“You n Me Sellin’ Weed” offers another nostalgic slow burner. Whilst esoteric in its opening, the converse simplicity of Coyne crying for his brother’s immortality justifies the obtuse arrangement as a deeply affecting tribute to his embattled brother. The arpeggiated synth and death march percussion leaves “Brother Eye” a little bit harder to sink into. Coloured by flourishing instrumentation, it’s through a concise conveying of guilt that the Oklahoman adds another arresting moment to the record “Now I see the sadness in the world, I’m sorry I didn’t see it before”. There’s more overt melodrama on “Mother I’ve Taken LSD” as Coyne reckons with the evils of the world otherwise obscured from his hallucinogenic view. The whimsical recount of what its name implies soon turns to deliver another devastating chorus, flooring the listener in a juxtaposition of saddening euphoria as the narrator resents his own waste “We’re so high that we, forget that we’re alive, as we destroy our brains ’til we believe we’re dead”. It is dwarfed, however, by the tragical nostalgia of “At the Movies on Quaaludes”. Without over-impressing, its implosion of resonant synths and haunting choral harmonies keep the arrangement compelling. Reverting to more exploratory psychedelia, “Dinosaurs on The Mountain” plays as both a fanciful ode to those reptiles long lost as well as a macabre commentary on what society is left to harbour “Now that it’s burned off, The scum of the Earth, I wish the dinosaurs, were still here now”. Crying out with horror in helplessness, Coyne delivers his first dagger “Oh my God, why is it them, oh my God, now it’s me”. It blends seamlessly into the downtrodden psychedelia of “Flowers of Neptune 6”, unassuming in its gentle strums and cascading synths before the hard-hitting chorus rises with theatricality out of nowhere. Glistening synth revolves around Kacey Musgraves’ vocal coos that climax just as much as they fall into sombre self-realisation. “Watching the Lightbugs Glow” follows up with a woozy instrumental arrangement that exudes the senses of one coming to terms the day after the night before.
With each verse feeling like an ascent over its predecessor, it’s in the concluding cacophony of synths and lead guitar that we see there’s only one way things can turn if elevated too high. Though the luscious George Harrison-esque arrangement feels heavenly, it’s through Coyne’s croon that we realise this is merely subterfuge for the darker actual existence “Now all your friends are dead, and their ghosts, floating around your bed”. Whilst a dreamy opening dive, “Will You Return / When You Come Down” represents a transient euphoria before the ensuing crash.
More comedown than psychedelic trip, American Head induces the deep sorrow of living a lifestyle dedicated to drugs once the high has worn away. As a form of fan fiction imbued with Coyne’s personal experiences seeing his brother in-and-out of prison, The Lips are envisaged as stoned-out music makers of that era coming to grips with some harsh realities. However, it’s in the heart-wrenching delivery of anecdotes evoking lost innocence and suffering through drug use, from a band otherwise once synonymous with such activity, that proves The Lips are as relevant as ever.įollowing Tom Petty’s death in 2017, Coyne became fascinated by the American artist’s pre- Heartbreakers period, playing and travelling across America with Mudcrutch. On their second LP of 2020, American Head, ’70s Americana acts as a perfectly apt, if not potentially safe, canvas for Coyne to paint on. Spanning alt pop, psych-rock and more experimental noise noodlings, The Flaming Lips’ discography is best dignified by soulful drama and sincere messages of morality thread through ever-changing soundscapes. After 17 studio albums, it would be insultingly reductive to try and categorise the career of Wayne Coyne and co.
0 kommentar(er)
