THE FLAMING LIPS – at
war with the mystics
(CD, Warner)
I was reading a book about the
European mystics, i.e. a very early branch of Christian believers, which are
all about the direct experience of god (gnosis) rather than the walk through
the institutions of the roman church or being lectured on morals by priests,
which I find interesting due to its connections and similarities to Buddhist
rites and other Asian philosophies, which are very modern now, because of
them being some millennia old. While I was laying in the bathtub reading,
there was “Bruce Almighty” playing on tv (a free-tv-premiere) which is
about Jim Carrey being so fed up with god that god being so fed up with
Bruce’s constant pickering he gives him godly power. Of course, it all
leads to a tale of true love, doing the right thing and believing that god
knows best and will care for his true believers. And that was when I
realized that no matter how open and progressive our times are, and no
matter how many people opt out of churches and religions in favour of their
own homespun mixtures of philosophies, beliefs and religions, there is no
way to escape god. From the wonder of springtime and birth via the joys of
love and friendship to the eternal fear of death and pain, there is still a
lot more esoteric or spiritual parts in our lives than we will usually admit
to ourselves, because we are rational and modern people, and religions are
irrational and old fashioned.
But this review is not about religion
but about fighting. Fighting with form, with expectations, with rules and
guidelines, and finally even with the dogma of unexpectedness and how to
surprise those who expect surprises and if that is possible at all anyway.
And especially being at war with kids who spend their lonely puberty in
their rooms using their internet connection to add yet another list of
“masterpieces 2006” (in April!?) to amazon.com which has nothing but the
same trite stuff all the other lists and sales pitch marketing calendars
have. Yes, I also like Arctic Monkey and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, but
“masterpieces”? C’mon, we are talking about an afternoon snack here,
far from any notion of something lasting longer than a year. Hopefully, five
or seven percent of these lonely kids will at one point, when they stop
grasping for having all those groovy records in favour of finding one record
that means something, find The Flaming Lips and after scratching the surface
find a big new world to dive into. After all, music is a living breathing
art form and not a trite hobby like collecting stamps or basketball cards.
Oh well…
The Flaming Lips are always good for
a masterpiece, from appearing on “Beverly 90210” to a song about a young
girl fighting robots with karate. And that’s their hitsingles. In form and
function the Lips have declared their rock-youthism into a sophisticated
mannerism that is looped with an improbability drive steered by pink rabbits
(the ones that Marilyn Manson lent for his “Tainted Love”-video, they
never were the same again) and powered by a full trombone section with their
own maintenance officer for effects pedals in one of the lower rooms.
Jingly-jangly and 10.000 light years from home. I am waiting for the
acoustic session on MTV, with one of those bunnies playing banjo. To win the
big game, sensitivity and introversion will never make the day, especially
when it is a month in which every label is pumping their own list of would
be superstars or troubled moons circling planet pop (right now: Morrissey, Calexico, Dresden Dolls, and so many more).
