![]() ![]() Redundant cries of "where's Ronald?" gave way to the less awkward "where's the guitars?" as many Lips aficionados grew weary of this otherworldly keyboard-driven music. yes, beginning with themselves, everything they've ever done was stunning in its originality, comedic in its delivery, tragic at its core, all while possessing a holy musical mountain within. or it could be the hoarse, throat-cracking vocals from Wayne Coyne, the swirling outer-darkness of Ronald Jones's guitar effects, the juxtaposition of booming Bonham drums, "ripper Fripper" guitar, and lush symphonics from the spiderbitten hands of Steven Drozd (the drummer who defied all traditional logic and became the main songwriter in his new band), or bassist Michael Ivins who sits down and says nothing. It's been one long, strange trip: Whether it was the blood coming out of the singer's face, the cocoon of balloons and confetti raining down at every show, their multi-era history dating back to 1983 (the year my parents were married), the fuzzy 80s footage showing extremely dangerous amateur pyrotechnics in tiny clubs, the drummer-less live shows of 1999/2000 or the psychosis-inducing production of their Fridmann albums. ![]()
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