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Welcome to our first
installment of Indie Rocker vs Classic
Neutral Milk
Hotel – In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Indie Rocker -- It starts off innocently enough on
the opening track, "The King of Carrot Flowers", with just an
acoustic guitar and three simple chords; nothing too obvious – it’s understated
if anything -- no crazy syncopated rhythms to try and throw the listener
for a curve. No gimmicky samplers and such. Just the sound of
plectrum on strings, strumming F, C, Bb. Three chords, that's all.
You might even think -- while crashing through a case of lager or knocking down
a few bong hits on a Saturday afternoon – you’re listening to a friend's demo. But then the voice comes in. That fucking voice.
The voice that rendered a thousand singing instructors
irrelevant. And that's when you realize that you've never heard anything
like this in your life. The pitch, tone, and timbre of the voice
that has just deemed centuries of musical theory completely and utterly
obsolete. It seems to say, Fuck your rules. You want
pretty picture-perfect vocals saturated by
a staid color-by-numbers audio palette? Well,
you're in the wrong house, Junior. Save that nonsense for
the Post Gazette Pavilion crowd. This is not an appetizer.
There will be no after-dinner mints. You need to sit down with this
thing, look it in the eye. Talk to it. Read, re-read (and then
RE-re-read) the lyric sheet. Have a drink if you feel it necessary to
quell the butterflies in your stomach. But it won't do any
good; those little winged bitches are here to stay.
I’ve always believed that punk rock was
more than just a genre – to me it’s a state of mind. It’s about
breaking boundaries. This album strongly argues in favor of such
sentiments. It gives a big sod-all to everything created prior to
1998. Lyric-wise, its imagery evokes much of the 60's psychedelic bands
but the words seem less dated, less prone to single-minded themes, more contemporary
in its vision and depth. It’s been
nearly a decade since its release and the references to God, sex and loss (an
iron-clad triumvirate for songwriting, if there ever was) steer the listener
through shifting symmetrical audio patterns in a sideshow circus
extravaganza that would make P.T. Barnum puke elixir out of sheer
jealousy. And forget clothespins, green mohawks and Doc Marten's; this
album is devoid of a "look": this Mangum gentleman might be the kind
of cat who wears sweater vests to his temp job; he might kick it with flannels
while in confessional; hell, the sonofabitch could walk to the grocery
store in Florsheims for all we know. My point is, this music crosses
boundaries, it fills the empty spaces that can underscore the weakness
of many musical genres: It fulfills the self-conscious shortcomings
that can be inherent of folk, the lack of subtlety that often
plagues indie-rawk, the self-absorption that has at times
weighed down avant-garde (seriously, name a band that
used a zanzithophone prior to this recording? I dare you. And
while you're at it, try and explain to me just what the hell a zanzithophone is). This
album, both visually and musically, is more punk rock than anything Green Day,
Blink 182 or the Offspring ever shat upon the musical landscape
(although GD does get props for their major-label dissing of W).
It's more cerebral than that. It's taking preconceived notions about how
a song should be written, the pre-conceived cookie-cutter mentality of
how a song is sung, and throwing it against a wall and seeing what
sticks; it's an album that is composed of a series of beautiful fragments, like
a dimly lit warehouse full of smashed Pfaltzgraf pieced back together with a
bongwater-and-crushed-Xanax paste. Oh,
and to top it off, the sucker is written entirely in one key, too.
Classic Rocker -- You see, Kurt, I got none of that with this album. I’ve listened to it a few times, which is a
few times more than I would’ve had I not been listening for TNY, and I just
don’t see it. I’ll be honest, I’ve never made it completely through the
disc in one sitting. A few times I shut
it off and said: “Okay, I’ll just come back to it later when my mind is clear,
when the dishes are done, when the cats are fed; when radio and books have
failed to interest me; when the sun starts to set, I guess.” And I had hopes for this album too. I went ahead and read the All Music Guide
bio on the band and their review, and read all about the fuzz-rock sound, the
60s influence, and thought I was in for a treat. The first song, “The King of Carrot Flowers” was decent, I’ll
admit. And the singer sort of made me
think of Peter Tork doing Indie music. But by song four I realized that I was just listening to the same trick
over and over again, another overly-educated band from some small college; nice
little guys who just didn’t get what they wanted out of that poetry class they
took, and felt that writing was too long a path to take in order to get chicks
to bat their eyes at them.
