In The Aeroplane Over The Scene

where we talk Neutral Milk Hotel

Jeff Mangum could so easily be confused for a Kim Gordon lovechild. His eclectic songwriting coupled with a penchant for trying simple yet fascinating things made his music organic. So much so that even ten years after the release of his bandâ??s most prolific album, it still remains as contemporary as the day it was released. Heavily influenced by Sonic Youth, and as indie as the term allows, Mangumâ??s Neutral Milk Hotel is the reason why tonnes of new indie bands can get away with what they do today.
Though Neutral Milk Hotel was in existence for about nine years, itâ??s only the last three that caught attention. The origins of the band were a product of a variety of creative partnerships that Mangum forged with people he knew at the time. Only after the release of NMHâ??s first album, On Avery Island, did the band begin to show some permanent shape. The band, in its last formal avatar, featured the creative talents of Mangum, Scott Spillane on horns, Jeremy Barnes (who went on to form A Hack And A Hacksaw) on drums and Julian Koster on strings. It was this lineup that delivered one of the most resounding and virginal records of the last decade.

In The Aeroplane Over The Sea loosely bases itself around the horrific fate of Jewish holocaust victim Anne Frank. A folksy, indie rock opus, Aeroplane allowed Mangum to explore the depths of everything he had approached earlier. The result was an album that was fluid, beautiful and so rewarding to loyal listeners that it has become a phenomenon in its own right. Win Butler of Arcade Fire fame often cites this album as one of his chief influences. Angular Scottish darlings Franz Ferdinand too derive much of their creative inspiration from the album. It has been featured on so many top indie album lists that counting would be numerically insignificant. But itâ??s not the acclaim that makes it great. In fact, on its initial release it caused not so much as a whimper. Critics were a confused lot. Some claimed it to be lo-fi crap, while others called it genius. Time being the truest test, Aeroplane passed. Easily.

The circumstances in which the album was recorded were deeply personal for all the band members. They lived in the same house the entire duration, sharing everything from toothpaste to emotions. From this came a brew of highly involved songwriting. Mangum stretched his vocals further than he had ever done. Almost savagely he dissected the simplest of human emotions, relinquishing only to let Spillaneâ??s horns slide in. At first listen it provokes despair; more hopeless than depressing attacking the listenerâ??s comfort zones. But that hopelessness has beauty. It creates images in your head that no amount of inebriation can. And just when you think youâ??ve got the formula, it strikes you with silence. Mangum realized that the easiest way to make people listen was not to say anything at all. So quite often he leaves you hanging for a conclusion. The wait is scary, built up more by Jeremy Barnesâ?? light percussion. It leaves the music vulnerable. Any imperfection could easily be a highlight. But the band rarely falters.

After months of hard touring in support of Aeroplane, NMH went on indefinite hiatus. The band was tired, of touring and of each other. Whatever little success they had at the time took its toll and the members drifted away. Spillane, Barnes and Koster all have individual indie projects that periodically release music. Mangum plays occasionally, often with friends he made in the early NMH days. It makes it easy to see the story of the band as a tragedy. But listen to Aeroplane, and appreciate how despair can be so beautiful.

This column originally appeared in RAVE magazine.