Photo Credit: Will Deitz
Though hardly a mainstream success, Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea (1998) is an album which has, in the fourteen years since its release, occasioned many charms of poetic richness with a still-extending impact. Lauded for its provocative, old-world lyrics and the wavering vocals of frontman Jeff Mangum, Aeroplane has inspired sparkling reviews, adaptations by acclaimed performers and, last but certainly not least, a devoted fan-base.
Among these performers are Brand New, The Swell Season, and jam band royalty Phish. Apart from the praise deserved for increasing Neutral Milk Hotel’s exposure, cover songs by such musicians have succeeded mainly at reminding listeners of Mangum’s talent. Perhaps this was their intention.
Another example of Aeroplane’s cultural evolution came in the form of a well-received musical staged by Amanda Palmer (formerly of the Dresden Dolls) in 2009, titled “With The Needle That Sings In Her Heart,” at her former high school, Lexington High in Massachusetts. Having taken its title from the song “Two-Headed Boy,” the play illustrated themes in Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl—upon which Aeroplane is based—by way of gates to concentration camps and scenes within them. Palmer also performed many Aeroplane songs with a brass ensemble. Mangum might be glad to know that his influence and music has infiltrated even high-school auditoriums, despite and because of its hard-hitting imagery.
Other indications that Aeroplane has reached cult status proliferate. News of a postcard similar to the album’s cover art surfacing recently at an antique store in New Jersey brought crowds of potential buyers to its doors. Even a video game was created in 2011 titled “In the Time Machine Over the Sea.”
While touring just after the release of Aeroplane in 1998, Mangum suffered a nervous breakdown. Life on the road is difficult for anyone, but for artists with particularly sensitive dispositions it can be utterly brutal. And then for twelve years, Mangum all but disappeared. His career, minus his artistic legacy, had essentially ended a decade after the album’s release, but then he re-emerged in the fall of 2011 to play a handful of shows.
Perhaps his most significant–and symbolic– performance came on the evening of October 4th, when Mangum surprised Occupy Wall Street participants with an hour-long set at Zuccotti Park in New York City. A live video shows the reclusive singer looking directly into camera, saying, “I’m Jeff of Neutral Milk Hotel and I’m at Occupy Wall Street,” signaling to his fans that his comeback was by no means an act, but a serious undertaking.
The Lincoln Theatre in Washington, DC is a lovely place. Having withstood turmoil for generations, it beckons one to come into its old-world depths. As my friend and I climbed the steps to our balcony seats on January 27th, almost an hour early, I was struck to find the lower-level nearly full. An eclectic and racially diverse crowd was in attendance: college students, late-twenties young professionals, men and women in their mid-thirties, and then some in their forties and beyond.
An opening performance by The Music Tapes was slightly disappointing. Their singer had a beautiful voice; however, a great deal of noise behind him threatened constantly to drown it out. Gadgets like a singing television, an automatic organ-playing tower and a seven-foot metronome were used as part of their stage setup. Such a novel approach piqued my attention at first, but this soon dissipated, as it seemed a forced attempt at creating the surreal.
Flashes of brilliance were definitely present. All three musicians were highly innovative as well as talented: an organist, a brass player and the singer who played banjo almost exclusively with a violin bow rounded out the band. The numbers without gadgetry were likable indeed, though all of them needed shortening a minute or two. The disappointment, though, was that their potential lay un-met.
But Mangum did not fail. He emerged from the wings in a cap and loosely buttoned over-shirt minutes after the Music Tapes’ set concluded. Wasting no time, he walked from stage-left toward center and, hardly breaking stride, gave a fast wave to the crowd, in an almost mock salute. He then snatched up an acoustic guitar, took his seat at the front and slammed into the closing track on Aeroplane, “Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2,” passionately singing, “Brother, see, we are one in the same / and you left with your head filled with flames / And you watched as your brains fell out through your teeth / Push the pieces in place, make your smile sweet to see / Don’t you take this away / I’m still wanting my face on your cheek.”
The audience had waited more than a decade to hear these lines performed with such heartbreaking openness, and it was clear that he knew it. “Two Headed Boy Pt. 2” is arguably one of the best songs in his catalogue, so choosing it as the opener was a bold statement that quickly established Mangum as a venerable force for the rest of the night.
The crowd barely let him finish before a deafening applause, and their cacophony of claps and yells was as lasting as it was loud. It was like an encore—when the show began. Mangum simply muttered a short “thank you,” then launched into a skeletal version of “Holland, 1945.” One of Aeroplane’s more driving, up-beat numbers, it was a splendid chance for audience members to catch their breath, yet most of them chose instead to sing along.
Other choices for the set were equally surprising, among them a pair of previously unreleased tracks: “Engine” and “Little Birds.” The former has been characterized largely as a children’s song, but this isn’t fully accurate. Though its lyrics are simple at times, “Engine” carries a heavy burden. Slow and steady like the machine it portrays, foreboding seems always to lurk beneath its surface, with the track’s theme revolving around someone “holding it together.” It was shrewd of Mangum to place this song at the opposite end of his set from “Oh Comely.” They are highly similar musically (in time signature, chord structure and strumming pattern)– so much so that one might accuse him of writing the same song twice, were it not for their differences in melody and theme.
“Little Birds,” though, is a magnified improvement upon that foreboding of “Engine.” Beginning with a chilling, vocal imitation of a bird song, it unleashes a storm of tragic imagery. Its overwhelming tension comes from a desperate struggle to protect something innocent from the evils of this world. Survival for these “little birds” became increasingly hopeless as the song grew—reaching a crisis where-in Mangum’s vocal swirled above the heavy guitar strumming for a melody of demonic yells.
The trouble with seeing un-expected songs performed, or variations of old favorites, is that they incite one to wish even more potently for new material. Will Jeff Mangum write again? Will fans of Neutral Milk Hotel ever hear more original songs? It may be highly unlikely in both cases; but then again, most would have said the same about Mangum’s return to music.
Overall, he seemed quite confident in his guitar work, compared to earlier performances. In fact, it took a greater importance, almost equal to vocals. There was a loud and biting edge to Mangum’s playing—a precision which balanced the drawn-out melodies of his vacillating pitch. No great advance was shown in guitar technique, but during his time away, Mangum clearly honed the execution of simple chords.
His vocals were also more dynamic. Mangum showcased a deeper range within the less-fiery verses, articulating them smoothly to complement his spiraling, high-pitched screams. This double-effect was especially strong during both “Oh Comely” and “Two-Headed Boy Pt. 2,” as Mangum soared and fell with harrowing elegance. Judging by the crowd’s response, Mangum’s rest was very good to him.
