The Flaming Lips: A Review

Last Saturday marked my third time seeing The Flaming Lips. I didn’t think that any show of theirs could beat the second time I saw them, where I paid a mere $6 to witness an epic confetti-filled set in which Pedro from Napoleon Dynamite (who is apparently a Flaming Lips fan) danced on the side of the stage in a Santa Claus costume and then roused a double encore that included a Black Sabbath “War Pigs” cover. I was right in that that show could not be beat, but last Saturday was pretty damn entertaining.

The show was again $6 since it took place at the racetrack tourist magnet in Del Mar, California that I’ve mentioned in my previous posts. Stardeath and Seven Dwarfs opened the concert. They seemed a little nervous, but this was the first date of The Flaming Lips’ North American tour so I’m guessing that after a couple of shows they’ll get better. Otherwise they were pretty solid. The singer/guitarist was wearing a snazzy jumpsuit and had a firecracker attached to his guitar that he lit up halfway through the set, causing bluish green smoke to fill the stage. I was really into the drummer, he was the highlight of the band for me. At one point just him and the bassist were onstage jamming for two minutes, which was surprisingly not boring. My only complaint about Stardeath and Seven Dwarfs is that the sound was not up to par. I couldn’t hear the lyrics of the songs and any banter they tried to start up with the audience was indecipherable mumbling.

The lead singer of The Flaming Lips, Wayne Coyne had been teasing the audience for a good hour by coming to the front of the stage, raising his arms and then leaving. When it was finally time for them to actually play, they entered dramatically through the giant arch of lights that formed the backdrop of the stage. Each member of the band slowly descended one by one from the arch, like aliens from a sparkly UFO (how’s that for a metaphor). Then finally… Wayne came onstage. He crawled into his inflatable bubble and slowly rolled off the stage into the audience. BADASS. Rolling in a half circle Wayne made his way back to the stage and the band went straight into “Race for the Prize”. They ran through a set that included all of their classics, “The W.A.N.D.”, “The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song”, “Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots” and “She Don’t Use Jelly”. At one point a guy dressed in an ape suit picked up Wayne and put him on his (her?) shoulders. Wayne sang the rest of “Silver Trembling Hands” from the shoulders of the primate. EPIC. The show was filled with giant orange and yellow balloons and lots of streamers. The giant arch served as a projector for the camera on Wayne’s microphone and for some other stunning and slightly erotic visuals. My one disappointment was that they didn’t play their cover of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”. The set seemed rather short too, only about ten songs. They did do an encore, but only of “Do You Realize”.

People have sometimes accused The Flaming Lips of relying too much on their stage antics; the balloons, streamers, confetti, flaming bullhorns, and the fans dancing in animal costumes. They’ve played pretty much the same setlist every time I’ve seen them. However, a band’s job is to entertain, and I have never been bored at a Flaming Lips show.

Curiosity Killed the Cat... and I'm the Killed.

This post is in reference to a re-discovery for one of my favorite No Idea Records bands: Small Brown Bike. Not quite cycle themed in nature, rather, they seem to bring every musical instrument of the band to screeching emotional crescendo. True story: for at least a month I would leave my MP3 player at home when I studied because if I brought along Small Brown Bike I would be so focused on listening to their albums that nothing homework-wise would ever be accomplished.

I was waiting outside a show in Boston on Thursday night and found myself next to another kid in a Small Brown Bike shirt. After the immediate "where did you get that?" query, we began to go back and forth about how much we appreciated the band, to the point where as soon as I came home, I dug out their LP, plugged my headphones into the turntable, and listened to the whole A-side of the record.

This is definitely something I want to share, their first album "Our Own Wars"

Their label, No Idea Records, has an amazing distro and catalog with an eclectic array of bands and merch that span the first Against Me albums to 80s-era Chewbacca action figures (no, seriously). If you are a fan of folk-polk, quasi-experimental electronica, or plan straight up emotional hardcore slash indie, they are truly an amazing resource.

