King of Carrot Flowers

Tonight, with the company (and help) of ladies Rachel and Kathryn and sir Nick, I had the rare privelige of seeing Jeff Mangum, the frontman of (now defunct) Neutral Milk Hotel.  Live.

And my God, I am just.  Ah.  What?  Huh?  Wow.  Wow, wow, wow.

truly & utterly SPEECHLESS!  So much win.

But because I'm me and I can carry on an animated conversation with the giant pile of shoes awaiting organization in my closet in front of me, I wanted to share my thoughts on the evening (and the eleven-ish years leading up to it)...

It's the story of how I became a fan of a particular music that changed my life, shaped my soul, and forever settled in my heart.

Summer of 2002, I was sixteen, and just starting to explore music beyond the monotonous loop of the bubblegummy lameness known as pop radio's top 40.  I was past the elementary school era of lovely 90's music (including Ace of Base, Spice Girls, and Alannis Morisette).  As any younger sibling, I idolozed my brother, and had added Smashing Pumpkins, Green Day's "Dookie" album, Spacehog, and old-school Nirvana into my muddled life playlist.  And of course, my parents had brought me up with some of life's essential music; the music from their day, and I was really starting to delve into all of the Beetles albums, which was a good place to start.  I had begun to branch out a bit beyond this to a few newer bands and artists (newer to me, at least), like Ben Kweller and Sloan, and Rachel had recently burned me a Travis album.  Like everyone else, I dug Coldplay, who was new on the scene back then too.  Sloan (from Canada) provided a further soundtrack to summer.  Basically, the groundwork was there... I just needed a spark.  And, as it turned out, The List.

One night in particular, prior to owning my first car (Mildred, my old school 2000 red Taurus - but with a spoiler, you guys), my parents let me take the Volvo up to Starbucks for a few hours to meet my friend KC (where we likely drank cringeworthy frappuccinos).  It was another whimsical summer night the evening I was gifted the fortuitous The List.

I had burned a new CD specifically for driving, and I am almost positive it included the aforementioned Ben Kweller, Sloan, Coldplay, Travis (compliments of Rach), Something Corporate, Guster and a few other little-known indie bands and pop punk bands (the latter of which I'm too ashamed to type, because they may just be in the vein of New Found Glory, ooof).  We were in between children and adults, and my music reflected this to a T.

After Kathryn pulled up in her new black Jetta (which she drove all through college, and was ultimately our vehicle for a whole new brand of college shenanigans in our years to come at TCU).  She parked slightly crooked next to my wonky-ass crooked car (in a total "Look what I can do!" sixteen year-old fashion), but we marveled at our parking jobs just the same.  And of course, we ordered our frappuccinos.  

Years later, I worked at Starbucks for three years during college as a part-time job, and I can honestly tell you that every single barista HATES making frappuccinos.  During the summer, everyone orders them, and your arm gets sore from shaking all the frozen crap into a cup, and with those little strawberry bitchcake teenagers, you've always "shorted" them on whipped cream or chocolate chips, and all you want to do is sprinkle arsenic in their drink and sweetly hand them a straw.  Aside from existing as a pain in the ass to make, they're above all just so generic.  So very radio top 40.

But at this point, I was still half a baby myself, and eagerly grabbed my Mocha Coconut Frappuccino, (the seasonal flavor that summer).

We parked ourselves with as much conviction as we'd parked our cars at the only open table inside, fixed our hair from the quick but despicably hot and sticky journey inside (Texas in July is truly wretched), and began catching up on life that week.

I mentioned that I had begun to immerse myself more and more in indie-rock music, and explained a bit about the genre to KC.  I went on to discuss what I loved about it (its inexplicable flaws and lovely oddities), and pulled Death Cab for Cutie's "The Photo Album" out of my hawaiian print Roxy purse.  I'd illegally downloaded prior to our small adventure that evening with WinAmp in those pre-iTunes days.

And then a funny thing happened: a full bearded (before it was cool) college-aged guy in a slightly tight, faded blue thrift store tee began glancing over at our table.

