If The Flaming Lips’s newest album accomplishes anything, it’s living up to its name. The Terror is dark, menacing, and expansive, and it boldly defies categorization and expectation. But brazenness aside, it’s not an easy listen. And it’s very likely there will be scores of listeners who struggle with how to appreciate this album’s emotional ping ponging between subdued angst and utter dread. If FL’s Embryonic was the mania, then The Terror is most certainly the depression, and they’ve left it up to you to find your way safely into and out of it. The closest thing to a clue that lead singer Wayne Coyne gives you comes from a press release provided by Bell Union, in which he states, “The Terror is, we know now, that even without love, life goes on… we just go on… there is no mercy killing.”
After the initial confusion and shock, you might find it easiest to approach The Terror as a challenge, recognizing the fact that the music here is looking to test your head rather than make you dance or sing along. That’s because it is a soundscape that demands complete immersion and introspection, that forces you to grapple with the strong possibility that everything won’t turn out okay. But once you learn and accept these rules of engagement, you are rewarded with a listening experience that is both dynamic and strangely cathartic.
The experiment begins with “Look… The Sun Is Rising,” which isn’t nearly as optimistic as its title lets on.
Piercing, oscillating, and clipped, it is by far the most aggressive and “straightforward” song on the album, full of percussive bursts, stinging guitar, and crooning vocals. But that preliminary hostility quickly dissipates, giving way to the ambient and somber “Be Free, A Way,” whose tones are much more indicative of the how album works as a whole. The trouble with this slow and seeping style is that if you don’t pay close enough attention, The Terror’s nuances can easily blur into white noise and fade into the background of whatever else it is you’re doing––which would be a shame since moments of clarity like “Try To Explain” and “You Lust” that offer reprieves from the mostly bleak canvas FL has provided would go unappreciated. And who would want to miss casual and satisfyingly threatening lyrics such as “You’ve got a lot of nerve, / a lot of nerve to fuck with me”, echoed and layered by Phantogram’s own Sarah Barthel?
While all of these elements that comprise The Terror may seem like a significant departure from what brought FL critical acclaim and fandom a decade ago, it should be refreshing to know that they refuse to pigeonhole themselves, refuse to merely repeat and stagnate. Obviously, The Terror isn’t a collection of their catchiest work, but it is definitely among their most ambitious and self-reflective efforts, and for that they should be applauded. So give them the credit they deserve: press play, get pensive, and purge.
Review by Justin Davis