There was a very long period of my early adult life when I used to say that 1999’s The Soft Bulletin was one of my 5 all-time favorite albums. Honestly kind of life-changing to an embarrassing degree. I don’t love it any less now than I did then – it is still an enormously special album to me – I’ve just been fortunate to have discovered a great deal more music I love since. But it is an absolute classic and frankly a masterpiece. My second and third favorite Flaming Lips albums would be (in order) the two major releases on either side of The Soft Bulletin: 1995’s Clouds Taste Metallic and 2002’s Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (no disrespect to Zaireeka – I’ve never had the privilege of experiencing it as it was intended). So despite having only seen them in concert once (unfortunately in one of the most embarrassing-for-audience-and-artist-alike moments I’ve ever experienced at a live show), The Flaming Lips remain a cherished, all-time favorite band of mine. And for me – as I’m sure for many other people around my age – the journey started with radio hit “She Don’t Use Jelly” from 1993’s Transmissions From the Satellite Heart, a massively successfully transitional album for a band about to grow beyond a decade plus of experimenting, creating and paying dues into the particular and peculiar avatar of an emergent pre-“indie” zeitgeist. Also of note (and things I just learned) are that 1) this album marked the arrival of Steven Drodz — which in hindsight makes perfect sense, and 2) up until this album, Mercury Rev's Jonathan Donahue had been a member. We'll leave the discussion on how I missed those two essential bits of trivia for another time.
This breakout hit for them is a textbook-perfect example of the kind of weird, quirky, modern rock alt-novelty one-hit wonders that comprised some of my strongest memories of the era. History would prove us all wrong about it being a one-hit wonder, of course, but not knowing what The Lips would become, it fit the mold at the time. The quixotic weirdness of a song centered around the premise of a woman who spreads Vaseline on toast was so exactly definitive of the alternative ethos of the time, spoofing and subverting mundane norms by extolling literal “alternatives” to common, everyday behaviors and objects from breakfast foods to hygiene and beauty products. It seemed so abstract to me, and so delighted about such utter nonsense. But there was something in the design, too, in the formal structure, the craftsmanship, both simple and novel, that made it stand out: setting up such detail through each verse – little vignettes of alternageek nursery rhymes – for the payoff, the punchline, of three distinct choruses – just one word each – that only rhymed with each other. It was so stupid and so clever and I loved it so much.
And album opener “Turn It On” is just such a perfect little early tease for how poppy and hooky this band was capable of becoming – it was a mix tape/CD staple of mine for many years. And I will never not adore the opening lyric:
“Put your face up to the window
Tell me all about your gay books.”
At least, that’s the way I’ve always heard it.
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