At first, I felt I was imagining it, but as I kept talking.  KC was jamming to Shakira, I was looking for those hidden gems that musically just envelop you, and ultimately, it tracted the dude's attention enough to saunter those Converse-clad feet over.

KC made a quick trip to the bathroom at the same time, and I was face-to-face with a pre-dawn era hipster.  He was beautiful and strange and lovely in his own right.  He was totally a college dude, and I knew he just had to be in a band.  He had that tall, skinny scruffy vibe.  An enigma in his own mysterious right.  He was one of those dudes that probably lived in Seattle, then Portland, and landed in Austin.

At any rate.

"Heyyy, I heard you listing a few badass tunes.  What else are you into?"

KC emerged from the bathroom and started to head back to our table, then stopped in her tracks and quarked her brow.  I glanced at her in a "hell yes this dude" way, and she ordered a second drink to allow us some extra time.  Bless her. 

He was such an enigma, and our entire conversation in memory is more of a feeling.  A destination to behold, with a musical landscape ahead that was so exciting and unknown that I couldn't even make out all the shapes yet.  He couldn't contain himself and began spouting off music that I "simply had to check out."  He was so enthusiastic and surprisingly kind.  And of course one of those shy dudes who was such a tall skinny early aughts enigma. 

"Let me go out to my car and grab a piece of paper, because there are too many to remember, and you need a list."

And as it turned out, I did.

That list changed my life.

KC faked a phone call on her cell.  Bless her.  Cell phone ringtones weren't a thing back then, but if they had been, hers would have been one of those terribly unrecognizable midis of something like "Shake your ass, but WATCH yourself."  Which wouldn't have been half bad, really.

Anyway. I followed the strangely attractive, enticingly hip dude (I'll be damned if I can remember his name) outside the store, and he rustled through the back seat of his car until he finds a small pad of paper, biting the cap off the pen from a pen borrowed from a barista, chewing it slightly in the corner of his mouth where an American Spirit probably existed.  Maybe even a joint.  I suppressed a shiver in all that coolness.

And so I hardly noticed the 97 degree temperatures at 10 PM or the crickets that plagued all the buzzy Texan stores night, because all I could focus on was watching him as he wrote down a myriad of bands and artists just for me.

After about three minutes of silence, he quickly read back over the list, and handed it to me with a quirky, crooked smile.  "I think you'll dig some of these."

He left after that, with a cute close-mouthed bashful grin, and I never saw him again.

To be clear, I checked out each and every artist he recommended, particularly the ones he underlined and dubbed as "you'll definitely love them" groups.  And I would go on to love many of them, not only due to his utterly adorable delivery.  I'd be lying if I said that list I'd thrown it away; it's hiding in a shoebox collaged with Romeo + Juliet grainy computer pics from a Shakespeare project my freshman year of HS.

I'll always hold onto that last, because it made me love music in ways I never knew possible.

Truth be told, not all the bands were wonderful.  But all of the ones I didn't immediately adore were eventual conduits to a pipeline of bands I'd eventually love, even to this day.

At the very top of the list was none other than Neutral Milk Hotel.  

That Dude was so adorably passionate and honest about the music he loved that I'd had an internal mini-swoon whilst chatting music with him about this one.  "You'll love it.  If you love these others, you'll adore Neutral."

This was nothing compared to the major swoon to come in unwrapping that band's onion layers and documenting my adoration on my "slice of The Onion," aka a blog hosted by KnowYourOnion.com with all my friends.  And indeed, Neutral Milk Hotel, that "soft silly music is (indeed) meaningful/magical." The history wrapped in honesty and passion and coming of age was the perfect band at sixteen.  And since you never really feel older than sixteen or eighteen in your heart anyway, it's still one of my faves.  I remember savoring each song I could find of the now-defunct band; I knew I'd been gifted something extraordinary from the kind bearded stranger.  Most definitely "The King of Carrot Flowers."

I was hooked from the first listen of King of Carrot Flowers pt.1.  Then came Holland 1945, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, Two-headed Boy (pts 1 and 2), Naomi, A Baby for Pree, Song Against Sex, Ghost, Oh Comely... I was head over Reef flip flops, in MySpace Top Eight l o v e with this odd band that sparked my heart.  