So the music is a drag to me, and the Indie Rock
aesthetic is something I simply have no tolerance for at this point. You must
forgive me, but I put in a few years at the so-called legendary Cottages up in
Squirrel Hill, so my days and nights were filled with this sort of sound, this
same personal fashion flair; in short, I knew a lot of bands who tried/did
sound like Neutral Milk Hotel, so I don’t see Mangum making music prior to 1998
irrelevant. I tried to look at what was
at stake back then, and what is now, and I really couldn’t place these guys
within any significant/stand-out context. That said, I’ll admit their influence has permeated what people consider
modern chamber pop music. I can hear
NMH’s influence in the moody ambience of a Matt Pond Pa record, and certainly a
band like Head of Femur are almost blatant disciples of these guys; however, in
Head of Femur’s case they’ve taken the commonness of NMH and have made it
completely off the wall (if you haven’t listened to those cats, give ‘em a
chance).
The music makes me want to drink and
take bong hits, but not for the kind of reason you’d expect. I’d have to get drunk or stoned just to keep
listening to this. I have a low tolerance for boredom and the banal. But I like the horns. And as for the zanzithophone, I’ll have to
take your word for it. Being the first
to use an instrument does not qualify one as genius. After all, The Monkees
were the first band to use a moog.
Nor
can I grasp the Punk aesthetic you link to Neutral Milk Hotel. And I too am not talking stereotypical
designer punk, or even original punk, or however you personally define it. In fact the word “punk” as used to define a
way of life has become so convoluted, it doesn’t mean anything now. Calling
something “punk” is like calling a German Shepherd a dog. If I go by a definition of punk being
something (style, writing, music) that goes against the grain, I can really
only think of a handful of musicians/musical acts in all of time that can be
construed as punk: Charlie Parker, John Coltrane, Elvis Presley, The Velvet
Underground, Sugar Hill Gang, R.E.M., and TV On the Radio, would be a few.
Neutral
Milk Hotel is pleasant enough, but its music that’s not particularly different
from everything else people were listening to in 1998 in the Indie scene. My problem is that NMH is music you can shut
off and not even remember listening to in the first place.
Indie Rocker -- Oh, Christ. . . with that sentence my biggest fear has been
realized; I’ve engaged in a music
discussion with a tired old crank who resents those that actually take the
initiative to do something about their erections. Because, y’know, Charlie Parker was hatched from an egg* and just
miraculously played sax – solely for the benefit of mankind, mind you -- and
not for the free smack and loose chixxx; because everyone knows that Elvis (the biggest co-opter of black culture
in the history of modern music; he makes Eminem look like the musical
equivalent of a Black Panther) only did it for the betterment of Mississippi
Delta Bluesmen – and not for the mountains of Quaaludes and peanut butter and
banana sandwiches; that Michael Stipe only got into music because, well, there
were statistics that said prematurely balding effeminate men are less likely to
move up the corporate ladder, and so on and so forth... While I’m certainly not discounting the
achievements or passion of the above artists, let’s face facts and admit that
our hearts and minds have been hijacked by romanticism, let’s admit that
Parker/Presley/Stipe’s intentions weren’t all out of high-mindedness; that they
also got into the business because the money was (potentially) good, the drugs
were free, and the trim was easy. Hell,
you could add/subtract from the three at your discretion but to not accept at
least one of them as a reason they played/made music is positively naïve.
To
claim NMH as just another group from the frustrated artist crowd is certainly
something worth noting – after all, “many are called, but few are chosen” as
the saying goes – but there is more to it than that. Just realize that there are plenty of icons who chose music for
the exact same reason as NMH (if you do choose to believe that Mangum and co.
started making music simply because of numerous unsuccessful attempts to pull
digits from co-eds). Frankly, I’ve
never read an interview from Jeff Mangum about why he wrote In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, so I
don’t know. He’s been too busy the last
couple of years building tree forts in the Ozarks to let anybody in on the
secret. But I do know that both Lou
Reed and John Doe didn’t get what they
wanted out of that poetry class they took, so they turned to Rock ‘n
Roll. And, like NMH, I thank fucking Christ
for that.
And while I admire your slumming
around Squirrel Hill, subjecting yourself to years of “this sort of sound” (oh,
the nobility!), your diatribe can’t be considered anything more than blatant
generalizing. As far as context is
concerned, how about In the Aeroplane
Over the Sea ranking #1 in Magnet a few years ago as the best album over
the last ten years? Is that not a
“stand-out” context? We’re all aware of
the reverence that can be -- but often times shouldn’t be -- displayed in
regards to these rankings, but right now, Magnet is considered an integral
voice in independent music. Doesn’t that say something about NMH? That an internationally known and respected
magazine recognized this artist as creating the best piece of work over a ten
year span? As for me, one of my main
points was that I couldn’t put them into a context, which I alluded to with the
confessional/Florsheim comment; that isn’t to say that the music from In the Aeroplane… isn’t beyond
comparison – that would be ridiculous. My point was that they borrowed from many different genres creating
their own unique sound… a unique sound that resonated with a lot of people, the
aforementioned Magnet and Matt Pond/Head of Femur camp. But to say that Head of Femur are superior
to NMH (I believe you said they lack the “commonness” of NMH) is
ridiculous. It’s like preferring Bush
over Nirvana or generic aspirin over Tylenol.
