Transmissions From the Satellite Heart
Sometimes it seems as if there's every other band in America, and then  there's the Flaming Lips. The Norman, Oklahoma, quartet makes modern rock that  doesn't sound like anyone else; head music, they'd have called it in  psychedelia's heyday, weird soundscapes that conjure the bizarre alternate  universe on the other side of the funhouse mirror.Transmissions, their  second major-label release after a long indie apprenticeship has a mellower feel  than early fans might expect, with lots of acoustic guitar and dreamy interludes  to shameMore-era Pink Floyd, but it's no less weird than their last two  efforts. Strange sounds float in and out of the mix, and Wayne Coyne's twisted  hick vocals are convincingly demented. Coyne's lyrics tend toward a Dadaist  stream of consciousness with occasional forays into junk culture; this is  familiar modern rock territory, but songs such as "She Don't Use  Jelly," "Chewin the Apple of Your Eye," and "Be My  Head" are more effective and less annoying than the would-be gonzo efforts  of Frank Black and Sonic Youth because they're catchier and less pretentious.  The Flaming Lips may be transmitting to the satellites, but when all is said and  done, they live in Oklahoma.--Jim DeRogatis