GIG REVIEWS

The Flaming Lips
@ The Academy, Manchester
16.01.03
www.vanguard-online.co.uk

 A Thursday winter's night in Manchester and a sold out Academy see the Flaming Lips caravan roll into town. A seemingly unending stream of punters flow through the room's double doors and the adjoining bar into the main hall and stop abruptly. The support act - British Sea Power - have stunned and confused them so that they stand bewildered at the rear of the auditorium like teenage boys at a school disco. Had they waded forward into the enthused throng caught up in the cacophonous furore they might have been rewarded with a metaphorical snog from the Catholic school girl we'll call, for tonight, British Sea Power. With bare shrubs mounted about the stage, a helmeted bass drummer marching to and from his Bontempi Organ while beating out a freakish rhythm, and both squawking guitars and vocals it was easy to get swept up in the ferocity of the naval assault.

In her Smiths meets Led Zeppelin meets Joy Division embrace we can do no more than lock lips and hold on for the ride. The other Lips were watching from stage left, perhaps hatching plans to better the sonic attack of their support act. When the waves died down the stage was awash with blue light and applause; and the boys in the back crept forward with Dutch courage in hand. They would have been glad they did, for approaching was a woolly hatted local lad with guitar in hand. On a whim, Badly Drawn Boy had decided to take on the packed house (apparently he just turned up to watch the show and had been asked to play). Tonight he played just three songs and, to be fair, was very good.

Now, if you'll allow me to go off on a tangent, I'll explain why I was pleased to only have to hear Damon Gough warble along to three tunes. You see, I attended Badly Drawn Boy's recent concert in Liverpool near the end of 2002 but it wasn't a great gig. For starters, he had a terrible support band. I failed to catch their name and the guy at the merchandising stand fell into fits of laughter when I gave a categorical "no!" in reply to his question "were they any good?"

That night, Damon himself took to the stage at around 8.30 and was done by 11. Now I'm all for value for money, but tonight this was too much for my legs and ears to take - I seem to remember there even being an intermission! The hardcore Badly Drawn fans must have had a fantastic night, and for the most part the band and Mr Gough were tight ('Magic In The Air' and latest single 'Born Again' sounding particularly excellent), but two and a half hours of his atonal vocal? He was even playing B-sides for God's sake. But hey, his parents were there in the Royal Box (we all had to applaud them at one point!) so I guess you had to give him his moment before the folks (his mum knew every word to every song too).

Anyway, I was underwhelmed in Liverpool. So this is probably why tonight I found the three tunes ('The Shining', 'You Were Right' - complete with a tribute to the late Joe Strummer, and a cover of a tune by the band Alfie), played solo and acoustically, a pleasant little interlude. Well done DG.

The Flaming Lips then. Well, we hoped it would be something special. A spectacle. Of course that's exactly what it was; a visual and sonic treat, from the moment the stage was invaded by fans dressed in huge animal costumes to the final poignant chords of 'The Observer'.

Badly Drawn Boy himself had earlier proclaimed the Lips the best band in the world and maybe they believed it. At the very least they believed they could put on the best show in the world and their introduction on the huge screen, that the band traditionally stand before, stated as much. During each song, onto this screen was projected a loop of film (perhaps a scene from 'Cool Hand Luke', an image of stars, or clips of the Teletubbies!), something bizarre to kind of suit the moment. Also, roughly a dozen huge balloon balls had been thrown into the crowd and these were being knocked from hand to hand to towering frontman Wayne Coyne's head and back again.

It was a truly remarkable sight to behold: a huge screen of film behind, twelve large balls flying around before, dancing pandas and bunnies holding torches on each side, and three men from Oklahoma playing music in the midst of this madness. Just a normal Flaming Lips show then.

They kick off with a truly uplifting performance of their 1999 single 'Race for the Prize' and (with the exception of a fine version of their bubbly underground success 'She Don't Use Jelly') move easily between material from their latest two albums, 'The Soft Bulletin' and 'Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots', all night. Coyne explains how he wants his shows to just be a party, and takes time out tonight to sing Happy Birthday to selected audience members. He has all manner of stage props: a mobile smoke generator, a neon light he twirls above his head, a camera attached to the end of his microphone that broadcasts his face onto the screen behind - enabling him to use his collection of glove puppets to assist in singing the song. He needs raw energy from the crowd to feed him, and continually throws confetti at the front rows while shaking his fists in a "come on" motion.

But perhaps we don't have the sort of energy he needs. It is only Thursday night after all and we've got work the next day! So the Flamies wind things down, killing the party atmosphere before it dies of it's own free will. The balloons have all popped on spotlights or the spikey bits of instruments by now and the tunes veer towards the beautifully sad. This is the true magic of the Flaming Lips and for the first time we're allowed to notice the music shining through (too often tonight it had been lost beneath the weight of different sounds they employ). 'Do You Realize' and 'Waitin' for a Superman' are perfectly crafted moments in time.

Before the vivid melancholia of a breathtaking 'All We Have is Now' (Neil Young must wish he still wrote anything as moving as this) Wayne reminds us all that this might be the last gig they ever play, or the last gig we ever see. He tells us to "live in the moment." Well I knew I was living for every moment of that one.

Sadly the show had to end. The big man's voice seemed to be failing during the encore and after just an hour and twenty minutes we were back in the real world again. Perhaps they're all perfectionists (they joined their roadies onstage before the gig to check all their equipment) and the thought of a broken vocal meant they had to call the gig to a halt. Or perhaps they were saving their star striker for their upcoming parties at the weekend in some place where the audience don't have to get up early the next morning.

Who knows? Don't ask me to explain what goes on in their heads. They're all mad I tell you.

Paul Baker