Flaming heck (& gig euphoria)
Some (late) reflections after the Flaming Lips' gig on Wednesday night. Firstly, the venue: the Troxy is in a cruddy part of East London, has a stupid name and is basically a bloody bingo hall - complete with dodgy carpet and weird side-on tables on the upper level. There was no bitter on sale, the wine was awful and the over-zealous security bods operate a one-in-one-out policy at the very front, which isn't ideal if you need to go for a piss or to the bar and get back to your mates in a hurry. And the Lips themselves? Well, this gig showed them to be a solid band overly fond of formless jams, capable of crafting the odd great tune when the mood takes them and canny enough to furnish their shows with enough gimmickry (dancers in animal suits, balloons, rolling around in a huge hamster ball, etc) to compensate for their musical eccentricities. Wayne Coyne is a wonderful showman, although it has been noted elsewhere that some of his onstage pronouncements ("aw shucks, you g...