Every Record I Own - Day 783: Neutral Milk Hotel In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
I'm not sure when In the Aeroplane Over the Sea became so divisive. It's a love it or hate it record. Even its early advocates have taken to a certain reevaluation of Neutral Milk Hotel, with the asinine "they're not even the best Elephant 6 band" hot take becoming fairly standard music snob commentary. If Olivia Tremor Control or Apples in Stereo had blown up instead, I'm sure they'd face the same criticism. Honestly, I'm not even sure when this album became popular enough for it to have an intense cult following and adamant detractors, but for me, this album was a complete game-changer when it came out in 1998.
I had a college radio show when the station manager added Aeroplane to the "indie" rotation. DJs were required to play a certain number of songs from the three-dozen-or-so albums in the rotation of their assigned genre, and being that I was officially an "indie" DJ, I had to break up my playlists of hardcore records with the occasional "college rock" tune from the station manager's weekly picks.
I abhorred the majority of stuff in the indie rotation, but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. I remember begrudgingly picking out the Neutral Milk Hotel CD simply because it was on Merge Records, which meant it might at least sound like Superchunk, and playing it on air without previously hearing a note of their music. I don't even remember which song I played, but I was so blown away that I smuggled the CD out of the DJ booth and took it home.
Stealing from the radio station was bad business, though I knew more than a few fellow DJs who supplemented their personal music libraries with stolen promo albums. I mean, who was going to miss a Big Boys LP from the station's neglected vinyl closet? But to steal a CD that was currently in rotation? That was risky.
I couldn't help it. I was so fascinated by what I'd heard that I was willing to risk getting busted. I took the CD home and immediately put it on the stereo, sat on the couch, and listened to the whole album with my undivided attention.
It was 1998 and I was a twenty-year-old hardcore kid. I had begun to feel a little bored and underwhelmed by the lack of sonic diversity in the punk world and had begun listening to a lot of folk and country music when I got tired of listening to music where I was getting yelled at. So when the opening chords of acoustic guitar kicked off "King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1," my ears perked up. Jeff Mangum's voice---double tracked and compressed to a rich, almost-in-the-red saturation---comes in with his cryptic lyrics describing a tumultuous childhood and adolescent sexual awakening. An accordion and bass creep into the mix as the song builds to the climax, only for the band to switch gears into "King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 2 and 3," where Mangum repeatedly professes his love for Jesus Christ against a backdrop of fuzz bass, dissonant singing saw, and tape manipulations. The song eventually explodes into a blown-out punk-tinged pop tune where everything---acoustic guitar included---is cranked to the point of distortion.
Every song seemed to offer something new: the horns and woeful singing saw of the title track, the austere performance and stream-of-consciousness lyrics on "Two Headed Boy," the mournful Eastern European-influenced instrumentation of "The Fool"... it all flowed together like some strange collage of yesteryear sounds, but pushed to the limits of a DIY recording studio's compressors. And in the center of it all was Jeff Mangum---an untrained singer with crystal-clear diction weaving Burroughs-esque vignettes that were purportedly inspired by Anne Frank. There were references to the loss of childhood innocence, war, death, sex, communism, and religion, but all described in a detached and surrealist manner. The music exuded joy, but the lyrics seemed more like excerpts from The Naked Lunch.
I can't understate how much this recalibrated my brain back in 1998. The year prior, all my friends had fallen head over heels in love with OK Computer. While I have since grown to appreciate Radiohead, I did not share my peers' initial enthusiasm. As far as I was concerned, any major label band with a big recording budget and a hot producer was capable of making a lush record with all kinds of cool sounds and wild guitar effects. But Aeroplane? This sounded like a bunch of down-and-out weirdo college kids with their grandparents' instruments making magic in some basement recording studio.
I loved the music, but I was particularly drawn to Mangum's lyrics. I gravitated towards punk as a teenager because the music actually seemed to mean something. Minor Threat sang about being an outsider. Dead Kennedys sang about the cultural climate of the late '70s / early '80s. Minutemen sang about history and how the present reflected the past. Even my love for country and folk music centered on protest songs, outlaws, and earnest heartbreak. But I was reaching the point where it felt like all the bands I loved were singing about the same thing. Rebellion felt codified. You had to sing about certain things or the zines wouldn't like you. And along came Neutral Milk Hotel where the lyrics were somehow borderline non-sensical while simultaneously seeming far more earnest and honest than anything else I was listening to at the time.
Aeroplane didn't leave my 5-CD disc player for the remainder of the '90s. And I am still upset that I was just a few months shy of turning 21 when they opened for Fuck at a bar in Seattle that summer. Within a year Botch would write and record "C. Thomas Howell as the Soul Man," a song that's essentially about feeling that the earnestness and honesty of hardcore was being replaced by lyrical formulas. In hindsight, I can't help but think that Neutral Milk Hotel had showed me that you didn't have to sing about animal rights or hating cops to be profound or passionate. And I also can't help but wonder if the fuzz bass breakdown in that song was a subconscious homage to the bass tone on Aeroplane.
Twenty-five years later, I can't say that I listen to Aeroplane all that much anymore. At some point I learned every lyric and chord progression on the album. I'd heard bands like Bright Eyes and The Decemberists borrow heavily from Neutral Milk Hotel without actually capturing any of their wonder, mystery, or charm. Long story short, I got too familiar with the record and bummed on the imitators they spawned. So maybe in some sense I do understand why people are so critical of the album. But listening to it this morning, I still think it's a fantastic record and I can't deny how it completely altered my listening habits. Aeroplane is one of those records that impacted me in a way only a handful of other albums have in my lifetime. And for that reason, I'll always be a fan.