Neutral Milk Hotel |
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Wed. December 23.1998 3:00 AM EST |
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'98's Best: Neutral Milk Hotel's Boisterous Easter ParadeIn its first San Francisco appearance supporting In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, band paints a kaleidoscope of sound for holiday crowd. by Contributing Editor Eric Hellweg |
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Aside from Mangum (pictured), Neutral Milk Hotel more resemble a badly disorganized high-school band than a rock outfit. ( ) |
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[Editor's note: Over the holiday season, SonicNet is looking back at
1998's top stories, chosen by our editors and writers. This story originally ran on Monday, April 13.] SAN FRANCISCO -- It was in the dark morning hours of
But no matter how hard he and bandmate Julian Koster bounded into each other on the Bottom of the Hill stage, or tried to trip each other up, Mangum kept his balance and his footing, however precariously. It was the sort of controlled chaos that seems to fuel NMH and their music. They move in bursts of awkward energy and create a sound that is at once grating and gratifying. "I just want to get up onstage and play," Mangum had said as he waited anxiously offstage for the set to begin. Neutral Milk Hotel are this year's Guided By Voices, a cool combo of idiosyncratic musicians who have won the respect of rock critics throughout the land and who are now working to find a larger audience for their off-kilter pop 'n' roll. The group's debut album, 1996's On Avery Island, made many a critic's "Best Music You'll Probably Never Hear List." Now this year's amazing follow- up, In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, is drawing comparisons to the Beach Boy's legendary Pet Sounds. About 30 minutes into his performance, Mangum led his ragamuffin ensemble -- which more resembled a badly disorganized high-school band than a rock outfit -- into a swampy version of "King of Carrot Flowers, Part Two and Three" (RealAudio excerpt), with its timely lyrics, "I love you Jesus Chrii-iist. Jesus Christ I love you, yes I do." The decidedly secular sold-out crowd roared its approval and pressed toward the stage even tighter in anticipation of the explosive third part of the song, which breaks from a dirgy religious anthem into a manic punk epic. When the band finally built the triage into its raucous finale, all seven musicians careened off each other in ecstasy, horn knocking into accordion, guitar cords entangling legs, microphones scattering about the stage. Inspired by the chaos, the crowd began their own mini riot. Only 15 minutes before the mayhem ensued, Mangum, dressed in a plaid shirt and corduroys taped together at the ankles, opened the show with a haunting solo performance of "Oh, Comely," off In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. This segued into "The Fool," a dirge-like number that cued the rest of the band onstage. While dirges seem a poor choice to open a show, Neutral Milk Hotel are not a band used to following conventions. Whether they are creating strange noises with pre-recorded tapes, blasting their funeral-march-styled melodies or pulling sad, whining sounds from a bowed saw, their arrangements are improbable and yet perfect. They challenge every convention in music with a look that is as anti-commercial as it is refreshing, a collection of rock-'n'-roll misfits who make beautiful music together. Their sound at times seems more suited for a funeral or a three-ring circus than a rock show. Yet there is no question of the commitment to their sound and to music in general. Twelve hours after they rang in Easter at the club, members of the collaborative attended a service at the Church of St. John Coltrane, an African Orthodox church on Divisadero Street that uses Coltrane's jazz treatises as hymnals and his improvisational style as a credo. Keeping with the participatory nature of the church, bandmembers -- including Koster and his bowed saw -- joined in with the house band from their respective pews. When they weren't clapping and dancing along to a saxophone solo or a jazzy bass lick, the bandmembers were dancing from their pews. It all fits nicely into Mangum's musical philosophy. With his lanky good looks, intense, almost possessed delivery and modest, though self-assured stance onstage, he among his bandmates looks the most like a rock icon. Bobbing his body up and down in a Neil Young-like spastic frenzy, he clearly is the conductor. The rest of the crew seem to whirl around him, performing a strange but beautiful dance. NMH and the two opening bands, the Gerbils and Elf Power, all record on the Elephant 6 label, a sort of family of musicians -- mostly from Athens, Ga. -- who guest on each other's LPs and onstage. Adding to their untraditional approach to making music, NMH frequently swapped instruments between and sometimes during songs, moving from accordion to bowed saw to banjo to French horn over the course of the 90- minute set. While the constant maneuvering gave the band a disorganized look, the sound that they produced was focused and expertly arranged. And Mangum's kaleidoscopic lyrics only added to the psychedelic sound collage. With stream-of-consciousness lyrics that are as evocative as they are riveting (Two-headed boy/ Put on Sunday shoes/ And dance round the room to accordion heals/ With the needle that plays in your heart/ Catching signals that sound in the dark), it was not uncommon to catch audience members as well as Mangum's own bandmates mouthing the words to his songs. With the exception of a handful of cuts on both Aeroplane and its predecessor, On Avery Island, most of NMH's sad-core material would not seem to be suited for live performance. But by stringing together up-tempo songs such as "Holland, 1945," "Naomi" and "Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone" and by infusing others with newfound vigor and stage antics, the band traded its studio subtleties for live enthusiasm. Adding another bizarre twist to the already strange atmosphere, Mangum introduced the tune "Song Against Sex," off Avery Island, as "a song I wrote in my friend's attic. It's about someone who took a lot of acid in a donut shop. Well, then it's about my mom and dad and floating in space." As the band began the number, Koster -- who originally appeared onstage wearing a bike helmet with a chime set taped atop -- sprawled on the stage floor and rolled around, doing everything he could it seemed to bowl over Mangum. But Mangum kept his footing, stepping haphazardly around the prostate performer. As they continued their duet, the band cut loose on an untitled instrumental track from Aeroplane, a gleeful, Celtic carnival-like number. Koster quickly leapt to his feet to join the other six members, who by this point were bouncing off each other like bumper cars. And then it happened. Mangum and Koster collided head on and both fell, with Mangum toppling a tower of amplifiers and Koster taking out half the drum set -- cymbals crashing to the stage. Yet, as it had all night, the seeming disorder again found its focus in the music that poured like a rushing stream through the crackling PA. |
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