All weekend long, the Flaming Lips had been on everyone’s. (Lips, that is.) Whether it was simply hyping what was sure to be an incredible outing by the Oklahoma band, bemoaning the too-early timeslot they were given (with everyone insisting that a show as visually spectacular as theirs would be best-served by a nighttime setting) or arguing with other festival-goers about where they fell on the Lips/Band of Horses debate (the two bands played at the exact same time at the exact opposite end of the park, with concertgoers having to pledge allegiance to one or the other, or else sprint from stage to stage mid-set).
But when 7:00 on Sunday evening rolled around, the last strains of “Do You Realize?” fading away with the sunlight, we were left with the impression that all the talk had been just that: talk. Could we really have just walked away from a Flaming Lips show feeling (gasp!) disappointed? But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s back up.
Yeasayer performing
The day started out promising enough. Though saddened to find out that Gayngs — the 23-member soft-rock supergroup containing, among others, Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon — was forced to cancel after their equipment-filled tour bus was stolen overnight, we were placated by Yeasayer’s eclectic set, which included a 60/40 split of old songs (from their 2007 debut, All Hour Cymbals) to new (from February’s Odd Blood).
It’s hard to pinpoint Yeasayer on a musical map — their albums tend to jump around from song to song, venturing into electronic briefly before detouring into an Indian-inspired number and then getting lost in ’80s nostalgia. There’s even a hint of reggae present on “Ambling Alp,” which they concluded their hour-long set with. But their musical schizophrenia made for an exciting live show that kept audiences on their toes — and not just metaphorically, either. People were bouncing and shimmying along with lead singer Chris Keating, who cha cha-ed in place and moved his free hand in time with his lyrics.
But even the band knew that much of the crowd that had gathered for their set was likely on loan from the Lips (who’d be playing on that same stage an hour later), ‘fessing up that even some of the set pieces on stage were borrowed, as well. With our next show starting minutes after Yeasayer ended, we had no time to linger and watch the Lips’ crew begin the laborious task of setting up the remainder of their larger-than-life stage display — in the sweltering late-afternoon heat, no less.
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Photo courtesy: Matt EllisInstead, it was onward to the ZYNC Card Stage for Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. For a band we hadn’t even heard of three months ago, the Zeros have quickly climbed into our top-10 most-played artists of the year (our iTunes play-counter would surely corroborate this claim) with their killer album, Up From Below, which was actually released in 2009. Their set at this year’s festival was high on our must-see list, if for nothing else to get a glimpse at these people whose songs we’d been blaring on repeat for the last ten weeks and finally put faces to voices.
Here’s what we saw: a rag-tag group of happy-go-lucky gypsies that you wouldn’t be surprised to find hitchhiking on the side of an interstate. And let me clarify: We mean this in the best way possible. Lead singer Alex Ebert looked like he could moonlight as the leader of a hippy commune, with his bushy beard; long hair twisted up atop his head; dingy, white, knee-grazing shirt; and bare feet. He took to the crowd several times, holding hands with fans and bodysurfing across the masses, clearly basking in the love being afforded him. Female vocalist Jade Castrinos wore a backpack for the first few songs of the set, as if ready to high-tail it to the next tour stop at a moment’s notice. Members hopped and skipped around the stage, arbitrarily beating tambourines whenever the mood struck them. At times, it was difficult to distinguish who on stage were the dozen or so members of the band and who were fans watching from the wings.
But even better than the visuals here was the music: Despite the onstage melee, the Zeros sounded clear and effervescent, starting and ending on high notes (doo-wop ditty “40 Day Dream” and uber-catchy “Janglin’” kicked off the set; fan-favorite “Home” and the uplifting “Om Nashi Me” closed it out). The ad-libbed nature of the spoken-word conversation in the middle of “Home” only made the rendition more charming, as both Ebert and Castrinos seemed temporarily lost for something to say and stumbled over each other’s words. It gave the countrified love song, which evokes the feel of an old George Jones-Tammy Wynette duet, a sweet and authentic feel.
Wayne Coyne crawling across the crowd in his "space bubble"
With plenty of the Woodstock energy lingering in the air after their set, we felt ready for our first Flaming Lips experience. We made a mad dash across the park back toward the AMD stage, where they were set to start any minute. Questions as to whether we’d get to see Wayne Coyne’s infamous “space bubble” (a blow-up hamster-ball-like contraption that he uses to roll around atop the crowd in) were quickly answered when Coyne came onstage prior to the performance and addressed the crowd matter-of-factly. “Let’s not rush each other, or push each other,” he said, even detailing the route he planned to take across the sea of people. Though this may have taken away from the some of the spontaneity of the act, it was likely a necessary precaution and actually seemed to get the crowd more excited for what they were about to see.
