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Jul 05, 2012 By HOTT MT Photography by HOTT MT The Flaming Lips

Editor’s note: Last week, Flaming Lips set a new world record for the number of concerts performed in a day. During their eight-show mini-tour across the south, they joined up with a number of bands that served as onstage support during their fifteen-minute sets. We asked one of those bands, HOTT MT, to report back about the experience.

Day 1. 8am. “The only reason you are alive right now is because you have a mother who’s praying for you”- Text from my (Ashi) mom. It’s what all of our moms are thinking, but my mom is just the most forward. She means well, and we begin our 28 hour drive with her blessing. Snacks, music, road trip. We clear LA, and hit the hypnotic stride of the 40. The same route we took in January to visit Wayne Coyne.

2pm. We’re making good time, stopping only to use the bathroom and buy cough syrup. I’ve got 20 or so hours to beat this disease that’s taken residence in my head and chest. None of us expect to rehearse with the Lips before the show, so we practice Be my Head and 2012 in the van as we drive.

Midnight. Still awake. Barely. The floor erodes by Texas, and the sun has been put to sleep, but the heat never dies. We’ll get there on gravity. None of us make sense at this point, but at least we all still like each other. I’m in the back seat with someone, and we are sharing cough syrup.

Day 2. 10am. KFC Taco Bell. We are truly in the south now. We all drag ourselves out of the van into the relentless, yet still polite, southern summer. And then proceed to pile back into the air-conditioning after stretching our useless limbs. We settle for car snacks and forgo the chicken burritos. Good call.

2pm. We’re driving next to a man riding a motorcycle wearing only overalls, no helmet, no shirt. We are exactly where we want to be. Clarksdale. The birthplace of Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Sam Cooke, Ike Turner and Nate Dog. VHI has graciously booked us two lofts where we wash off the 1 1/2 days worth of car filth.

5pm. Off to Ground Zero Blues club, which is co-owned by God, I mean, Morgan Freeman and a really nice local man named Bubba. It’s destiny. Now we wait. The Lips are running about 30 minutes late, so we kill time with the guys from the Gary Clark Junior Band and Tiger High. I lay on the floor, it’s a Mississippi miracle that my head cold has vanished. I’m wearing pretty cool orange socks.

7pm (or so). The Flaming Lips are here! Yes! Party! No time to rehearse. We all deal with sound check and technical difficulties. After a short introduction by Wayne, the very official looking Guinness World Record man starts the very official clock and we dive headfirst into the set. The crowd is explosive, and loving. We are electric, and a bit disgusting, but we definitely make friends with Clarksdale. There’s no time to lose, as the set ends with an impromptu bare bones version of “Do You Realize”. The time quota is reached, and Wanye and the Lips rocket back onto the VH1 bus. The backstage is joyous, the staff is brilliant and amazing. We share stories. the local schizophrenic sings us songs and promptly asks for his share of the bar. We wish them all the best as they set off to smash Jay Z’s record. We stick around to watch our new favorite band Tiger High, and then it’s back into the van at 11pm to start the non-stop journey back. By the end of this all, we are 72 hour party people.

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