The Past Recedes

One of my favorite songs.

John Frusciante - The Past Recedes
Uploaded by Mauno.

Age Sixteen - Open Up Finders, Please

Over the last two or three years there has been a resurgence in modern emo/post-hardcore/screamo that pulls back influence from the progenitor acts of the genre, culling together an early-mid 90's style and sensibility run through a contemporary strainer. Things look good for the state of modern emo/hardcore; I know that in itself is unfortunately a sort of buzzword, but for the time being let us imagine that those mallgoth shitcakes and the lieblous media that spreads their corrupted gospel doesn't exist, and let's focus on the good stuff.

While Philadelphia's Algernon Cadwallader has been spearheading a resurgence in twinkly, Kinsella-esque, Midwestern indie/emo, other notables have been emerging. Loma Prieta has been releasing riff-driven screamo with a clear Honeywell influence, as European screamo acts bring us a more melodic style of hardcore, one which is deeply indebted to post-rock and it's loud-soft dynamic.

Baltimore's Age Sixteen takes a cue from European contemporaries such as Sweden's Suis La Lune and Italy's La Quiete. The album is beautifally melodic, yet deeply chaotic. All things considered, Age Sixteen's Open Up Finders, Please is absolutely a punk album. It's short and sweet, abrasive at moments - the entire album, nine tracks long, clocks in at about twenty minutes. Ultimately, it meets somewhere between traditional screamo/hardcore and the noodly guitars of Midwestern emo, influence which shines through in tracks like "Empty Nest", "Seasick", and "Peter Pan Complex."

Summer Reading

I spend much of my time with a book pinned betwixt my eyes, even during the outdoor-oriented days of summer. I have an inescapable, nigh ineffable sort of problem; one that suggests, in the grand scheme of my life I may like books more than people, in some ways.

Literature always puts out. Remember that.

So. I, the book-whore, have maintained a polygamous life of unprotected readings this summer. So dig this:

The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz

This novel was recommended to me by a trusted writing professor, one that has read much of my own work, and has a good head for the sort of tragic undertakings I like to read about. Boy is this one ever.

Oscar de Leons, also known as Oscar Wao after an unfortunate Doctor Who Halloween costume, is a grossly overweight Dominican ghetto nerd; he fills his days with Science Fiction and Fantasy novels, anime films, and Dungeons & Dragons. He has but two goals in life - to become the Dominican J.R.R. Tolkien, and to find love.

Suffice to say this: he struggles.

The story centers on the de Leons family and the string of terrible luck that follows them from their origins in Santo Domingo straight into Patterson, New Jersey. The novel weaves several family tales together, telling Oscar's story, that of his sister Lola, his mother's upbringing and hardship during the late Trujillo-era of the DR, and that of Oscar's grandfather, who started the whole mess. This fuku, or curse, haunts the family without end, and (of course) makes it near impossible for Oscar to get laid, and what else would such a ghetto nerd want in the world?

Junor Diaz writes with a casual flowing narrative, full of character. The entire novel is told to you second-hand by one of the characters, Yunior. There are few to no quotations, and the whole book certainly has the feel of a spoken narrative. It's littered with nerd-culture references, as would befit the title character. Something in the story rings of Garcia Marquez, the sort of magical realism flavor that you'd find in one of his novels is present in the life of Oscar Wao. The fuku, La Inca's powerful Voice and Gaze, the supposed supernatural evil of Trujillo (Fuckface) sprinkles the book with a mystical undertone.

Oscar Wao's story is a supremely refreshing contemporary novel, and a history lesson that goes untaught in most American public schools. Did you know about Trujillo's salughter of Haitians based on pronunciation of the word "parsely?" Or anything about the hideous racism in the Dominican Republic? Yeah, me neither. The name Trujillo was never mouthed in any of my history classes.

But anyway.

There's a reason that this novel won a Pulitzer. Read it. I promise it's good.