And it should also be noted that
every artist that you mentioned above, from Parker to Sugar Hill Gang to
R.E.M., initially had their detractors, people who thought, eh ,is that all? Was Murmur not titled
that due to a friend’s diss of Michael Stipe’s unique singing style? Was it Punk Rock as we defined the term, or
just some guy who couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket? It would be years before R.E.M. received the acclaim that has put
them in the upper echelon of Great American Bands. Critics love to sit back in retrospect and write that everyone
who saw The Velvet Underground in person went out and formed a band, but I’m
willing to bet that there were just as many people who thought, Fer Chrissakes, Andy, are you sure that
EVERYONE gets their fifteen minutes of
fame?! Even these fuckers?! Pass me the coke before I fall asleep. I guess that only time will tell in regards
to NMH.
(* There’s a great children’s story about
Charlie “Bird” Parker written by Rolling Stones drummer Charlie Watts called
“From One Charlie to Another”. It’s a
touching tribute to the great saxophone player written in allegory that
documents Parker’s talent as well as his faults while still providing solemn
respect to this music giant. It can’t
be more than 8-10 pages, but it’s pretty cool nonetheless.)
Moving
on…
Van Morrison – Astral Weeks
Classic Rocker -- Okay Kurt, I guess I’ll just have to let it stand that
you called me old, and move on; notice, however, how easily I took to the crank
part. Well...here’s a bad segue ...when
is something old considered classic? In
the case of Van Morrison, man, I just can’t be sure. I’ve never liked the guy, I’ll admit. I’ve only enjoyed two Van Morrison songs in my life. One of them
was the song Gloria, which Van wrote for his band Them, and Brown-Eyed Girl,
but only because the song was featured in Sleeping
With The Enemy, a movie where Julia Roberts gets kicked around quite a bit
(Editor’s Note: Grochalski would like it to be known that he doesn’t advocate violence
of any kind...except maybe violence against Julia Roberts).
I
understand I’m supposed to like Van Morrison, and I realize that as a music fan
I’m supposed to be totally impressed with the melding of folk and blues and
jazz on Astral Weeks, but the problem
is I’m simply not. From the opening of
the title song to the end of “Slim Slow Rider” I find the album to be one long
snoozefest. I think maybe I only like
“The Way Young Lovers Do” and that’s because I put the song on a mix tape I
made for my wife very early on in our relationship. I know, I know, this begs the question why did he put the song on
a mix tape if he doesn’t like Van Morrison? Because the song is good. Fine, Kurt,
add it to the list with the other two.
To dig
deeper, I hate the warbling sound of Van Morrison on this disc, the quiet moans
and aches, and the oh-so-precious accompaniment of the music. I hate the climactic exuberance of “Cyprus
Avenue” and I simply get nothing out of “Madame George”. In fact, the only thing I’m impressed with
concerning Astral Weeks is that the album
came out in 1968 as a quiet rumination on growing up in a year that saw chaotic
discs released from The Rolling Stones (Beggar’s
Banquet), Jimi Hendrix (Electric
Ladyland), and even The Beatles (The
White Album).
And to
put it personally, on the rare occasion I’m invited to a party, or even go to a
party I was somehow invited to, and someone puts on Astral Weeks, as has happened numerous times, it’s my cue to leave
immediately because if I wanted to fall asleep I’d go home...or put on a Nick
Drake or Jeff Buckley album. I’ll admit
my bias. I also never cared for Van
Morrison or his music because every two-bit-World-Cup-jersey-wearing Indie-Rocker
in that fabled Squirrel Hill apartment building thought Van was the man; at
least those who missed the boat on Ray Davies or came in too late with Brian
Wilson; or who remembered that rock music had been around longer than that time
The Clash got together to crap out their debut album, or worse when the members
of Sonic Youth decided that poetry, painting, collage, etc. etc. etc. wasn’t
for them, and that music was the key to being invited to those hip SoHo
parties.
Classic Rocker -- Kurt...that’s
brilliant! That is SO INDIE to scoff at
a major label...in 1968??? Has history
taught you nothing? Has the consumerist
sway of America not allowed you to realize the development of said labels? Let me give you a little bit of
history. Labels weren’t the slick
machines then as they are now. Most of
them actually tried to create “art” back then. Most labels actually had producers/field people on staff that actually
went out and searched for engaging bands, as opposed to some chick with a nice
rack, or a cute boy that can push the latest trend. I realize the game is different for majors now, but during Van’s
time there was an art behind the music making, and these so-called “free agent”
mercenaries were probably some of the best musicians working in the
business. If you don’t believe me,
check Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde.
