Being strange can be tremendously hard work. Brighton's British Sea Power certainly make it look that way, with their tin hats and funny stares, their stuffed owl and deconstructed hedges meticulously adorning the stage. As The Flaming Lips prove later, making an effort can immeasurably improve the concept of a gig. But critically, it needs to be done with more care than self-consciousness. And more important still, some decent songs are useful to back it up.
British Sea Power's sixth-form theatricals might be more tolerable if they had a few of the latter. As it is, the best bits sound like minor Kitchens Of Distinction, and the worst bits - of which there are substantially more - resemble a hysterical and slightly incompetent Echo & The Bunnymen support band from 1982. At least they have the good taste to show clips from 'A Matter Of Life And Death' on the big screen behind them.
Wayne Coyne's ceaseless pursuit of the special occasion results in him finding members of the audience with birthdays to serenade. It also, together with the kudos of association with The Flaming Lips, means a succession of indie notables have provided guest turns on the tour thus far. London, sadly, can't compete with previous spots by Badly Drawn Boy and Gruff Rhys dressed as a Power Ranger. Instead we get Tim Wheeler, revealing that Ash songs are fractionally more endearing when done acoustically, in spite of his chronically thin voice, then ruining the good impression with a rotten take on 'Teenage Kicks'.
Like we care, though. For here are 20 people in animal suits carrying torches and trying to dance to the 'Carmina Burana'. And here are The Flaming Lips, perhaps the most cherishable, entertaining and emotionally affecting band currently operating on the planet. Most, by now, know the drill: Coyne waffles endearingly about celebrating life and such, plays with glove puppets, fake blood, dry ice machines and giant balloons; band perform supercharged karaoke versions of their psych-pop in front of films of mushroom clouds, teletubbies etc. Smashing time had by all, goodnight.
What's remarkable is how none of this ever becomes boring, thanks to the immense joy Coyne radiates, the uncanny excellence of the songs, and the abiding principle that no excess is absurd. No stunts ever get dropped from the show (Coyne's glove puppet technique is now exceptional). Instead, more and more are added. Hence tonight's shambolic herd of pantomime animals, a fabulously anti-self-conscious riposte to British Sea Power's uptight posturing. Plainly, you don't have to suffer for good ideas.
There are other tweaks in the show since The Flaming Lips' last visit, with more of 'Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots' - 'All We Have Is Now' is a heart-stopping highlight - incorporated into the set. They also seem to be gently morphing back into a rock band since Kliph Scurlock, previously a kind of roadie-cum-cheerleader, now permanently mans that suspicious tool of orthodoxy, a drumkit. His live beats double up with the samples to provide a pretty seismic thump and allow Steven Drozd to let loose a little more on guitar. It's a shame - though criticisms of this gig seem ridiculous - they don't revisit some older songs, although a ragged psych-garage whip through The Pink Floyd's 'Lucifer Sam' is decent compensation.
By the time 'Do You Realize??' crashes in, it's clear The Flaming Lips are the favourite band of everyone here. It's hard to think of another band who can juggle euphoria and poignancy, crassness and profundity, ideas and accessibility with such skill, ease and charm. Coyne is so sentimental, he spends five minutes explaining why Santa Claus (present tonight, of course) is a more plausible figure than God. But then, after an hour or so of this you start to believe The Flaming Lips can get away with anything. Expect wine from water and the odd resurrection on the next tour, or flying reindeers, at the very least.
