Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt. 1

HERE'S WHERE I RUIN THE FLAMING LIPS: YOSHIMI BATTLES THE PINK ROBOTS, PT 1

I remember in 1995 the Flaming Lips were playing at the Peach Pit in Beverly Hills. At least, I remember when Beverly Hills 90210 featured the band in one of their episodes, and all the kids at Beverly High were stoked. I thought they were pretty good, and I didn't think about them much after that.

I moved to Germany when I was 19 years old in 1999.

When I was 26, a student at UC Berkeley, I hung out a lot in Oakland bars. At some point, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Pt 1 came on, and everyone was surprised I hadn't heard it. Their most successful album Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots had been released in 2002. I'd missed it abroad.

I instantly fell in love with the experimental psychedelic sound and the lyrics that seem to be saying one thing but meaning something entirely different.

My friends at the time were mostly artists and poets, people who maybe often feel like they are alone without anyone looking out for them. Maybe it was just me. Either way, my circle of friends took to singing the song at the tops of our lungs any chance we could. If there was a jukebox, we chose it. If we were closing down the bar, our friends behind it put this song on and sang along.

Here's what Billboard said about the album:

"beneath the sunny, computer-generated atmospherics and the campy veneer of talk about gladiator-style clashes between man and machines with emotions, Yoshimi is actually a somber rumination on love and survival in an unfathomable world."

During the chorus we'd choose someone to point at and sing that they wouldn't let the robots eat us. Every time we shouted "Oh Yoshimi!" we pointed at a new person until everyone was included. The robots are everywhere. They're programmed to destroy artists and writers or people who just care about anything in the indifferent universe. Sometimes, for fleeting moments, maybe you have a few Yoshimis around you who might take their vitamins, learn karate, and keep you safe. When those people are around, sing them a song. If you can't sing, just play them this.

German Humor as a Cure for Depression

This is where I ruin Max Raabe's Der perfekte Moment... wird heut' verpennt

I've received a lot of support for my guitar vlogging. A lot of people have recommended songs I should cover, and even though I'm just messing around with some new toys, the response has been all positive. I love that about 2018 so far.

My dear friend in Germany, Isabella, called me a couple weeks ago to tell me that she was going to have her baby that day. A little over a year ago, her boyfriend of 6 years lost his fight with bone cancer. This year, she's given birth to a bouncing baby boy. That kind of emotional swing is something I've not been able to pull off. Rock-bottom despair with no faith that the indifferent world had any kind of goodness to offer to buying stake in its future with optimism and excitement is a miraculous recovery from depression.

And she sent me a video of Max Raabe when she saw my sad song videos. I laughed through the whole video and re-watched it a dozen times probably. I told her the whole point of what I was doing with my guitar was to sing songs that were secretly sad. And she countered by reminding me that I was in a sandbox and could do whatever I wanted. I told her I wanted the boat in the video. She explained to me why that wasn't a good plan.

Max Raabe is a big star I've always dug. He started the Palast Orchester having fun with German pop songs from the 1920's and 30's. His modern pop songs are all interesting and often hilarious. German humor is special in its acknowledgement of the absurdity and futility of our existence in this aloof universe, and I love it.

The world's just a sandbox.

13 years ago I was heart-broken when Bella called off our wedding. When I was with her I thought often about sandboxes and playgrounds. I guess she'll be going to both more often in the very near future.

Creep

Here's where I ruin that Radiohead song everyone likes

When I was a kid, I had to go to my friend's house to watch MTV because my family didn't have cable. I was a jealous friend. When I was 14, we moved to Orange County, and the HOA wouldn't allow antennae, which meant we had to get cable. And it happened to be the greatest years in MTV history.

In the early and mid-90's, the music world was a filled with great acts like Nirvana, Bon Jovi, Dr. Dre, 2 pac, Cypress Hill, Radiohead. And some of the best work from your favorite 80's stars like Madonna, Janet Jackson came out at that time. Everyone was making music videos, and they were cool as hell.

Radiohead came out with their first album, Pablo Honey. Four guitar players in a band? Why not! That guitar pound like a shotgun cocking to introduce the chorus of Creep was a wakeup call. Radiohead really stood out in the giant wave of alternative rock, and they'd go on to evolve and grow as I did through those formative years.

But Creep is so great because who hasn't felt like they "don't belong here"? It's a unique theme for a pop song but immediately accessible to everyone. And haven't you thought someone else was so perfect that you're ugly and unworthy by comparison? Well, Thom Yorke obviously has.

Much later I got off a train in Prague. A guy with a car said he ran a little hotel called Prague Lion and would give us a ride into town if we just checked out the hotel. I rode in front and Kid A was playing on his CD player. He'd gotten the album that day and was stoked. We ended up staying at his hotel and having a crazy adventure in the Czech Republic filled with absinth, running from the law, and an insane ossuary. But that's another story.