Live Review: Neutral Milk Hotel

On the sleeve of the Domino re-release of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, indie whizzkid and Arcade Fire mainstay Richard Reed Parry has summarised his own perception of Neutral Milk Hotel’s sophomore record: “Every time I finish listening to it I feel like I’ve lived through something I’ll never quite understand, something really big.” It’s a sentiment seemingly shared by the thousands of followers who have gravitated towards the album in the sixteen-year gulf since its release in 1998. After frontman Jeff Mangum entered a reclusive period at the turn of the millennium, the shockwaves of Aeroplane’s raw emotional urgency have only grown stronger and more pointed after a decade-and-a-half of relative silence. There have been solo shows here and there, some reissues and ever-expanding praise, but otherwise, the aura of Neutral Milk Hotel has been locked tight, preserved in all its mystery.

As a result, news of their return as a full-bodied live band was met with equal parts surprise and elation. The elusive Mangum is well-known for ducking out of the limelight, and the collected group have been tight-lipped about future plans. But given their new roster of UK, US and European tour dates, plus headline slots at the likes of Green Man and Way Out West, there are murmurs in the indiesphere that maybe – just maybe – this is the definitive return of one of the most well-loved indie rock bands of the past twenty years. For now, however, it was enough of a blessing to witness the band performing in the flesh, and on the day of my final university exam, the prospect of beholding Mangum’s gnarled poetry at the Camden Roundhouse had me (and thousands more) ready to snap with an excitement that bordered on hallowing.

He was almost unrecognisable from the clean-cheeked chap in the moody 90s photos

First, there came opening support from the Laetitia Sadier trio. The Stereolab singer’s solo project felt a little stiff for some reason, with the project’s song titles (a personal favourite included ‘The Milk of Human Tenderness’) arguably more entertaining than the songs themselves. It was far from bad, and there were promising moments of fervour thanks to the group’s drummer; a man who really seems to want his toms decimated. Yet the whole thing never really landed with the audience, and the awkward chatter (“how many of you guys voted today?”) between Sadier’s loud-quiet-loud art-rock sapped the set’s energy. But not long after 9pm, the Roundhouse dimmed to an inky black, and the excitement which had been bottled up all evening exploded through the venue.

Jeff Mangum has apparently spent the past sixteen years doing nothing but eating vegetables and refusing to shave. When he finally emerged out of the shadows on Thursday night, he was almost unrecognisable from the clean-cheeked chap in the moody 90s photos. Dressed in a faded check shirt and a low-fitting baseball cap, he hefted his acoustic guitar after a polite smile, and began to strum out the instantly-recognisable chords of ‘The King of Carrot Flowers’. As we joined Mangum in incanting the second verse, several other figures emerged from the rear of the stage, approaching the assortment of instruments as if they were unpacking a toy box. Front-and-centre was the cherubic Julian Koster, who was as captivating as Mangum himself, thanks to his beguilingly transfixed manner on the musical saw, the manic smacks he administered to his squalling bass, and his deft way with both bowed banjo and accordion. The affable Scott Spillane conducted mass sing-alongs between his triumphant horn crescendos, and Jeremy Barnes pummelled the bejesus out of his drumkit, igniting a delirious energy which suddenly seemed comparatively lacking on record.

Watching the four members of Neutral Milk Hotel together in 2014 felt both ethereal and euphoric; as if they had returned from the time machine Mangum dreamt of during ‘Oh Comely’. The poetry that these men create is enervating and ineffably moving. On record, the likes of ‘Naomi’ and ‘In the Aeroplane Over the Sea’ dig themselves deeply beneath the skin; in a live capacity, they ring with heightened sharpness, and the fierceness of the band’s crunchy live renditions augmented their punch. The sense of rapture among the audience was astonishing; alongside the crazed fans bouncing and shrieking through ‘Holland, 1945’ were individuals of various ages simply staring at Mangum as if hypnotised. It was easy to see why: his solo rendition of ‘Two-Headed Boy’ was goosebump-inducing, particularly when the whole group rallied at its climax for the fearful march of ‘The Fool’. Justifiably, Mangum had requested a ban on photography during the performance, so visual testimonies to the night’s triumph are scarce (though a picture of the setlist from the evening can be seen above). Suffice to say that simultaneously shouting “I love you Jesus Chriiiiist!” with roughly 5,000 other souls was indescribably euphoric.

The music of Neutral Milk Hotel is utterly indelible: heartfelt yet tantalisingly enigmatic

If everything up until the encore was perfect, the final four songs closed the event with fittingly lo-fi majesty. The band surged back into power with an ecstatic rendition of ‘Ghost’, seguing into the dizzying ‘Penny Arcade in California’, before finally slowing for the heartbreak of ‘Two-Headed Boy Part Two’. The band dispersed once more, and once Koster’s saw had ushered in the frontman, Mangum stood alone, singing a terribly poignant and cryptic hymn of sadness. Although it felt like the perfect conclusion, the band reassembled one final time for the sweet lullaby of ‘Engine’, which embalmed the show’s final moments with a glowing vulnerability. It ended with the gnomelike Spillane wishing us all a safe journey home, and a clutch of flowers being tossed onstage. Holding the bouquet aloft, Mangum looked genuinely touched and waved us all out with his endearingly reticent manner, before leaving one final time.

The music of Neutral Milk Hotel is utterly indelible: heartfelt yet tantalisingly enigmatic. The past sixteen years have allowed the mysterious aura of these songs to remain intact, yet the experience of seeing the band return to perform them didn’t taint their legacies in the slightest. Instead, the Roundhouse patrons were provided with a show of loud, profound, and apocalyptically moving music. The 5,000 of us left the haunted space in which the band had immersed us, and stepped into a night that we didn’t know what to do with. It felt like we’d all lived through something really big.