Flaming Lips Float Ethically in Boston Harbor, 7/27/11

The final leg of the "In Our Bodies/Out of Our Heads" Flaming Lips tour began at the Bank of America Pavilion in Boston Harbor on a balmy Thursday, and the noise and raucor at the semi-outdoor venue may have kicked off the last of the Lips as we know them: because, like political wrangling over debt ceilings, Wayne Coyne and Company simply can't this up for much longer. This was not a Dark Side of the Moon show; nor was it a Soft Bulletin extraveganza, but rather a full show of original material, much the same as the House of Blues AC show a few weeks (months?) back. The previous tour leg ended in Chicago, with the Much Ado that was the Dave Matthews Caravan; since the buses returned and parked in Oklahoma City, well, what do the Flaming Lips do when they're on vacation? Is there a way to NOT expend such stage-energy across other parts of life? And does this come to look like a lot of naked lounging at home in the heat? Regardless, the beer-swilling undergraduate Boston crowd gathered beneath the strange and dramatic sweep of white plastic roof, and the cool breezes from the ocean kept the event literally and physically chill, far from the previous week's heat-- though none of us could have matched Wayne Coyne's opening-night-of-the-last-leg-of-the-tour buzz ("If I had eaten a hash brownie before the show...," I confided in a friend after the first twenty minutes of music descended into an interminable "Yoshimi" singalong). If I had-- but would have likely enjoyed the show no less. Coyne did it all: the confetti cannons, the streamers, the plastic-bubbl'd acoustic, the hugs to the crowd from the stage. One of the dancers was especially enthusiastic, and Wayne took the occasion to call him out on his antics: "look at this guy-- it's his birthday-- he just got out of some prison-- he's pysched," as the man literally jumped in esctacy. Someone else distracted Wayne twice during "Yoshimi," as he addressed the front row distraction into the microphone, and we all heard him say, "I appreciate what you're trying to do." Musically, only a "Race for the Prize" first encore-- with psuedodramatic slow moaning intro-- kept this show from being different than what went down at the House of Blues in Atlantic City a few months ago. A longsleeved Drozd continued on, crawling with each lick and note towards building his Pop Rock kingdom, up to and including eerily militant new songs that may lead one to shuffle and head-bob like any Deadhead, or march triumphantly into a more liberating and unceiling'd abyss. Ethically, however, something about Boston may have even been more real: perhaps it was that the band was at liberty, time-wise: the full stage lighting was rigged, including the dramatic,sweeping three-quarter circle that extends the video screen, as well as the all-important spot that shone on the rotating mirror ball during "What Is the Light???," and turned the whole of the Pavilion and the smooth curves of its insides into an adult senior prom, to the slow dance we all really wanted. Wayne had been in Harvard Square the previous night, and shared with the crowd some of his experience: he had met some people who were having "sad experiences," tough times, real challenges. He didn't elaborate, but specifically wanted to thank the audience, for their being a part of the experience those sad people were having-- that every person there was essential, and together summed into the event that would help those sad people through their sad times. This intention is what drew out the crowd, and their costumes, and what may forever guard the Lips from being any other rock band: that together, we made visible the face of Boston, and in our attendance, helped make more divine all of us and all of the night, all of the harbor and all our experiences.