The Flaming Lips / The White Stripes — Aragon Ballroom — Chicago, IL — 12/31/2003
By: Stub Love
Tags: Memoir, New Years Eve, Concerts, Live Music, Chicago

This fact should have been obvious, in retrospect. The Stripes no doubt had the larger and more recent mainstream success; but the idea of them following the Flaming Lips at a New Year’s Eve show just seemed like a bad idea. Entering the massive ballroom and approaching the stage confirmed: the Lips were opening the show and would be a tough act to follow.

The Flaming Lips took the stage and tore through what I remember being a very short set, could not have been more than an hour. Live staples “The Race For the Prize”, “Fight Test”, and “Do You Realize??” were all accounted for, and of course they seized the opportunity to perform b-side and live-rarity “Thank You Jack White (For The Fiber-Optic Jesus That You Gave Me)”, which was preceded by a brief but sweet introduction by Coyne. It was my first time hearing the song. I had heard the title discussed online but it was treated mostly as a curiosity and a gag. I was surprised to find it to be a tuneful earworm, delicately toeing the line of goofiness and vulnerable sincerity.

The White Stripes followed, and while I do find the pair to have remarkably strong stage presence for a duo, they just couldn’t match the exuberant exultations of Wayne Coyne and the Lips. They sounded great and broadcast their chemistry throughout the sizable, packed room, punctuated with stolen winking glances and hair flips. The Aragon is a large, echo-y venue, but it suited the lean, dirty blues-rock posture of the Stripes, the slap-back delay of the room providing an almost call-and-response to the crackle of distorted guitar and spare drum arrangements from the stage.

Having been my first exposure to seeing the band live, it was also when I realized that I didn’t much care for Jack White’s stage persona, which I saw as a sort of conscious, manufactured-eccentricity. I remember rolling my eyes when, in between songs and apropos of nothing, he told the audience “I got a shiny new bicycle for Christmas” in a goofy voice. At another point in the performance he made a show of sucking his thumb on stage. I was young enough at the time to let things like this bother me and affect my perception of the performance and the music. I am mature enough now to concede that we share blame.

Thankfully the Flaming Lips joined the White Stripes on stage as midnight neared. They performed “We Are Gonna Be Friends” together: a sweet, sleepy ode to friendship that probably has no rightful place being performed near midnight on New Year’s Eve. Coyne handled the countdown and initiated the red and white ballon drop with the ceremonial firing of his confetti-gun, prompting the bands to rip into “Seven Nation Army”, during which Coyne sang what I remember as improvised alternate lyrics through a megaphone (I might just not have been able to make out what he was saying).

I have to say that’s the last thing I remember about the show. I don’t recall how much longer the Stripes played after the midnight-collaboration ended, nor what songs they performed. Despite my feelings on the arrangement of the bill, I think in general New Year’s Eve shows should end a song or two after midnight. This is not just because I am now old and unable to stay up much past 12AM on the holiday; but rather because it’s just tough for any band to sustain, much less exceed, the energy of that peak. It’s the only holiday that is built around a single moment, and the buzz wears off quickly after the moment has passed. When the champagne kiss is over, reality soon sets in. We find ourselves left with the same challenges and fears. Destined to head home with dry mouths and confetti stuck to our shoes, to sleep for a few hours and take down Christmas decorations with a hangover.

New Year’s Day is always going to feel like a bit of a let down. A coming-down from the buzz of the holiday season and whatever transpired the night before. In that sense, this show was perfectly arranged for the holiday it celebrated: an ebullient build-up, a moment of pure cathartic climax, and then just dirty, echoey blues.