The Cinestudio at Trinity University

Trinity University in Hartford, CT features a rare gem for film aficionados, a tastefully restored 1930s-era movie house. Complete with a balcony and velvet curtain, the university saved the venue from assimilation into the science building by allocating funds to the historical preservation of Western culture.

The theatre features a revolving schedule of films from several loosely associated genres: foreign, independent (limited release), and vintage cinema classics.

To achieve a state of reciprocity with their fanbase, the theatre organization regularly accept visitor requests and recommendations for future film scheduling. These are taken via lobby clipboard and judging by the last few annual schedule are examined with serious consideration.

Special events and holidays are scheduled, for example, Halloween and Valentine's Day events focused on the screening of double features associated with each holiday.

Located at the center of the Trinity Campus at 300 Summit Street in Hartford, CT, the Cinestudio is an altogether amazing resource for film buff and fandom.

Free Music From Newport, RI.

Free recordings (24 total) from both the Newport Folk and Jazz Fests. I attended the Jazz Fest today. It was exquisite. Yum. Enjoy. http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106427862

Matt & Kim

Today I walked in while my sister was on the computer and she was listen to Matt & Kim. I almost cried of joy, I was so proud.
For a while I hated her listening to my things because I felt like she couldn't appreciate them properly, but she found them on her own!

New Style? "My Boyfriend's Shirt / Blazer" Hits the Streets.

Start checking those random Macy's styled catalogs that are discarded with the daily mail. Today, I spotted an advertisement for a new themed line of women's fashion dubbed "my boyfriend's shirt".

From what I can determine, this new trend dictates a style of dress patterned after oversized, male clothing on women. Now, this particular idea is no way novel. For decades, women have adopted originally masculine clothing such as peacoats, jeans, corduroy, and boots with outstanding success. It may have roots in male themed occupation, but these girls have made it look good, too.

This new trend deviates from this previous notion. Rather than pursuing a feminine line of styled products or simply utilising smaller sizes, this trend fosters the impression that the woman is not wearing her own clothes, but those that belong to a familiar man. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not slamming this as a "whore" image or debasing female sexuality. I've most definitely shared sweaters, jackets, and knitwear with partners before, and why not? Yes, it is endearing and sweet and let's face it... ultimately, it's also extremely convenient.

The clothing line offers slightly oversized or baggy garments, usually themed along the lines of shirts and blazers. Titles are as such: "My Boyfriend's Shirt", "My Boyfriend's Blazer", etc.

The obstacle in mind for this particular fashion is that it is marketed AS a "boyfriend" product. Sex sells, but in this case it is the assumption of sex that is moving these garments off the shelves. Ultimately, my indignation towards this clothing line arrives from the point that there is simply no need for ANYONE to purchase these clothes. The girls that proffered this image did so out of necessity and the girls who pursue that amazing indie, genderless style pull it off through second hand stores or consignment shops.

Overall, I felt insulted by this marketing gimmick. This engineered social image of waking up in someone else's bed seems to prey on human emotions and our want for love. It offers up a minuscule element of a desirable situation, without all of the truly significant components that make it all worthwhile.

Ultimately, it reminds me of this product.

Serge Gainsbourg: "Initials B.B."

Chasing Gainsbourg through the annals of pop culture references, I became exposed to his influence on underground music long before I ever heard his albums. The name was first introduced to me through the novel "High Fidelity". In this case, two adolescents are chased out of Championship Vinyl after they were caught stealing Gainsbourg albums (actually, to the confusion of the store owner). Subsequently, Radio City Music Hall played this particular album before Morrissey took the stage during his 2004 tour. Now, having heard him in both name and sound, I looked up the lyrics to the tune after the concert and made the initial connection!

As a brief bio, Gainsbourg was a 1960s French pop singer whose accolades included dating Briggite Bardot (for whom the album is dedicated). Feeling himself lesser than the male ideal, Gainsbourg turned his sentiments towards musical expression. To me, this album represents the zenith of his style as a unique frontman, alternating lyrical poetry with brass and string sections alongside vocals from none other than Briggite Bardot herself.