In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
In The Aeroplane Over The SeaThis is not a new release but because until a week ago I had never heard of Neutral Milk Hotel, far less listened to their second album In The Aeroplane Over The Sea, it feels that way to me. The album was released first in early 1998 on Merge Records and was subsequently re-released on Domino Records in 2005. The influential music website Pitchfork gave this album a rare perfect 10.0 rating after the re-release and after 2 or 3 listens during the latter half of last week I can see why.

I love the blend of musical styles on show here. Psychedelia, folksy pop, lo-fi and funeral marches to name a few of those which spring initially to mind. Singer and creative driving force Jeff Magnum's voice has a powerful raw quality and the emotional impact of the songs is enhanced rather than diminished by the regular cracks which appear as he tries to hit the top notes. The band also employ a range of fairly obscure instruments, including something called a singing saw which helps colour the absolutely lovely title track.

Track one, King of Carrot Flowers Part 1, hides a dark family scenario of drunkenness, despair and domestic violence beneath a catchy pop-folk tune. The record then ventures into the arena of the unconventional for the first, but by no means the last, time. Flowing straight out of the closing sustained note of the previous track King of Carrot Flowers Parts 2 & 3 begins with Magnum singing the line "I Love You Jesus Christ" and the manner in which he matches the drawn out note of the word Christ to the continuing background drone remaining from the previous track made the hairs on my neck stand up. It was at this moment during my first listen to the record that I realised I'd found something a little bit special.

Lyrically this album is just beautiful and Magnum's accomplishment as a poet helps to lift this album yet further away from the majority of popular music. From track one:

And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder
And your dad would throw the garbage all across the floor
As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for

and from the title track:

And one day we will die
And our ashes will fly from the aeroplane over the sea
But for now we are young
Let us lay in the sun
And count every beautiful thing we can see
Love to be
In the arms of all I'm keeping here with me

The record is actually easily accessible for first time listeners and yet the complexity woven by Magnum's lyrics and the musical exuberance on show makes sure that repeat listeners will find much else to explore on each subsequent visit.

Jeff Magnum has unintentionally built up quite a shadowy übercool persona over the years. He is everything the singer/songwriter of an indie band should be. Introverted, emotional and unpredictable. The release and subsequent success of In The Aeroplane Over The Sea seem to have both broken apart Neutral Milk Hotel and turned Magnum into a reclusive figure who has kept out of the public eye since 1998. While scanning some online editorial about this record I have noticed that it seems to have a cult following among indie music fans and prompts more than its fair share of cooler-than-thou toss-pots to get all muso and wanky about their experiences with it. This is completely down to the fact that the record is relatively unknown and also relatively brilliant. Sales of the album are on the up, ten years after its initial release, and this increased momentum seems mainly due to word of mouth recommendations ..... just like this one. In The Aeroplane Over The Sea is well worth tracking down.
Written by Kevin   
Monday, 18 August 2008 17:51
 
Tom Waits - Live at the Edinburgh Playhouse (27th July 2008)

Tom Waits"Well, it's only been 23 years!" exclaims Tom Waits conversationally as he takes his seat at the piano for the more intimate section of his concert in Edinburgh last Sunday. "Oh, you know, the usual." is his well timed response to the imagined question from the audience hanging in the air. Waits was 30 minutes late taking to the stage as is, I have been led to believe, standard practice where he is concerned. Well, what's another 30 minutes on top of all those years going to hurt?

As we waited for the big entrance, the random array of elderly loud hailers adorning the back of the stage croaked out some carefully selected music to set the mood. Tom Waits took to the stage, his arms reaching out on either side to acknowledge the welcome, he then raised his upturned hands slowly in front of him, fingers dancing, indicating to his audience he wanted the noise level to increase further and the crowd was happy to oblige. The concert opened with a brilliant opening medley of Lucinda and Ain’t Going Down To The Well which segued back and forth between the songs. Waits stood on a raised circular platform, more like a drum riser, fringed with light bulbs and kicked up a cloud of white powder each time he stamped down one of his black booted feet to emphasise a beat. It was a simple but very effective theatrical effect. The stage was atmospherically lit in bordello red and lurid green for much of the set and the spotlights trained on Waits threw long spindly shadows.

After a little more comedic milking of the applause the band broke into Rain Dogs and I was struck at the manner in which Waits carries himself on stage. It's like watching an amalgam of Chaplin's tramp and the sort of deranged, wild-haired old drunk you might encounter pan handling for loose change in any city centre. Waits no longer drinks or smokes but he inhabits his stage persona like a well worn pair of jeans.

The Waits back catalogue is a treasure chest from which just pulling twenty songs at random would generally produce a two hour live set to blow away most other touring acts. Stylistically the songs cover vaudevillian Weimar-era cabaret, melancholy piano lounge ballads, Beat-inspired spoken-word numbers, twisted blues and tortured gospel alongside a great deal else in between. The band were simply brilliant, sounding like they had been playing together for years in darkened clubs. The Spanish guitar breaks performed by Omar Torrez which punctuated Hoist That Rag were a delight. Here's the full band line up:

Patrick Warren - keyboards
Omar Torrez - guitars
Vincent Henry - horns
Casey Waits - drums and percussion
Seth Ford-Young - bass
Sullivan Waits - congas and clarinet

Snippets of useless trivia are dispensed during the evening, almost all of which exist only in the travelling circus of Waits's playful imagination. They included a graphic description of how the legs and hips of a male Praying Mantis will continue to grind out their copulating rhythm even after the female Mantis has devoured his entire head and most of the torso during mating. Astronauts returning from the Moon report that it smells of fireworks ("That's where they all go!") and a new law which forbids forcing a monkey to smoke cigarettes has "ruined everything" for Tom Waits. We were also helpfully informed that a weasel came from the same family as a mink so it was perfectly acceptable to approach a woman wearing a mink scarf and say "You have a really nice weasel" and that you should tell her that Tom said it was OK.

