By GREG FRANKLIN

Wayne Coyne rolls over the crowd.

Day two of the festival, and I’m pretty amped. Given that yesterday's lineup was cut short by Momz Nature, and that a good deal of us spent the evening watching storms rather than partying, it’s a good way to go into what is arguably the most exciting, diverse day of the festival. A good night’s sleep under my belt, I’m ready to take on the ridiculously muddy Clinton Lake fairgrounds.

I got to the grounds unfortunately late and missed all of the psych-pop freakouts of Star Death & White Dwarfs (who share bloodline with the Flaming Lips) and most of the Apollo Sunshine set. I walk up to the Sundown Stage just in time for the part in Apollo Sunshine’s set where White Flight/Roelofs made his cameo, which was somehow more appropriate this day and less heavy on the awkward acid-casualty-Jesus-hut-dwelling-yoga-instructor vibe of the day before. I think the band (sans Roelofs) might even be “too freaky” for the hippies. I am jealous of the city of Boston for getting to see take Apollo Sunshine for granted as a “local band”, and contemplate the local bands that I take for granted.

I jettison from the Sun Down Stage over to the Revival Tent to catch the last few songs of the first Paw show in seven years. Apparently (and according to some other reports), I arrive at the exact moment that their set lost all of its momentum, though, as they spend about 10 minutes making inside jokes and pointing out their friends in the crowd, after which they run through a couple songs with really horrible technical difficulties (every microphone on the stage somehow didn’t work?), and generally look fatigued, uncomfortable, and less than sober.

Paw

Paw tries to somehow make its signature cover of Nirvana’s “School” more Wakarusa-ish by adding Brody Buster on harmonica, who never quite syncs up with the visual cues that singer Mark Hennessy is giving him. A Nirvana cover in 2008 is a questionable enough idea on its own, but adding harmonica to it tip the scales over to “Dude, please stop.” The whole thing feels like something that looks great on paper, but in reality is underprepared and not fully cooked, given Paw’s legendary status among local and national audiences. There is talk of a future Bottleneck show, which may be a much darker, louder, and better place to witness a triumphant return of a local legend. I feel old thinking of seeing Paw 14 or so years ago. I contemplate mortality and writing a will.

Arguably the least jammy band of the whole weekend, the pristine pop duo Mates of State has the unenviable task of trying to make a two-piece band captivating on a huge stage. On record, the band is full of spunk and life, of seamless harmonies and really well fleshed-out interplay between drums and organ. On stage, it suffers from the White Stripes factor; the notion of a raw and ragged duo is usually a lot more interesting and satisfying than the actual experience. Jason Hammel pounds his drums relentlessly and Kori Gardner’s vocals are sweet as candy, but under the hot midday Kansas sun, the band’s harmonies (probably their biggest selling point) fall a bit flat and lose some sync, and those limitations of a duo began to show. It doesn’t really help that both members are tied to their instruments (drums and organ, respectively) and can’t move around too much. Adding a few string players to the mix for some songs really helps flesh the band out and makes for the fuller sound the Mates are starting to progress toward, especially on newer songs like “Get Better.” The band never seems to be having a ball on stage, playing a polite set of polite pop to polite applause, but again, they are probably one of the bands least likely to appeal to the jam-band/hippie crowd. I feel rude for not really getting into their set.

I walk over to the Revival Tent to find Bukue One having a blast warming up an incredibly receptive crowd for Del Tha Funkee Homosapien. Skateboarding across the stage, bantering back and forth with DJ Zac Hendrix, Bukue One is a playful, perfect warmup man for Del, who comes out after about 20 minutes and runs through a set that shows that creativity and a sense of humor still do belong in hip-hop.

Highlighting the major hits of his career all the way from 1991’s “Mistadobalina” (talking all sorts of shit after the song on how much he does NOT like this Bob Dobalina character whatsoever) to his role in the Gorillaz “Clint Eastwood," Del scuffles and shimmies his way across the stage like a bit more blunted and subdued Ol’ Dirty Bastard, playing to the crowd without pandering, and getting the most appreciative and excited response of the festival thus far. Watching attentively from the wings of the stage: Speech from Arrested Development. 1992 Me is in full freakout mode.