The space bubble — an undeniably grin-inducing gimmick, even if it’s not fresh anymore — was just the first of many tricks that Coyne had up his sleeve. After he was de-bubbled, he wielded a megaphone (in lieu of a microphone) that spewed hot pink gas as he sang, and later armed himself with pipe guns filled with streamers, which he shot off gleefully. When the long streamers fell down onto the stage, he would simply grab a fistful and start windmilling them in the air. A man in a bear suit appeared out of nowhere and hoisted Coyne up on his shoulders for the better part of “Silver Trembling Hands.” Giant balloons were sent bouncing from the stage (several were shot-putted by Coyne himself) into the crowd. And on and on it went.
Perhaps it was just that our expectations were too high. Perhaps it was our position in relation to the stage that kept the sound from carrying well, or simply the curse of the AMD stage, which had also hosted some of our least-favorite performances of the weekend. Perhaps we were harboring resentment for not being selected to be a part of the dancing haz-mat armies of hype men and women flanking the stage, or perhaps we’re just curmudgeons. But whatever it was, somewhere in the middle of the bear suits and confetti canons and guitars growing giant plastic tumors for seemingly no reason, we got a little lost. We weren’t enjoying ourselves the way we thought we would. The Flaming Lips are natural-born performers, without a doubt, and certainly some of the most consistently inventive artists of our time, but it felt somehow uninspired. Or just uninspiring.
At around the point that Coyne instructed the audience to mimic the sounds produced by the animals or objects he was singing about (motorcycles, helicopters, cats, bats, bees, and breeze were all part of the repertoire) — an exercise that seemed more suited for a Raffi concert than one by an experimental pyschadelic rock group — our attentions started to wander, specifically to the growing crowd that was forming at the stage next-door for the National’s penultimate 7:00 set. We ventured away from the Lips shortly after they played ’90s hit “She Don’t Use Jelly” and just before they launched into their soaring ballad “Do You Realize?” Luckily, we could hear the latter from our spot at the Honda stage. And after an hour-long onslaught of visual shtick, hearing the song without any ocular accompaniment was a welcome respite.
The National
The same could actually be said for the National’s entire set, which was light on stunts in favor of musicality. Lead singer Matt Berninger emerged, clad in his staple concert suit and tie, and grabbed the crowd by the heartstrings with his deep baritone voice (think later Leonard Cohen) and talk-singing style. The heavy drumbeats rocked us to our core, and their guitar riffs left us speechless — and then there was the blaring trumpet, bellowing trombone and stirring violin, too. Add to the mix an endless stream of poignant lyrics, and it was easy to see why this Cincinnati quintet has quietly become one of the most respected and adored bands in existence today.
In fact, the group drew such a response from the crowd that they earned an encore (cutting in on the Eagles’ set across the park) — an almost unheard-of event for a band not performing as a headliner. Quipped Berninger: “I saw Glenn Frey in the shower backstage. He said we could have five more minutes.”
The set list was a treat for longtime die-hard fans, offering a perfect blend of old and new songs, with the band pulling from Cherry Tree (“About Today,” which made for a touching encore), Alligator (“Abel”), Boxer (“Squalor Victoria,” “Slow Show” and “Fake Empire”), as well as their new album High Violet (“England,” “Anyone’s Ghost” and “Bloodbuzz Ohio,” the latter of which the band dedicated to the Cincinnati Reds, who, they said, were “fighting for their survival.” Incidentally, they were knocked out of the playoffs by the Phillies shortly after the set ended.)
Keeping the crowd energized, Berninger hopped atop the fence that separated the band from the stage as he belted out the lyrics to “Mr. November,” which was dedicated to their violinist, who is leaving the band to join Sufjan Stevens on tour. Berninger also joked about giving $1,000 to anyone who could pop the giant inflated ball that was bouncing around the crowd, then noted that Wayne Coyne was probably in it. During the entire set, there wasn’t a moment that the audience wasn’t fixated on Berninger’s every move, every word, every sound. And if we could still be there cheering him on for more songs, we would be.
When their encore drew to a close, we wandered toward the food trailers. We sat at a picnic bench and ate to our hearts’ content as the sounds of the Eagles’ wafted over from the packed Budweiser stage. When our stomachs were as full as our music-loving souls, we packed up and headed out of Zilker Park for the last time — until next year’s fest, happening Sept. 16-18, 2011.