One week from now, Leigh and I are going to see those goddamn Flaming Lips down in Eugene. They’re a band from Oklahoma, and wouldn’t you know it, they’re at the top of my half-ass list.

All these years into it with them, honestly, it isn’t their latest incarnation of their live show making us drive a hundred plus miles down there. Which, of course, is pretty fun. It’s what they represent to me, and I’m sure, I’ve manifested this into some weirdo version for my own sanity, on this site, explained at my talks, but for the 47th time, here goes:

These guys represent true independence to me. Creative freedom. Creative control. Going for it. Never giving up. Trying new things. Leaving a mark. Owning every little piece of it…from the tunes down to the artwork.

These guys fulfilled a fuckin’ 11 album deal with Warner Brothers! Or whatever it was. I mean, who does that? Elton John? Sting? Just incredible. Bands usually cave in after the first one, then owe a shit ton of loot forever.

And the best part, just maybe, is, without a record deal or whatever, you get the sense they still would’ve pulled it off. And that’s what we’re getting at here.

I go to the shows for odd reasons. I just like to see all the people digging it. I like to see how they pull off the goofy tricks. I like to see Wayne noodling with everything, maniacal about every little detail. I like to see Steven pull off all those weird guitar parts, although, I wish he was still on drums. (My favorite.) I like to see confetti falling down. Yeah, confetti. After years and years of watching bands with folded arms, you just get to free the limbs up with these guys. We dig.

Sure, I’m locked into their 1990-1999 stuff with a fervor unmatched, but appreciate how they’ve grown, expanded, flipped, flopped and tuned themselves inside out a couple times…each time, new and new and new.

And some folks don’t get it. That’s cool, man. You can have yer goddamn, uh, Muse or Arcade Fire or whatever. Bunch of fuckin’ turds, if you ask me. When I was listening to Clouds Taste Metallic, you were listening to Dave Matthews. Or Cake. Or something like that. Whatever it takes.

I just appreciate ‘em. And, love those guitars and drums from those early 90s albums something fierce. In fact, Transmissions From The Satellite Heart is playing right now, as these words go to press. Real loud up here on the DDC factory floor.

One week out, motherfuckers! Turn it on.

(Thank you to Ryan Shaw for rescuing our butts on this one. Phew. Appreciated.)