By: Dylan Schaeffer

Tickets for this show were entirely sold out, and for good reason. Neutral Milk Hotel, after their 1998 album “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” became an indie hit, was largely absent in the public eye. With no official announcements, no fanfare, no last big hoorah, the band seemingly dropped off the fact of the earth in its “indefinite hiatus.” The album was hauntingly beautiful, bringing an incredibly fresh, low-fi yet perfectly-full sound filled with cryptic messages and super-powerful expression of the inexpressible.

Working backwards seems to be the adequate way of exploring Neutral Milk Hotel, as Aeroplane is the most accessible and fleshed-out, with a tangible yet unexplainable overlying theme. Their first full-length album “On Avery Island,” released in 1996, explored the same headspaces, but seemed less whole as an entire piece when compared to Aeroplane. The music has the same feel and general sound, however, and is a must-hear for anyone who appreciates Aeroplane.

Front man Jeff Mangum alone released several EPs under the name “Neutral Milk Hotel” as well, including “Everything Is,” “Hype City Soundtrack,” and “Ferris Wheel on Fire.” There are also several rarities amongst these.

With singer/songwriter Mangum at the helm, the band’s songs contemplate the complexity of life and death, love and defeat, the mundane and the magical. During their nearly 16 year hiatus, many fans came upon this music in their own time, giving them enough time to bring their own meaning to the music and discover its mysteries. Many did so never thinking that, perhaps, the band may one day return.

Yet, with the April 2013 announcement that the band would reunite, fans scrambled to grab their tickets before it became sold out, knowing that the music they’ve held so close to their hearts would finally be heard live in a room full of the initiated. It was no surprise that, in many cities, tickets sold out within minutes, one such venue selling out in 10 seconds.

So I bought my ticket, and I took the ride.

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As we piled into the Carnegie Music Hall of Oakland, it was immediately apparent that every demographic was represented. Young and old, tidy and unwashed; we all gathered to be a part of an evening our hearts and minds had drawn us toward for years.

Fellow Elephant 6 label members Elf Power took the stage, strumming straight folk-rock into our eardrums. At parts, it got very psychedelic and off-the-grid in its musical styling. As I don’t usually stray into indie-rock too often, I was very impressed with their heartfelt ballads, churning easily back and forth between mellow and energized.

During the break between sets, the entire theater fills in minus ten or twenty seats. With the sold out show, I can’t help but feel sorry for those who were, for one reason or another, unable to make it to this event. As we all anxiously wait, we are reminded by a disembodied voice that this show has a zero recording policy. No audio, no video, and no pictures are to be taken.

Jeff Mangum takes the stage, grizzled-beard encircling his face, tawny hair sticking out all directions from under the Castro ball cap that conceals his eyes. His earthen-brown sweater decorated with floral patterns around the neck gives him this vaguely neo-shamanistic appearance. The lights of the stage darken everything except his figure. He gets his acoustic guitar ready, slowly and deliberately, drawing the silence out longer and longer. It appears that he knows how long we’ve waited and how eager we are. He toys with that anticipation.

After a short greeting to the crowd, he breaks into the hard strums of “Two Headed Boy Part 1.” The crowd roars with delight, and immediately simmers down, soaking in as much of the experience as possible…

Well, I should say, most of us appear to feel that way. Throughout the crowd, blips of light illuminate the faces of those texting or browsing the internet with their phones. It immediately becomes obvious that, to security, this is indistinguishable from recording. They sweep over the crowd with super-powered flashlights, blinding huge chunks of the crowd for the sins of the few. Many realize what they’ve done and stop, with several ignoring the beam directly in their eyes to continue their business. As one who has waited a large chunk of my life for a moment such as this, I’m outraged at the lack of consideration amongst some of the patrons.

Mangum stops playing entirely to directly address the “Mister Security Guard Man” in his mellow, almost sleepy voice, declaring that he appreciates their actions but addresses that it’s distracting from the performance. He states that, in simple terms, if everyone just enjoys the moment for what it is then we won’t have to be bothered by the distractions. The crowd, once again, roars.