Built to Spill plays on the Sun Down stage after Mates of State, and suffer sfrom some of the same heat-related daze that the Mates did. Then again, Built to Spill has never been known for adrenaline-fueled sets. The closest thing to “ecstatic energy” would be singer/guitarist Doug Martsch’s nervous tic/kid with tourette’s rock-out moments. The band has grown leaps and bounds as a live act since adding a third guitarist, and now can reproduce the layered guitar work of its records in a live setting much more accurately. Sweating and a bit lethargic, the band still presents a solid set of swirling, spaced-out pop that brings out more than a few twirlers (especially during the dubby breaks of “Conventional Wisdom”) and one guy in particular who does his best white homeboy Limp Bizkit rap metal moves during the set but somehow knows every word to every song.

Most unintentionally hilarious moments of the Built to Spill set were as follows:

1. Doug Martsch puts on a sun hat looks like a hip hippie dad.

2. Doug Martsch sounds like a meek 10-year-old boy when he says “Thanks” after each song.

3. Super-sasquatch-y third guitarist Jim Roth's political rant, in which he mentions Monsanto and the upcoming election and ends with blanket statement, “Dude, the work has just begun.”

Blackalicious has the growing crowd in the Revival Tent even more pumped up than Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, playing with a spitfire intensity, and has the hip-hop-centric audience completely primed for Arrested Development, a group most known for 1992’s “Tennesee” and “Mr. Wendel”. To make a 16 year old track still sound vibrant, and to still sound thirsty is a bit of a feat, but Arrested Development seem even more energetic and forward-thinking toward future hip-hop than they did in the early '90s. After seeing enough reunion shows or just “phoning it in” performances by bands who could ape through their sets of recognizable hits, Arrested Development undoubtedly shows their influence and continued relevance to today’s hip hop crowd. 1992 Me is still in full freakout mode.

Limbeck has one of the dreaded set times of the day (playing as fans are jostling for position for the Flaming Lips or Cake, who had been bumped due to travel conflicts to playing at the Revival Tent), and were playing in the Sun Up Stage, which suffered the worst from the previous evening’s torrential rains and became a mud pit for the rest of the weekend. Instead of blowing out the crowd with energy, Limbeck pulls in the reigns a bit and play a set consisting of some of their slower, rarely-played-in-a-live-setting tunes, showing off a lot more of the country influence on their sound and giving a great, intimate treat to the sparse crowd that was sticking with them over the Lips/Cake shows.

After the subtle, relaxing sounds of Limbeck, the Flaming Lips turn any sort of calm I have into the most wonderful kind of panic. If you haven’t seen the Flaming Lips before, the best way to describe them is a complete assault on four of your five senses; as soon as they can figure out a way to make a Flaming Lips show taste, they’ll have it down pat.

Giant video screens, lights flashing, balloons bouncing, confetti cannons exploding; all of this behind one of the most genuinely passionate and charismatic ringleaders ever, Wayne Coyne. Telling stories and just going about life in a Will Rogers on blotto manner, Coyne plays to the audience but never panders, and his exuberance and childlike excitement about life is the true reason to see the Lips. The confetti, balloons and fanfare are all secondary to the message: love hurts, everyone dies, simple things are usually the most amazing, life is tragic and magic all at once and every day gives us a reason to be excited. A testament to passion and hard work, the Lips are bigger (and arguably more important) than ever before, 25 years into a career devoted to pursuing a dream with everything you have and never backing down from it.

When the final strains of “Do You Realize” leave the speakers, when the last confetti streams fall from the sky, you can’t help but look at the men up on stage and realize that dreams do come true, kids. I find my best friend (whom I’ve known since I was 3, just slightly longer than the Flaming Lips have been around) and we go hang out and drink whiskey back in the campgrounds, and I feel pretty fucking great.