Neutral Milk Hotel – In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Cover art for Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

Type: Album

Genre(s): Indie Folk, Indie Rock

From: USA, Louisiana, Ruston

Release: February 10, 1998

Producer(s): Robert Schneider

Man, this is a masterpiece. It can hardly be stressed enough how much personal meaning can be extracted from the lyrics. They are beautifully saturated with eclectic imagery and a myriad of possible interpretations that unequivocally evoke a melancholic sense of longing, dread, and —through it all— human connection.

This goes along fantastically with everything that was achieved on the sonic side of this applaudable record. From the recurring distortion and fuzz effects to the calm moments of ambient and laid-back folk, it never lets the listener rest through the constant flurry of piercing storytelling and immaculate performances coexisting in gut-wrenchingly bittersweet harmony.

•Mid-High 9•

Highlights: In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, The Fool, Holland 1945.

Lowlifes: Communist Daughter.

Track-by-track review

The King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. One establishes a grim juxtaposition between childlike innocence and an absolutely horrid domestic situation made up of drunken aggression, suicidal parents, and abuse. This makes for a successfully gruesome exploration of the feeling of being trapped in a vortex of vices and taking refuge in sexuality, parallel to how Anne Frank —amidst the horrors— explores hers at some point in her diary. These grisly lyrics are amazingly complemented by evocatively energetic albeit somewhat morose acoustic guitar arrangements, along with an extremely euphoria-inducing vocal performance courtesy of Jeff Mangum.

Low 9.

 

The King of Carrot Flowers, Pts. Two & Three:

 

Part two is an ambiguous approach to coping. The lyrics use the idea of Jesus Christ as a silver lining while, in essence, creating shocking contrasts with the abhorrent acts that have been done in his name due to the album’s context — ultimately portraying an aching to count on the false hope that he gives. Consequently, the only thing left for the narrator is to hold on to this hope, “await [for] a day“ where all is different, and express their love for what little peace this does give.

 

Part three has incredibly powerful lyrics exploring the loss of oneself in between these horrid situations and, in the end, having to become one with them. They largely traverse through the feeling of being carried by the waves and having to learn through them to eventually overcome them and “learn to swim” or “to speak”. Audibly, there must definitely be mention of Jeff Mangum’s vocals on part two, as they are simultaneously amusing and heart-wrenching somehow. What’s more, the progression from part two to three features quite an energetic breakdown that never fails to captivate me — making me grit my teeth so I can brace for impact. All in all, there is a great flow between all three parts, which massively starts the album off strong, to say the least.

Mid-High 9.

 

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is based mostly on parallels of what Jeff Mangum felt while reading Anne Frank’s experience. It deals with themes of being overwhelmed with the idea of the eventual death of everything and everyone — while alluding to how Anne Frank was able to leave behind a legacy in the form of her diary. Ultimately, however, there is a palpable urge for optimism in the lyrics that is absolutely overpowering, heavy, and bittersweet. Instrumentally, this is another highlight in vocal performance, which at this point honestly comes as no surprise but is nonetheless wholeheartedly applaudable. Moreover, the guitar arrangement is straightforward albeit precise, which along with the bright tone of the recording and the ghastly accompaniment in the back, makes for an inexplicably unique experience that perfectly combines dread, infatuation, and a haunting simplicity.

10.

 

Two-Headed Boy begins with the image of the sun leaving, which introduces the feeling of being powerless in the face of an overwhelming darkness. It seems to address Anne Frank’s love interest who has become one (*two-headed*) with the idea he has of her, as well as with his false hopes of a better future. Either way, he has lost all autonomy and is replaced by a new being in order to try to cope with an inhuman life. Furthermore, we’re once again graced by an astonishing vocal performance, which is this time around accompanied by just an acoustic guitar. Regardless, it —impressively— remains an incredibly powerful instrumental that is highly immersive and emotive.

High 9.

 

The Fool is an insane instrumental track with an amazing brass section that is beautifully complemented by a unique bagpipe addition. All in all, this interlude is an alluring marriage between melancholic and triumphant sensibilities that are impeccably realised.

10.