It would be difficult to choose highlights from the night here but if pushed I'd go for the either the dramatic opening medley or the cemetery blues of Dirt in the Ground. The show, pre-encore, closed with Tom getting an unexpected glitter shower during Make it Rain. Now, close to a hundred pounds is a lot of money (for most people) to pay to see a concert. You need to be pretty committed as a fan of the performing artist in question to stump up that sort of cash. This is before you factor in all of the hoop jumping and DNA profiling required for the anti ticket touting campaign. The audience at the Edinburgh Playhouse were genuinely dedicated Tom Waits aficionados but their major flaw, in the eyes of this reviewer, was their reticence and politeness. The Innocent When You Dream sing-a-long was more of a mumble-a-long. I am in no way disassociating myself from my fellow audience members. We all piss at the same trough. But you were left feeling that a more raucous, a more exuberant audience may have wrung just a little extra from the encore to what was a special evening's entertainment. The possibility of a second encore seemed to hang enticingly in the air for a couple of minutes before the house lights went up. The gut feeling that the audience had been considered before being denied has, I'm sure, no basis in fact but it was inescapable at the time.

Waits's music and the theatrical persona that has built up around him for the last 35 years appeals most to those who have gone through their time here on earth expecting just a little more out of life than it has delivered, and can accept at least a portion of the blame for themselves. It is this acceptance and self knowledge which turns the character of Waits's shambling tramp into a messianic travelling hobo. U.S. Vogue's Mick Brown has written that Waits uses his vignettes as "platforms for wry and truthful observations about the cavity of desperation and disillusionment beneath the bravura of American life.". There is plenty of desperation and disillusionment right here in the U.K. and as such Waits is assured an audience on this side of the Atlantic for a long time to come.

Set List

Lucinda/Ain't goin' down to the well [Video on You Tube to give you an idea of it all]
Rain dogs
Falling down
On the other side of the world
I'll shoot the moon
Cemetery polka
Get behind the mule
Cold cold ground
Circus / Table top Joe
Jesus gonna be here
Picture in a frame
Invitation to the blues
House where nobody lives
Innocent when you dream
Lie to me
Hoist that rag
Bottom of the world
Hang down your head
Green grass
Way down in the hole
Dirt in the ground
Make it rain
Encore
Goin' out west
All the world is green
[Set list found at The Eyeball Kid]

Listen to NPR podcast of the full Tom Waits gig from Atlanta, GA 5th July, 2008
Photo of Tom found at Cows Are Just Food, and the original is at Zoometter's Flickr account. I assume he is onstage in Milan.

Written by Kevin   
Wednesday, 30 July 2008 12:10
 
On Chesil Beach
On Chesil BeachThis short (166 pages) but beautifully paced novel is easily read in two or three sittings but only the meanest of critics will feel short changed as a result of this brevity. It essentially tells the story of a wedding night which goes catastrophically and messily astray. Ian McEwan has a great talent for tight examination of seminal moments in his characters lives which alter irrevocably the entire course of their futures. Readers of his previous work such as Atonement or Enduring Love will know that already but here too is the undercurrent of unease which darkens other McEwan books such as Black Dogs or The Comfort of Strangers.

The majority of the tale is set in the years immediately preceding the sexual revolution of the mid-1960s. On a July evening in 1962 two newly-weds, Edward Mayhew and Florence Ponting, stumble through an awkward dinner at a hotel on the Dorset coast overlooking Chesil Beach and the Fleet Lagoon, anticipating the first night of their married lives with mixed emotions. Both are virgins, and each has their reasons for anxiety. For Florence, the prospect of engaging in penetrative sex with her new husband terrifies her to the point of hysteria. The manuals she has read have struck a chord of revulsion within her with words such as "membrane" and "glans". By contrast, Edward's fear is that he lacks the necessary self control to prevent him ruining his wedding night by "arriving too soon".

Over the course of this psychologically insightful novella, McEwan elicits a deep compassion for both Edward and Florence in the reader and it is this compassion which makes witnessing their inability to overcome their conjugal differences all the more heartbreaking. Through numerous flashbacks into the two protagonists lives leading up to the point of the wedding night, the reader is able to build up an understanding of these characters that they are unable to grasp themselves. Beneath the surface of every unspoken word, awkward silence or tumble weed inducing attempted joke, the reader can see through to the real affection that exists between them and their ardent but ultimately conflicting desires to please the other and go on to lead happy fulfilling lives.

McEwan writes extraordinarily well with seldom a word misplaced and we drift subtly, without even noticing, between events within the marital chamber and those of years gone by. The book looks unflinchingly, but not without humour, at the conventionally English emotions and traits of repression, deception of others and of the self and at lifelong mournful regret. That might not sound immediately appealing, I grant you, but I have no hesitation in recommending one of the best works of fiction I've read in many many months.
Written by Kevin   
Monday, 14 July 2008 18:29
 
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