All photos by our new photo intern, Kai Hayashi
Blue Scholars returned to Eugene last week for back to back dates at the WOW (& sold out their second night!)
Here's a vid from the Scholars' last visit to Eugene (this summer opening for Kid Cudi). Cameos by Cuthbert staff, concert-goers & Cudi himself.
Cally, you will be satisfied to see that Sabzi successfully delivered "Kid Cubi" duct tape wallet to Mr. Rager.
Emerging like flashbulb cosmonauts from an interstellar vagina projected huge beyond the proscenium, the Flaming Lips landed on stage at McDonald Theatre Wednesday night, their arrival fan-fared by a blaze of strobes and a chronic storm of confetti while gigantic helium globs bobbed and wiggled through the smoky air. P.T. Barnum’s got nothing on these psycho-punk-pop Okies, whose every gesture says: “Step right up and enjoy.” Led for the past two decades and change by carnival barker-cum-mad scientist Wayne Coyne, the Lips have refined their collective live persona into a sort of loose-limbed circus of duct tape and demented joy — something between the internal madness of psychic tripping and the outward “staring at sound” vision of Pink Floyd as interpreted by Rube Goldberg. Holy fuck, dude, is the singer levitating in a transparent embryonic space ball? Is he riding on the shoulders of a mangy brown bear? Are his hands swollen to the size of two balloons? Is he charming as hell and possessed of some bent species of hillbilly genius? Yes, to all. A Flaming Lips show is nothing if not sensual and sensory overload, and their performance in the confines of the McDonald, with its roaring sound system and tight intimacy, was a love fest of buzzy anthem rock, overdrive jams, spectacular spectacles and stand-and-deliver call-and-response antics. Interspersed between such crowd pleasers as “She Don’t Use Jelly” and “In the Morning of the Magicians” was a healthy dose of new material, which finds a pleasing balance between their psychobilly roots and later incarnation as neo-electronic existential bubblegum pop stars. What holds this band together — beyond their sheer creativity and seeming inexhaustibility — is a palpable generosity toward their fans, a southern-fried sincerity that grounds their endless flights of fancy in the good, old-fashioned circuitry of rock and roll. And at the McDonald, they certainly rocked. They rolled. They rode a tidal swell of nickelodeon weird past midnight, leaving everything on stage — sweat, confetti and the footprints of legend. — Rick Levin
Click any image to see the complete gallery.
Thanks to whoever posted this video of the beginning of the show. You can see me down front getting the hell outta the way when the ball starts to roll.
Photos by Trask Bedortha