A slice of craziness

A group capable of making the bleakest venue feel like Disneyland, they were never going to be anything less than fabulous when they took over the Albert Hall.

"We usually go as far as we can to transform a venue into a magical fishbowl," said singer and ringmaster Wayne Coyne, virtually the only person on the heaving stage not dressed as Santa Claus or an alien, a skeleton or a superhero, "but this place was already magical."

Although the band formed in Oklahoma as long ago as 1983 and have always been on the fruitcake side of eccentric, they have only been a technicolour live extravaganza since around 2002, when they finally started to earn some money and chose to spend it on streamers.

Coyne first arrived inside a giant plastic bubble, which he used to surf the crowd in the most spectacular way possible. Then the hall was filled with 50 huge white balloons, which were enthusiastically batted around by fans for the next 90 minutes.

Later he would blow up another balloon until it exploded upon reaching the size of a Land Rover, smear fake blood over his face, wave a round a smoke machine and invite a couple onto the stage for a proposal of marriage.

Amid the barrage of props and guests it was difficult to tell who was making the music. New songs such as The W.A.N.D. and Free Radicals found space for harder guitars than usual, while crowd favourites including She

Don't Use Jelly and Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots pt 1 bounced along merrily. Coyne's straining singing voice was flawed but perfectly illustrated the ongoing theme of the songs, that of a weak man reaching for the stars.

Anyone worried that the band's newfound interest in politics might put a dampener on proceedings was reassured. If a closing, deafening cover of Black Sabbath's War Pigs sent fans home with a serious message in mind, it could not overwhelm the sheer carefree joy of this dazzling experience as a whole.

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