The Mangum Myth.

More often than not I'm pretty behind, and rather stubborn with my music. It's no wonder therefore, that I only recently learnt of Neutral Milk Hotel and the enigma that is Jeff Mangum.
In The Aeroplane Over The Sea (NMH's second album) was a present on vinyl for my seventeenth birthday, and was first listened to lying on a blanket in the sun in my back garden.
Many may argue that this is a collection of songs not best suited for summery weather - I would beg to differ. It's an album for bonfire's, thunder, light filled kitchens or midnight, when the weather doesn't really matter. Or maybe I just like it too much.
One thing is sure, however, and that's that Mangum's musical lyricism is not for the faint hearted. Through this album he, I believe, exorcises something simultaneously ugly and wondrous from within us as his listeners. He'll build a tower tumblin' through the trees and then, all of a sudden  conjure holy rattlesnakes that fell all round your feet. 
Those that know me know that I'm obsessed with all things melancholy. Mangum's method of confronting you with disturbing yet beautiful imagery therefore really resonates in me, be it placing fingers through the notches of a lovers spine or milk and holy water pouring from the sky.
There's ritual and obsession laced through his wording. He pins down the physical, the awkward sick feeling on the awakening of intimacy as he tells of how he would push my fingers through your mouth to make those muscles move that made your voice so smooth and sweet. That all too familiar adolescent clumsiness that comes with anticipating another in a space.
This particular album uses the tragedy of Anne Frank as a basis for exploring the complexities in platonic and romantic relationships. It can feel as though one is shuffling in an attic with Mangum on hearing this album, occasionally stepping on his toes and apologising profusely. The actual presence of Frank in the album is open to interpretation, she could be the girl in the parlor with a moon across her face who's also floating and choking with her hands across her face. Holland 1945 is unquestionably about the subject, lamenting her death and capturing the sheer chaos that is world war.
NMH are chameleons. King Of Carrot Flowers has an almost Bowie-esque sound with it's quick changing melodies, whereas Oh Comely, a graceful dirge puts me in the mind of Nirvana's relentless Something In The Way.
Mangum points at phrases - all secrets sleep in winter clothes and times - one evening 1945 - and makes them stand, sparkling, in your mind.
He also frightens me, with pictures of little boys in Spain playing pianos filled with flames. The symbolism is magic, his poetry stuns me, and I haven't even started on the trumpets.

I sound like I'm in a cult.

I'm very tired.

xoxo