Happy tears were delivered to the faces of many after it was announced that The Flaming Lips would return to our shores to headline this year's Splendour in the Grass. Hypothetical shock-waves from their triumphant 2004 tour remained dear in the hearts of many, and word about their monstrous live show spread faster than cold sores on a streetwalker's sinful face. You hopefully know the drill - animal suits, jovial old men in giant transparent bubbles, confetti coming out the wazoo. Simply, they know how to impress. Often described as the best children's party ever, the tickets to the show flew out the door quicker then Diana's body from a crumpled Mercedes, and rightfully so.
As the light grew after Midnight Juggernauts' hardly worthy of mention set, the abundance of glorious freaks became apparent. Colourful face paint and feather-a-plenty donned the heads of most. In my opinion, a great crowd is one that makes an effort. By my side in the crowd was a bearded man in a floral dress, delightfully stirring his beer with his long blue nails; a totally acceptable getup in this setting. In any other occasion I would get away from him as soon as possible. Possibly the police would be involved.
Eagerness shuffled the greedy crowd forward in anticipation as frontman Wayne Coyne came on stage to play the part of roadie. On one hand, it's a little disenchanting when the band prance around connecting speakers and what-not in full light. On the other hand though, Wayne Coyne is in control; he does what he wants, when he wants. That's what makes this band great. Hell, he could roger the Queen all night long in a Nazi uniform for all I care.
With the drop of the house lights, a 20 foot LCD screen behind the stage came to life. Crowd roars joined the psychedelic patterns pulsating to and fro around the image of a naked lady on screen. The band are then 'born' onstage via the lady's gigantic vagina (of course) through a tiny door that pops out from the centre of the screen. Cheers erupt for guitar-smith Steve (who, in contrary to my prediction, was not shooting up A-grade horse upon his entry), followed by bald bassist Michael. Wayne then comes tumbling from the side of the stage in his trademark rubber ball, gleefully crushing the heads and hands of the screaming pedestrians below.
After some epileptic lights alongside two intro-specific songs, they break into Race For the Prize from 1999's gorgeous Soft Bulletin. Confetti erupts like vomit from cannons everywhere and giant balloons rain from the heavens above. God's pill must have kicked in. The setlist strongly favoured the last ten or so years of their catalogue, but still the mix was gracefully rationed. Three songs in and after a 'George Bush sucks, yay Obama' intro (which is the hip thing to do these days) we're treated to 'the Yeah Yeah Yeah song' off 2006's ho-hum At War With The Mystics. Whilst bland and repetitive on the album, this song really shows its tits live. Constant fist pumps into the air and subsequent beer spills on the blue nailed freak to my side made this a memorable moment.
The onstage shenanigans were genius, going well beyond my already bloated expectations. Among the dancers were a team of lizards, some mice, a giant huggable sun, a giant caterpillar, a gorilla and some sexy pandas that questioned my inter-species sexuality. There was a giant Easter Island head thing, except a lot scarier. He frightened me a little. Wayne was popping nearby balloons with his guitar neck throughout the gig; a popular move with the kids. Fan favourites Fight Test and Yoshimi Pt. 1 (both title tracks off two early decade releases) sent the crowd into a fury, but not as much as 1992 classic She Don't Use Jelly, a heroic sing-along in which the joy was plentiful. To conclude Jelly, Wayne filled an enormous tangerine balloon with an air gun until it burst and rained confetti. This was made all that much better knowing that Splendour didn't get it.
Before the lights dimmed one last time, we were invited to a very sweet and equally successful marriage proposal by some love-struck fool in a lizard costume. A true campus hero! Following the lovebirds was the band's return to the stage, with Wayne delivering one last positive speech (there were many throughout the night). The opening chords of Do You Realise?? burst through the speakers to deafening applause; confetti yet again rained down upon us happy fools for the last time, totalling the amount to ten trillion individual pieces. Looking at the mess everywhere, I almost felt sorry for the cleanup crew. Should have studied harder if you didn't want to be a janitor buddy!
In closing, you wish Wayne Coyne was your dad (instead of that embarrassment that will fall into your wedding cake). Thank God (or Satan?) there's still live bands like this out there today, beaming warmth and forcing smiles on even the grumpiest folk. Once again, The Flaming Lips echo will cascade through Australia and the myth will grow. Hopefully it won't be too long before I'm jumping for balloons and picking confetti out of my hair again. If you didn't go, take my word and save your clams for their next Australian adventure. If not, you're a damned fool.
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