In the wake of the Parking Lot Experiments, Warner Brothers had given the band $200,000 and left them alone to create two new albums with the understanding that they’d quickly follow the gimmicky Zaireeka with a more normal release. Working with sound-bombing producer Dave Fridmann at his Tarbox Road Studios in Cassadaga, the Lips funneled a vast array of instruments and wanton studio trickery into an aesthetic that made Coyne’s avant-twee pop songs feel truly otherworldly. “Race For The Prize” is both epic and completely ridiculous, a balance The Soft Bulletin strikes throughout its hourlong runtime. Atop the ruckus is Coyne’s Neil Young mewl crying out about a pair of scientists racing to save mankind from some unspecified threat even if it costs them everything: “They’re just humans with wives and children!” (Weird side note: Between this, Keep It Like A Secret, and Summerteeth, Young’s current label home Warner Brothers was absolutely running indie-adjacent, Young-inspired rock in 1999.) Instead of overdriven power chords, we’re treated to a swirl of synthesizers mimicking orchestral strings, sighing wordless harmonies, Michael Ivins’ steadfast bass, and an assortment of other pretty instrumental flourishes. With a jarring thwack, Drozd’s drumbeat begins bashing away at the front of the mix, a disorienting production choice that contributes to the feeling of a demo transposed into holographic 3D. It’s much easier and significantly more thrilling to simply press play on “Race For The Prize” and let it sweep you away. You couldn’t listen to it unless you had four CD players and at least one friend on hand - or made very creative use of your own appendages - but if you did manage to hear Zaireeka, you got an inkling of the Lips who’d emerge on The Soft Bulletin two years later. This led to 1997’s Zaireeka, an album released on four discs designed to be played all at once.
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After guitarist Ronald Jones departed, Coyne and drummer Steven Drozd cooked up a series of stunts called the Parking Lot Experiments, ambitious compositions comprising dozens of cassettes designed to be played simultaneously through car stereos in a parking garage. The band had been inching away from the revved-up psych-pop formulation that yielded surprise hit “She Don’t Use Jelly” ever since the commercial failure of 1995’s Clouds Taste Metallic (which may be the real best Flaming Lips album depending on your mood). Its brilliance might have caught people off guard, but it didn’t come out of nowhere. The Soft Bulletin is a world to be explored, and it has continued to beget new galaxies as fellow visionaries discover it. It’s hard to imagine acts like Tame Impala and MGMT existing in their present form without this record’s influence. Among them are some of the most successful psych-pop crossover stars of our time. The version of the Flaming Lips we have today, the one that has long since calcified into a shtick? With Wayne Coyne in a suit playing ringleader for a fantastical circus, spewing blood or rolling atop his audience in a giant bubble while Steven Drozd leads the band through psychedelic symphonies? That began here in spectacular fashion, with a dozen tracks that rewired the Flaming Lips and, upon impact, rewired quite a few listeners’ brains too. What cannot be disputed is that The Soft Bulletin is the most pivotal release in the band’s career, the one where they cemented their status as legends and established the archetype they’ve been tweaking ever since. (It was released on 5/17/99 in the UK before coming out in the US the following month.) Hailed as a masterpiece upon arrival, the album is still arguably the Lips’ finest creative output, though with a discography as vast and varied as theirs you’ll never have complete consensus on that. One of those albums is The Soft Bulletin, which completes its second decade today. They formed the year I was born, and I am now halfway through my thirties - old enough that today’s teens make me feel like an ancient relic and albums released when I was their age are turning 20. On record they’ve been skuzzy noise-bombers, fuzz-pop cartoon characters, experimental stunt artists, digital folk-pop anthem-slingers, and tripped-out paranoiacs. They ushered Miley Cyrus through the weirdest phase of her public identity crisis. They were contemporaneous with both 90210, on which they memorably guested, and The O.C., which fomented the Bush-era indie boom they rode to festival ubiquity. They were labelmates with Fear, Wipers, and the Dead Milkmen and were three albums deep by the time Nirvana released Bleach. The Flaming Lips have survived and evolved through an astonishing number of indie-rock life cycles.