?, with the mirrorball, confetti blasters and streamers everywhere, is euphoric.

 

Bohemian Rhapsody is the riotous, triumphant encore - one suspects that Freddie would've been bemused but approving - and with that, the Flaming Lips disappear, and the people in the audience depart, kicking their way through confetti like autumn leaves. And, in the words of Wayne Coyne, the "birthday party for a 6-year-old with too much money and some LSD" is over. And yes - it would've been nice to see some older material thrown into the mix, but to be honest, when a show allows you to be this childish, this exuberant and this ridiculous - well, who cares?