Eric just dissected authenticity and performance, spitting water and other stage tricks, and other issues of negotiating onstage identity. And last night the Flaming Lips brought their carnival to the Paramount, complete with their well-tested arsenal of tricks, in a pretty striking example of non-spontaneous sincerity.

Before starting, Wayne Coyne addressed the audience with a warning and advice about the strobe lighting (if looking at it makes you feel epileptic, look away for a bit). With that, the bright lights went to work, initially in service of high intensity stylized ladyparts from which the band members emerged. The birthing imagery continued with Coyne's giant hamster all trading its former outerspace imagery for something a whole lot more placental. As usual, he used that big clear bubble to stroll above the outstretched arms covering the general admission. In his revival preacher mode, he exhorted the audience to dance like monkeys and we/they obliged. The stage was surrounded by young women in construction orange blissfully mingling with inflatable fish and stars. His wide-eyed face vied for time on the stage-spanning screen with footage of flower children and intense carnivorous jaws. At one point, Wayne rode around on the shoulders of a bear. Later, he donned enormous hands and fired green lasers at disco balls to great effect. Throughout, oh so much confetti fired from cannons and balloons hurled from the stage and batted around by the smoke-drenched light-dazed crowd.

Of course, none of this could be considered spontaneous. By definition, it's a highly choreographed show with a lot of marks to hit to keep everyone satisfied. Though the set was heavy with post-Yoshimi material, they still fit in all of the songs from that album that you need, along with always-present "Vaseline". But, in maybe one of the few ways that I'm a neo-hippie, this shtick works for me, every time, no matter how many times I've seen it, and no matter how expected the effects. I think I buy into it because I remain convinced that Coyne is a true believer in the transformative power of a couple hours of collective spectacle. I was once fortunate enough to be among the band's bouncy teletubby brigade and experiencing even that tiny fragment of the adoration directed at the stage left me with a multiday smile. I like to imagine that the cloud of joy that the band seems to ride from tour stop to tour stop is entirely real.
There's also the possibility that sensory overload by way of flashing lights and loud music is a good way to build a cult.
After the jump, a photographic stroll through some of the show's highlights.