Where There's Smoke There's Flaming Lips

Flaming Lips, Paramount Theatre, Seattle, September 20, 2007

Prior to tonight's show, I never would have guessed that I was allergic to smoke. Not cannabis or tobacco smoke. No, smoke exhaled by the Flaming Lips' mighty arsenal of smoke machines (Fog Hogs). Never in my 15 years of covering music have I ever been subjected to such an onslaught. So thick was the haze that it swallowed up the band's entire spectacle. Not even the laser lights could penetrate the vaporous wall of fog. As soon as the fog enveloped the Paramount's balcony section, my eyes began to water and itch, my nose started to twitch and drip. On several occasions, when the veil dissipated, ringleader Wayne Coyne hoisted his hand-held smoker and filled the holes. My nose wept with snot.

The night wasn't about smoke and tears, though. There were also dozens of giant balloons launched into audience, massive explosions of confetti, an enormous video screen projecting strange films and close-ups of Wayne's nostrils, dancing Santas and aliens and giant inflatables. It was as if some crazed psychedelic band had joyously ransacked the local party supply shop.

As for the music? Well it was pretty great, transcendental even, in that the Flaming Lips didn't need the big-top spectacle. Nor did they need Wayne's folksy, aw-shucks between-song banter. All those balloons, all that confetti, all that gimmickry—totally unnecessary (though enormously amusing). The music stands on its own two feet, and that's what's important. It's also something that couldn't be said about a Flaming Lips performance a few years ago—back when they opted for a drum machine instead of real-life drummer machine named Kliph. Back when they were unable to render live the greatness and splendor of their recorded psychedelic suites. Back when they were transitioning from a madcap noise-rock band to a psymphonic tour de force. Not so anymore. Initially, Wayne's vocals were a little rough, not quite hitting the high notes in the opening song, "Race for the Prize" (thank God for confetti and balloons). But that wasn't all that surprising considering he sings well above his natural register. What's more, instead of warming up backstage, Wayne spent the half-hour prior to the band's set actually on stage, preparing the set and testing equipment right alongside the roadies. (His hands-on approach—uncharacteristic of shows at this level—was as mind-blowing as any of the Lips' songs.)

Back to the music. The Flaming Lips seek to deliver their audience from all that ails it. They offer an uplifting experience that is part religious revival, part carnival, part arena rock revue. And on this night, you had to be pretty jaded not to feel touched by the cosmic joy and energy projected by their music. Sure, songs like "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song" and "Free Radicals" focal points of the band's latest album, At War with the Mystics, are bogged down by trite political rants. And yet, live these songs radiated with undeniable immediacy and conviction—you couldn't help shaking your ass and singing along. (Honestly, I changed my tune about "Yeah Yeah Yeah" and "Radicals" after experiencing them live.) The highlight of the show was the closer, "Do You Realize," the catchy, bittersweet anthem about savoring the moment, loving one another, enjoying small triumphs—celebrating life. It served as a poignant reminder: Before we know it, the surprise party of death will greet us, and we don't know if we'll be showered with confetti or swallowed into a smoky abyss.

Melvins Bulldoze the Showbox

Melvins, The Showbox, Seattle, September 19, 2007 The Melvins have gotten a little rounder and a bit grayer (OK, Buzz’s gravity-defying mane is A LOT grayer). Middle age has indeed settled in and made itself at home. Sonically speaking, however, the Melvins haven’t gone soft. How could they? They’ve been bulldozing the rock landscape for more than 20 years—and bulldozers don’t tread lightly. If anything, their inimitable sound is nimbler and more muscular. Credit the recent addition of bassist/vocalist Jared Warren and second drummer Coady Willis (both of Big Business). The Melvins’ appearance at Seattle’s Showbox Sept. 18, the kick-off of their fall 2007 U.S. tour, left no question as to the band’s vitality. On this night, they stormed the stage like a pack of mal-tempered pachyderms, trampling their admirers beneath the overwhelming blunt force of their heavy metal stomp. For 90 minutes, a sold-out crowd absorbed the cataclysmic tremors and serrated shockwaves—and delighted in the menacing punishment. So mighty were their swells of sound, so severe were their wallops that one could have easily overlooked the genius of their song architecture, which is often unpredictable and deceptively complex. And yet it was this underlying brilliance that ultimately heightened the impact of their physicality. As reflected by the new lineup, much of Tuesday’s set focused on material from A Senile Animal—the first album to feature this latest Melvins incarnation. “Civilized Worm,” “A History of Bad Men” and “Rat Faced Granny” highlighted the band’s time-honored signatures (bottom-end bombast, syncopated rhythms, slow-tempo drones, King Buzzo’s snarling vocals, Dale Crover’s percussive wallop) but were augmented by newly acquired strengths—Jared’s shrieking, higher-octave wails and harmonies and the violent, tenacious thrashing of the Crover and Willis tandem. The Melvins are showing their age, all right. But they aren’t old.

