Mike Love Not War: The Beach Boys in Manila

THOUGH ARGUABLY A NOVELTY GREATEST-HITS TYPE OF TOURING ACT, MIKE LOVE’S UPDATED BEACH BOYS IS STILL A BAND TO BEHOLD

“Mga bata,” I heard a guy in his fifties mutter dismissively, a sly reference to me and my girlfriend, as we try to locate good seats in the Araneta upper boxes. I was wearing a Brian Wilson: Pet Sounds 40th Anniversary shirt, so I felt impervious to baby-boomer sarcasm, and sort of snide, too, because tonight’s Beach Boys show—or any of the Beach Boys shows these days, for that matter—does not feature its mainman. Brian, the only surviving Wilson brother in the band (Dennis and Carl have passed on), lost in the legal wrangling over the “Beach Boys” name to his cousin Mike Love, who is heading this particular incarnation of the band. Al Jardine, the other surviving member of the original lineup, is touring under a different name (the Endless Summer Band), and is reportedly doing 60s-era Beach Boys stuff as well. The last time I was at the Big Dome, it was a terribly hip Nine Inch Nails crowd that filled the arena, the fist-pumping variety that could not be bothered with ad slideshows and cold pizzas. Tonight, I might as well have voluntarily agreed to have a nightcap with my uncles and aunts: throngs of middle-aged men in office garb, titas in leggings, and a dating grandpa-grandma couple here and there.

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FAN ZAPPA ROCKS

The famed guitar has been handed over to the number 1 Eraserheads fan! Although it pained us to see the Fender Tele (after staying with us for almost a month) being turned over to Mr. Aidon Panlaqui/eheadologist, we sensed (yes, sensed) that Fan Zappa is going to take good care of it.

THE FLAMING LIPS' EMBRYONIC

It’s like Radiohead for people who enjoy the idea of being able to (sort of) sing along: that’s what I think of The Flaming Lips’ newest outing, Embryonic. To most people my age, the Lips were that band who sang about jelly, fronted by that guy who vaguely sounds like an alterna-90s Neil Young singing through a bullhorn. To people maybe five to six years my junior, they’re that group who recorded a mini-opera of sorts about a young Japanese girl who “battles the pink robots.” That is a curious choice for a robot paint-job, you might have scratched your chin in thought; clearly, pink robots can’t (or won’t) do you any serious harm or cause you any serious physical damage—or so you believed.