As he plays, the crowd is as silent as can be. The amount of reverence for this man and his music is almost too palpable. Eyes are unblinking, bodies, not moving. We are glorified sponges, soaking up everything being laid out in front of us.

As he plays, Mangum gives Two-Headed Boy a bit more of a vocal twang than on the album, leading me to wonder if his vocals had changed since 1998. As I would later witness, this was a one-off incident.

As on the album, Two-Headed Boy flowed seamlessly into “The Fool,” for which the rest of the band filed onto the stage to play the foot-stomping sea-chantey of a tune with quite a bit of “funeral march” influence. It was played nearly identically to the album version, but with much more “OOMPH.” The crowd sways back and forth, entranced.

In between songs, Mangum again moves slowly and deliberately, creating a silent space. Throughout this, audience members brave or foolish enough to interrupt yell their thoughts toward the stage. It was a very strange environment, as the nearly 2000 of us were able to hear what any individual at any time was saying. Shouts of song requests (mostly “I Love How You Love Me” and “Naomi), as well as random declarations (“Best band in the WORLD!” and “I LOVE YOUR SWEATER!”) pierced through the almost- sacred moments.

Mangum barely reacted to these moments, but let out a genuine smile each time while averting his eyes from the crowd. I got the impression that he created these moments purposefully, in order to absorb the love emanating from the masses before him.

Before starting the next song, he stated in his quiet and collected tone “sing along with this one if you want,” and then broke into “Holland, 1945.” This powerful fan-favorite from Aeroplane got the crowd seriously moving. Together, we sang the twisted tale of a family broken apart by the Holocaust to the jovial and foot-stomping electric sounds.

The moment it was over, the crowd explodes once again in praise. The band basks in it.

During most of the show, the focus darted back and forth between Mangum and multi-instrumentalist Julian Koster, who looked like he popped right out of a cartoon carnival. He moved strangely with his lopsided blue winter hat bobbing around, almost child-like in his nature. His true moments of awesomeness came from his ability to play the singing saw.

For those of you who have never heard of the ability to play a singing saw, it is literally the act of creating musical tones from a handsaw, which is bent to change the pitch and vibrated with a violin bow. In Neutral Milk Hotel’s music, Julian shines through the music on the saw, creating eerie-yet-sweet melodies reminiscent of a children’s Halloween song.

After Holland, 1945, the band disperses once again into the shadows while Mangum energetically strums “A Baby for Pree/Glow Into You.” As this song was from “On Avery Island,” and not “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea,” I expected the crowd response to the opening lines to be diminished. However, the crowd once again treated this as another glorious blessing handed down from the gods.

Keeping on the “On Avery Island” theme, the band comes together once again to play a fantastic version of “Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone.” Mangum then does a solo performance of “Everything Is” off of his EP with the same title.

Again, he prompts us to join with him in singing. The first chords of the opening song of Aeroplane “King of Carrot Flowers, pt. 1” ring through the room. As I look around, nearly everyone is participating in the sing-along. The group-effort aspect made this song’s messages hit much harder, as it allowed every single person to ponder the cryptic lyrics a little more. It allowed for the dichotomy of the emotion in this song to fully sink in.

“When you were young you were the king of carrot flowers/ And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees,” we all sing, in the moment, feeling the sense of childlike joy brought onto us by these words. “In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet.”

“And your Mom would stick a knife right into daddy’s shoulder/ And Dad would throw the garbage all across the floor/ As we lay and learn what each other’s bodies were for.” There it hits: the realization of how powerfully these lyrics can pull you from one side of the emotional spectrum to the other so quickly and without notice, on top of the jovial-sounding chords.

“And this is the room one afternoon I knew I would love you/ And from above you how I sank into your soul/ Into that secret place where no one dares to go,” we sing. Back we go, into shining ideas of first love and emotional connection.

“And your Mom would drink until she was no longer speaking/ And Dad would dream of all the different ways to die/ each one a little more than he would dare to try.” And once again, it hits. We’re in the thick of it, inside this headspace that seems simultaneously holy and sinful.