Melvins Unleashed and on Tour!

The following is a short piece I penned for the Seattle P-I, in which I interviewed Melvins co-founder and traps pounder Dale Crover. At the time, the Melvins were still a trio--it would be a few years before the enlistment Big Business partners bassist/shouter Jared Warren and drummer Coady Willis. The latest Melvins incarnation is again making a menace of itself in U.S. clubs through the fall. If you haven't had the pleasure of subjecting yourself to the savage splendor of the Melvins' latest LP, A Senile Animal, well, then what are you waiting for? Look for a lengthy Q&A with King Buzzo from 2000 (previously printed in The Rocket) in the coming weeks.

Club Beat: No Energy Crisis for the Melvins
Friday, January 26, 2001

By JOE EHRBAR
SPECIAL TO THE POST-INTELLIGENCER

"We're just lucky, I guess."

That's one way Melvins drummer Dale Crover explains his band's remarkable longevity of 17 years. And he's right, they are lucky. The Melvins, who, in Aberdeen, forged grunge by crossing metal (Sabbath) with punk (Flipper) and slowed the whole thing to a sludgy crawl, and who acted as a catalyst in the formation of Nirvana, remain standing, still aspiring toward new artistic heights, and showing no signs of fatigue. A mighty achievement for a band that only haunts the fringes of the mainstream.

The Melvins—Crover, guitarist/vocalist Buzz Osborne (a.k.a. King Buzzo) and bassist Kevin Rutmanis—perform tonight in the Sky Church at EMP, the museum their formidable sound helped build (8 p.m., $5). (But don’t call them a museum piece.)

"We've had our ups and downs, but we really enjoy playing with each other," says Crover, whose soft-spoken manner belies his bombastic drumming. "I still really like all the songs that Buzz writes. It's exciting, challenging, worth doing."

The Melvins, now based in Los Angeles, have survived in a hostile music industry largely because of the strong bond that exists between Osborne and Crover and their fierce devotion to the band's independence and craft. Even when they were signed to Atlantic for three albums (1993's Houdini, 1994's Stoner Witch and 1996's Stag), they maintained that integrity.
If anything, they grew more adventurous—not to mention dissonant—during their major-label stay and allowed their metallic mountain-moving sound to wander freely into more experimental realms.

By eluding convention the Melvins have kept things interesting for themselves. In doing so, they've befuddled their fan base, something in which the band undoubtedly takes great delight.
For instance, during 1999 and 2000 the trio released a trilogy of albums, The Maggot, The Bootlicker and The Crybaby (Ipecac), each bearing little similarity to the other. Maggot stomped around familiar Melvins noise-metal territory; Bootlicker delved into psychedelic madness and creepy ambiance; while Crybaby kicked and screamed through a disjointed mess of unusual collaborations with likes of Hank Williams III, former teen idol Leif Garrett, among others.

The Melvins' next wave of releases is equally perplexing. First up will be Electroretard (Man’s Ruin), an EP of covers and reworked—or mutated—versions of old songs, in February, followed by a live album of scalding-hot white noise titled Colossus of Destiny, in April. Crover calls Colossus "our Metal Machine Music album," referring to Lou Reed's infamous noise recording from 1975.

"We never know what to expect with our band," Crover admits. "So it's even a surprise to us."

While anything's possible at tonight's show, count on the Melvins not to consign themselves to EMP's permanent collection.

Go see the Melvins (tour dates): http://www.ipecac.com/calendar.php