As expected, nothing went as expected.
With opening remarks regarding love and beingness, a pink-robot-festooned crown perched atop a crimson clad Wayne Coyne, offered a beautifully microcosmic example of what was to come: a stage-filling pink robot for the crowd to project their songs upon.
This whole thing wasn’t about the musicians or the visual effects, Coyne proclaimed, but about the people in the audience, interacting and having a kick ass time. The Flaming Lips were there simply as support for the party, which broke out considerably with a torrent of confetti and huge balloons that followed a giant silvery balloon-letter “Fuck Yeah Eugene” into the masses.
Above the stage hung long strings of lights, like a net full of electric eels and frenzied lanternfish. Upon the stage, The Flaming Lips ripped into music full of vigor and bass, precision and exploration.