That was really the beginning of my discovery of good music.  I didn't particularly care much for some of the other bands on that list (Drive like Jehu, Shellac, Slint, etc)... they undoubtedly had their own fan base, and I respected that, but that hardcore just style wasn't (and never will be me).  Seems as though That Dude liked a strange mix as well, which was par for the course.

Throughout the years, I've fallen in love with so much music that I felt compelled to major in Radio-Television-Film in college.  That translated to becoming music manager for a couple of years at TCU's radio station, and co-hosted The Cassette Deck with Rach, our own little indie, quirky on-air show featuring a new theme each week.

When I graduated, the first major company I interviewed with was for my dream job in the music industry in Austin.  And while I didn't land it (3 levels of interviews still made me a teeny proud), I mention it now to drive home this whole notion that music is my everything.  It inspires me and completes me, and if you cut open my heart, you'd probably find a tiny metronome beating inside.

To the Dude who ignited the spark, a heartfelt thank you.



So.

Fast forward eleven years to tonight.

Since I'm still only four days post-op I'm still puffy and unable to drive and on medicine to control the pain.  However, I'm blessed to have fiercely loyal and compassionate friends who trekked out to pick me up and take me home from the show, which was in the complete opposite direction of their respective residences.  So sweet, and much appreciated.  After all these years, I'm so thankful we're still close.

We arrived at the Majestic Theatre in Dallas and scoped out the place.  I hadn't been there since high school, when Jeff & Julie (my brother and sister-in-law) and I saw a musical.  I don't remember much about it, other than the fact that people sang about laundry, and there were a lot of pastel colors, and failure all the way around.

So I contemplated over which souvenir(s) to snag at the merch table (seemingly my downfall at every show), and ultimately settled on a simple black tee with the infamous silver aeroplane over the sea.

If you haven't ever listened to Neutral Milk Hotel, I'm more than happy to burn you a CD of my favorite songs to ease you into the brilliance of Jeff Mangum.  I'm always up for/in "Hey, I'll make you a playlist mode."  For many, his music is an acquired taste, like inexplicable coffee or fine wine.  In The Aeroplane Over the Sea remains one of the select few albums that garnered the coveted 10/10 on Pitchfork (though apparently, it was a couple points shy upon first listen/review). 

The point is, the essence and reason we Neutral Milk Hotel fans are so in love with the music is because it's so honest, poignant, heartfelt, warm, and raw.  After a few listens, it encapsulates you, head to toe.  Or at least it does me.  Jeff speaks to you on an honest level, and after listening to him play tonight, I can attest to the fact that he is equally kind and warm in person.

During his performance, he actually thanked US multiple times for coming, and frequently remarked in awe that his music still has a place in today's world (said, of course, in his own humble words).  

He started the show with "Oh Comely," and it was clear that his voice had only improved over the years, and only sounded that much more delicately perfect since the track was recorded and released on "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" in 1998.  K-Daniel gripped my arm when he started with "Oh Comely," which I'm almost positive is her favorite.

The rest of the playlist went a little something like this:

King of Carrot Flowers pts 1, 2, and 3
Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone
Engine (side note: this isn't on either major album, but I've always been a big fan)
Holland, 1945
I Love the Living You (roky erickson cover)
Song Against Sex
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea
Naomi
Ghost

When he returned to stage for an encore to play "two-headed boy, pt.2," I instinctively clutched my heart, as this is my absolute favorite of all of his brilliant works (and that really says something, because there are so very many).  Unblinkingly, I was so moved that I probably could have remained planted in my seat throughout the entire night, until the sun rose, replaying the lyrics in my mind and soul.  So much damn swoon.  

To the brilliant music that guides my life, a heartfelt thank you.  And a massive thank you to all the babies who made tonight happen.

to rach & kdaniel for picking me up/taking me home.

to nick for fun banter and quirky photos.

to the audience for not being too obnoxious.

to everyone for singing along when jeff asked us to in songs like aeroplane & ghost & carrot flowers.

and to jeff mangum, who donated a large portion of his proceeds to a worthy cause, and whose music has made my heart love music in a way I never knew possible until eleven years ago.