By Melissa Fossum
By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
Let's play free association.
What's the first thing that comes to mind when you think "Oklahoma City"? Right-wing kooks with fertilizer bombs? The site of the world's tallest radio tower (KOMA)? The famed test market for both McRibs and MTV?
Not if you're a Flaming Lips fan.
True, the Lips are from OKC, but that's irrelevant here (except to consider how a place so, well, normal could produce such a surreal rock band).
The point is, if you're a Flaming Lips fan, there's probably no telling what tangent your mind will go tripping merrily down given the room to roam.
A prompt like "Apple" could elicit the response "psychiatric explorations of the fetus with needles." "Iced Tea" might easily spark the phrase "lightning strikes the postman."
So why should "Oklahoma City" yield "the Lips' hometown" instead of, say, "Kim's watermelon gun punctured my yolk"?
Psychedelic gibberish? No--Flaming Lips song titles and words. There is a difference. Compare the schizophrenic scribblings of a Berkeley burnout "street artist" to a Salvador Dali painting and you get the idea.
While the Lips' lyrics don't make sense, per se, the imagery is brilliant--switching from scenes of kaleidoscopic, blanket-of-flowers beauty to deeply disturbed glimpses of a nightmare as if God and the devil are wrestling over the remote control. Embrace it or fear it--either way, the stuff gets into your head.
So do the tunes.
Lead vocalist Wayne Coyne's high, intentionally off-key warblings are an acquired taste (think Daniel Johnston with better mikes), but palatable in the end because they draw attention to the vivid webs Coyne weaves. If he were singing pretty, it would be too easy for the listener to get disoriented in the Lips' sprawling soundscape and walk right past the poetry.
The synesthesia in the title Clouds Taste Metallic is appropriate for this album. Melodies shape-shift and slow-boil like cotton balls in the sky, while light distortion on the double and sometimes triple guitars gives the Lips' latest a subtle yet definite metal flavor--like copper in blood.
Ignored by the real world for almost a decade, Flaming Lips finally broke big last year with "She Don't Use Jelly," a single off Transmissions From the Satellite Heart (past Lips titles include Providing Needles for Your Balloons and Hit to Death in the Future Head). "Jelly" earned the band a Lollapalooza spot and the more dubious honor of a guest performance on Beverly Hills, 90210.
The best bet for a similar hit to emerge from Clouds is the parading, White Albumesque chorus on "Christmas at the Zoo," though the random feedback and tuning noise in the song's intro make it an inside straight at best. False starts, studio chatter and the buzz/pop of patch cords being plugged into amps are scattered throughout this recording, creating the comfortable (and highly noncommercial) feel of a home movie.
Spotlight tracks include the buzz saw and twang of "Kim's Watermelon Gun"; the offcenter love ditty "When You Smile"; and the dizzy "Placebo Headwound," in which Coyne poses a rapid-fire series of questions on--among other subjects--outer space, avian migration patterns and the existence of God.
Also excellent is the album's opener, "The Abandoned Hospital Ship," which begins with a slow crescendo of piano and Coyne's wailings, then gives way to a piercing guitar riff, which in turn rises and crashes into a deep pool of drums and bass like a perfectly curled wave.
The best word on experiencing this album is to let it come to you--just kick back with your arm under your head and watch the wonder reveal itself among the clouds. Here's to the heartland.--David Holthouse
Best of Beck
Here's a trend the critics have yet to dissect--a recording company issues a comprehensive boxed set of an artist, only to release a pared-down, single-disc retrospective two years later. It happened with the Byrds in 1994, and now it's Jeff Beck's turn. The good news is that Spinal Tap guitarist Nigel Tufnel's real-life look-alike greatly benefits from Epic's nip-and-tuck job, which cut losers like the guitarist's 1968 psychedelic Muzak version of "Love Is Blue" and his 1967 solo single "Hi Ho Silver Lining" on which the Jefferoo had the audacity to sing. Yikes!
Unlike his Yardbirds predecessor Eric Clapton, Beck had no loyalty to the blues, which left him free to explore all the uncharted territory in rock--including ragas, Indian drones, metal and jazz/fusion. He could jump from an overtly heavy "Jailhouse Rock" to an exquisitely understated rendition of Mingus' "Goodbye, Pork Pie Hat" with uncanny ease. And Jeff's place in pop heaven was assured by "Beck's Bolero," a classic track featuring John Paul Jones on bass and Keith Moon on drums that launched a zillion Jimmy Page overdubs. All three tracks are included on this "best of."
There's a healthy sampling of the best of Rod Stewart here, as well--Rod the Mod is the featured vocalist on nearly half the tunes. Sadly, MTV watchers probably know Beck solely from his collaboration with Stewart on "People Get Ready."
That's one crying shame this affordable introduction to Beck caneasily rectify. (P.S. Adirective to all record-store employees: Anyone who brings this disc to the counter asking if "Loser" is on it should betaken to the back of thestore and severely knocked about the head with Ugly Kid Joe returns.)--Serene Dominic