I
realize I’m in the public “wrong” for not digging the Van album, but aside from
the qualities you mention, I just find the man and his music boring and
overwrought. But I’ve already said
that.
And I
can most certainly be pleased. Give me
something challenging like old Tom Waits, or the Velvet’s White Light/White Heat to banter about, and I’ll show you something
in terms of enjoyment. And as for
parties, I’ve been to a number with the Indie ilk and this drag of an album
always came on when they wanted to get “Old School” shed the track jackets and
kick it with the vintage t-shirts. Of
course it was always on vinyl, on some specific pressing, and usually hit the
turntable after an argument over whether or not they should play Something Else by the Kinks. I think I got out enough; maybe it was just
the redundancy of the people I knew, a plague in the Indie community if you ask
me. Banality as an art form...sort of
like the two discs we listened to this round.
I hope
next time the good minds at TNY give us something to sink our teeth into. Talking about Van Morrison and Neutral Milk
Hotel is like prattling on about my grandfather’s dietary habits.
And the
2002 Anaheim Angels were a fluke, a paid for team as well. Let’s talk the 2006 Tigers, the team the
Buccos could’ve had if wise enough to bring back Leyland. But that’s a conversation for another time. Maybe we’ll have it at the Squirrel Cage
during $2 import night, or are you Indie cats still drinking the Pabst and
Strohs?
Indie Rocker -- Sorry about that…I was sidetracked by Jessica Simpson’s surgically enhanced
cleavage and didn’t catch everything that you said...but from what I gathered
it was just more stereotyping…
Anyway,
I appreciate the brief overview on the history of popular music, but it’s a
shame that it came off as a 2nd rate Abe Simpson diatribe. Record labels then were no more magnanimous
then they are now…just look at the Dave Clark Five or Tiny Tim. In fact, why not check out the
Liverpudlians-Dressing-Up-Like-Gay-Pirate-Proprietors-of-a-Fish-n-Chips-Shop
cover art that is Sgt. Pepper’s -- or
better yet, how about the entire friggin’ concept of The Rolling Stones Their Satanic Majesty’s Request…now
there’s an example of an unoriginal gimmick. The bottom line isn’t something that came along with the advent of TRL,
nor is the concept of consumerism; it’s been around forever. And I can’t help but think that if it were
1968 instead of 2006 you’d be saying the very same things about Electric Ladyland or the White Album that you’re saying about
NMH; that Jimi Hendrix was just a guy making noise or that John Lennon was
merely a heretic, all the while lamenting the effects of free love and acting
pissed off because Bing Crosby is no longer on the charts. You’re painting in
broad strokes, which is unfortunate considering there are bands like Radiohead
and Built to Spill who have released relevant material on major labels (to name
just two).
And
to continue the baseball analogy, there was never any debate as to the ability
of said studio musicians – just as there is no debate as to the ability of Alex
Rodriguez. But who would you rather
have? A-Rod or Jim Leyritz? My point was that talent helps, but
chemistry is integral, which was something that I found lacking in Astral Weeks. Hell, Yanni and Kenny G are considered “great” musicians but
I don’t see anybody knocking down their door to include them on an album.
But
I do thank you for the sartorial critique – my sweet new Puma track jacket that
I ordered just arrived; it’s a fantastic ocean blue. I’ve been told that it brings out my eyes. Perhaps I’ll wear it when we meet up for
those beers. And while I’m a Yuengling
man, I certainly don’t need a $2 drink special to enjoy a Guinness or a Molson
XXX.
Kurt Garrison, TNY’s resident Indie Rocker, kicks the traps for indie-rock heartthrobs Workshop. He also plays banjo (poorly) and has a cat named Isaac.
5 records our readers should own (in honor of Michael Azerrad's "our band could be your life", a book
that I've found myself reading for what's probably the 10th time):
1.
Minutemen
"Double Nickels on the Dime"
2.
Replacements
"Let it Be"
3.
Mission
of Burma "Vs."
4.
Dinosaur
Jr. "Green Mind"
5.
Mudhoney
"Super Fuzz Big Muff plus early singles"
John Grochalski, TNY’s resident Classic
Rocker, is a writer formerly from Pittsburgh. He lives in Buffalo now with his
wife and two cats. Grochalski's book of poems "The Noose Doesn't Get Any
Looser After You Punch Out" will be released via Six Gallery Press in
2007.
5 records our readers should own:
1.
Bob
Dylan "Blonde on Blonde"
2.
Bruce
Springsteen "The River"
3.
Dan
Bern "New American Language"
4.
Icewagon
Flu "Take One"
5.
Monkees "Headquarters"
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