 

Holland, 1945 boasts a lot of grandly evocative lyrics, heart-achingly approaching the topic of reincarnation in the light of previous themes. Namely, this reincarnation is portrayed as an unachievable and hope-inspiring dream that isn’t sustainable but aids to withstand the dehumanising hardships. It’s also worth mentioning that there are still parallelisms with Anne Frank’s experiences as an analogy for this overwhelming pain. Sonically, these dejected perspectives are juxtaposed with a massively energetic instrumental which once again employs brass arrangements to climactically accentuate the rest of the recordings. From the shouted vocal performance, to the fittingly electrifying, passionate, and frenetic mood, it all comes together within a mix that is distorted to a euphoric extent.

10.

 

Communist Daughter is —lyrically— a difficult-to-digest albeit towering approach to sexuality and masturbation. These acts are impressively described as moments of life-affirming connection with oneself and depressively written alongside imagery of wartime — adding a palpable and desperate sensation of desire to feel alive despite the fascistic hate fueling such a world state. On a musical note, the horn arrangement is a comparably melodic and melancholically written —or even charming— set of ideas. This has chemistry with the rest of the composition and Jeff Mangum’s low-register vocals. Additionally, there are production elements of ambience that add a foreboding touch. However, as a whole, it falls a bit short because of the more laid-back approach of the track, personally.

High 8.

 

Oh Comely is another cut filled with sexual imagery. This time around, there are a myriad of topics explored around this sexuality over the length of a hefty 8-minute poem. An important and recurring theme here is neglect; for instance, Comely’s father is described as adulterous and absent. The abandonment attached to this act is later replicated by the narrator, who deserts Comely — which is enough to demoralise her and undermine the “only meaningful memory [she] had left”. This narration describes a patriarchal treatment of women and is analogously paralleled with other fascistic systems of oppression through more allusions to Anne Frank. These dynamics are dreadfully and breathtakingly portrayed through lines like “we know who our enemies are” — these enemies being hateful dispositions that crushed Comely (and later Goldaline) into a state of alienation and eventual death in a “stranger’s stomach”. Instrumentally, the duration does hurt the listening experience slightly as it leaves it feeling ever so slightly long-winded and unchanging. However, that doesn’t keep it from being a fascinating creation, and thus this small comment should quickly be taken out of the way. The many elements that complement the rest of the record so well are all present in this climactic amalgamation of the lyrical and musical ideas laid out previously. The brass section is arguably the most impactful of these, as it arrives with a grand and devastated tone that unequivocally allows the listener into Comely’s hurt. That being said, every other performance is top-notch as well, and Jeff Mangum truly sells the poetry —admirably written by him— with hear-tearing vocal delivery.

Low 9.

 

Ghost expands on the concept of legacy explored previously in the title track. It very heavily and powerfully narrates how the way we die has societal implications and is, as such, important to remember. In other words, it’s an ode to the importance of history, accentuated with darkly evocative, story-told analogies. From a musical perspective, the album’s tendency to contrast very lively moods with thought-provoking and saddening lyrics comes back with a vengeance — delivering a dynamically immersive and emotional instrumental that is incredibly distorted due to the over-compressed mix (beautifully so, and by no means said as a negative thing).

High 9.

 

[untitled] is a beautiful instrumental and climax featuring aggressive bagpipe performances. In terms of interpretation, analysing this grandly celebratory moment along with the next track’s lyricism, it seems to be a positive realisation and comforting albeit explosive start to the album’s conclusion.

High 9.

 

Two-Headed Boy, Pt. Two is quite a cryptic closing sentiment that expresses a lot of wishful thinking. This is seen in the craving for connection and, at times, even dependency that can be read between the lines. All of this emotionally accentuates the conclusive tone of the song, while nonetheless wrapping the record up in an uncertain way. Moreover, considering how the *two-headed boy* is left alone in the final line, this conclusion also appears to be accompanied by an invitation to process the record’s turmoil alone. This heavy lyricism is accompanied by a final composition for guitar and vocals alone, save for the very ambient introduction that acts as a harrowing transitory element from the last cut. This strip-down feel and the superbly passionate vocal delivery once again come together to form a heart-wrenching exposition of raw emotion.

 

High 9.

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