East Coast Music Scene

Over the last several months, as I’ve immersed myself in the worlds of alternative and indie music, the name Real Estate has popped up quite a bit. Yet it wasn’t until this past week that I finally explored the New Jersey indie rockers by checking out their latest LP, 2011’s “Days.” Right away, I was taken with the band’s laid-back vibe, jangly guitars, subtle harmonies, and catchy hooks. Watch the video for “It’s Real” and dig those hazy, sun-bathed melodies.

My new album review from the May 2012 Pennon, North Shore Community College’s student newpspaper:

If you’re well-versed in the alternative/indie music scene, you probably know a thing or two about Neutral Milk Hotel. Otherwise, you’ve probably never heard of this Georgia-based quartet that disbanded in 1999. Even in their heyday, NMH was hardly a household name. Along with The Apples in Stereo and Olivia Tremor Control, the band was one of the original members of the Elephant 6 Recording Company, a record label and music collective formed by four childhood friends from Ruston, LA, including NMH singer/guitarist Jeff Mangum. In the years since they parted ways, NMH’s following in indie rock circles has grown considerably, largely thanks to the band’s seminal 1998 release “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea.”

                Even among alternative acts, Neutral Milk Hotel is something of an odd duck. One look at the album’s bizarre cover art – a modified European postcard circa 1900 depicting a beach-going woman with a tambourine for a face – and you know you’re in for something a little off the beaten path. Mangum, the founding member and driving force behind NMH, wrote all the songs on the album and played a laundry list of instruments, from the conventional (bass) to the downright weird (shortwave radio). His songwriting, which had shown promise on the band’s 1996 debut LP “On Avery Island,” really blossomed on “Aeroplane.” Over 11 tracks, Mangum puts on an aural and lyrical tour de force, cementing his reputation as a true indie pioneer and even warranting comparisons to folk giants like Bob Dylan.

                Opening track “The King of Carrot Flowers Pt. One” sets the tone for the LP with its lo-fi acoustic guitar strum, instantly memorable melody, and Mangum’s heartfelt, yearning vocals. While his pipes are far from polished, there is a sincerity and urgency in his voice that makes you sit up and listen. The song achieves a simple beauty through its graceful organ and horn section, while the lyrics speak to coming of age amidst family turmoil. Just when you’re getting comfortable with the earthy folk vibe, however, the album abruptly changes gears. Part Two is a druggy, psychedelic haze, with Mangum repeatedly keening “I love you Jesus Christ” over a churning well of feedback and assorted background noise. Part Three erupts into a full-fledged punk anthem, with guitars distorted almost beyond recognition. Mangum’s vocals become almost comically strained, but the rough edges give these songs a raw, visceral edge sorely lacking in today’s Auto-Tuned musical landscape.

                After the three-part opening salvo comes the title track, another gem full of bittersweet, Beatles-esque melody. Mangum’s lyrics on this song are especially contemplative, painting heavenly imagery and reflecting on the transient beauty of the world around us. He ruminates on the timeless questions of life, death, and creation, confessing he “can’t believe how strange it is to be anything at all” and pondering how our very existence is wondrous, miraculous, and puzzling. The verses take on an otherworldly quality thanks to an eerie, quivering musical saw that cartwheels underneath the vocals. It’s an unusual instrument, but it reinforces the song’s theme that oddness and beauty often go hand in hand.  

                While you’re still glowing from the serene title cut, the album jumps right into another impassioned slice of indie angst with “Two Headed Boy.” The minor chords and harsh acoustic guitar grab the listener right off the bat and never let go. Mangum’s vocals on “Boy” are more rough and strained than ever as he reaches for notes far beyond his range. His voice is full of pain and heartache, haunted by old scars or perhaps longing for something just beyond his reach. The track slows to a mellow conclusion as the vocals come back down to Earth for a series of quiet intonations. “Boy” blends right into “The Fool,” a slow, gut-wrenching funeral march replete with rat-a-tat drumming and wailing horns.

It’s right back to the no-holds-barred indie-punk on “Holland, 1945,” a poignant song inspired by the diary of Anne Frank. In contrast to the relative optimism of the title track, this tune is a somber lament of loss, war, and the madness that all too often engulfs us as “the world just screams and falls apart.” It’s another odd yet deeply moving amalgam of mosh pit rocker, vivid lyrical imagery, and deep philosophical reflection. “Oh Comely” somehow manages to fly even higher. The 8-minute epic is the album’s emotional climax, a stark ballad built around a simple chord progression. The song moves at a slow, almost agonizing pace, exuding a primal, powerful energy that leaves the listener breathless. No frills on this one – it’s just Mangum and his guitar, weaving an ode to a lost love and laying his soul bare. And just when you think it can’t get any more heartrending, that horn section kicks in once more and pushes the song right over the edge.

                Finding a few choice sentences to sum up “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” is a difficult task. It’s an outstanding musical achievement, to be sure, but there’s more to it than that. It’s the kind of album that, when the last note has faded from your speakers, leaves you sitting in hushed silence. You feel spellbound, invigorated, morose, perplexed, and humbled, all at the same time. You suddenly want to throw off all your inhibitions and live each day like it’s your last. In short, listening to this album makes you feel alive and reminds you of all that’s amazing and wondrous in this life. Therein lies the enduring power of music, and perhaps an explanation for why this strange, beautiful album continues to grow and inspire year after year.