Immediately, he breaks into “King of Carrot Flowers pt. 2,” in which the most debated lyrics of Neutral Milk Hotel open the song. “I love you, Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, I love you, yes I do.” In a band that leaves almost everything to the imagination lyric-wise, this outright declaration of love of a singular religious figure seems to leave fans scratching their heads. It is impossible to say whether this is a direct declaration from Mangum, from one of the characters of his songs, or neither. Yet, to the already-initiated, this makes no difference.

We lull around in this heavy fuzz, until the inevitable lead-up of craziness that introduces “King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. 2,” and as the lyrics state, “Up and over we go.” Much of the crowd cannot control themselves. Swinging, bobbing back and forth to the raw energy this song produces.

Then, just as on the album, we swing gently into the (sort of) title track, “Aeroplane Over the Sea.” Note for note, it is indistinguishable from the album version, but with the raw emotion of every instrument pumped up a few notches. The sound of Julian Koster’s singing saw sends chills down my spine.

The last line of this song is completely belted, both by Mangum and by many members of the audience. “Can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all.”

The band, once again, absorbs the incredible amount of gratitude put forth by the crowd as they erupt in applause.

Next up is the song of a love that is breaking, “Naomi,” from “On Avery Island.” This is one of the few songs with deeply depressing lyrics that doesn’t mask it with a sugary sweet musical arrangement. This song is infectious, and I realize halfway through that I will probably never hear it live again. This adds to the depression behind it, but I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

The somber tone continues with “Ferris Wheel on Fire,” from the EP of the same name released in 2011, and then “Oh Comely,” from “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.” Perhaps sensing the sadness that these past songs inherently own, the band changes pace, and up we swing again into the energetic and bouncing “Song Against Sex” from “On Avery Island.” Immediately after this, we go back into more somber tones again with “Ruby Bulbs/Snow Song, Pt. 1.”

The band says their thanks and walk of stage. Had there been no encore, I think most everyone would still be quite pleased. For a moment, I wonder if there even will be an encore, as they’ve been out of the concert business for so long that it’s still mysterious as to what the idea of a full performance means to them.

Some patrons start leaving after a minute or two, unaware that the lack of house-lights strongly hinted at more to come. I can’t help but think of how unfortunate this is for these people, as the band gave one hell of an encore indeed.

The band comes out, with Julian Koster sheepishly crouching over amongst them, taking the microphone for a moment to give a very awkward “thank you!” before sitting down and picking up his saw and bow one more time. This time, the band was joined by Elf Power member Laura Carter playing the electric saxophone. The band broke into a bold and boisterous “Ghost,” which again had the crowd jumping and swaying.

Immediately from this came the untitled track from Aeroplane, which is a jaunty, swinging, animated instrumental track with many layers including keyboard, singing saw, electric saxophone on top of the usual instruments. Played a bit faster than usual, it seemed to grow dizzy within its own energy.

This flowed beautifully into the final track of Aeroplane, “Two Headed Boy pt. 2” in all of its haunting glory; beautiful, kind, slow, gentle, and desperately, intriguingly melancholy. The crowd stood stone still, many with closed eyes.

“In my dreams you’re alive and you’re crying.”

The emotional depth of this song beautifully sums up Neutral Milk Hotel’s works, bringing the entire concert full-circle. And yet, they played one more song.

“Engine,” a rarity and an outtake from the original Aeroplane release brought the concert to its end. With Koster and Mangum alone on the stage, sliding through the slow and mellow chord changes, it was a fitting end to a fantastic performance, almost giving the image of a triumphant hero riding off into the sunset after a turbulent encounter.

The lights went up, and the faces in the crowd spun around in circles, giving the expression of the inexpressible. We were all there, alive, in that moment; a moment that seemed to shape our hearts and minds forever. Still in disbelief, many seemed to not want to leave, perhaps hoping to absorb some of the remaining energy left in the hollow cathedral.

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I will leave you on the following note: If you’re even remotely a fan of Neutral Milk Hotel, you cannot miss their live performance if you ever get the chance to see it. As with their music itself, the live show is wonderful, mysterious, joyful, saddening, loving, and turbulent. You will not walk out of the theater the same person.