One of these days I should really write something long and unnecessarily expository about Neutral Milk Hotel get redirected here. For those music nerds out there, you should already know what I’m talking about. But for the rest, those 3 words probably just cause confusion or indifference. So to make it simple I’ll just say that they are an indie rock back from the 90s led by Jeff Mangum who, after putting out 1 excellent and 1 epic album, disappeared for a decade.
After obsessing over those albums for years, I finally got a chance to see Jeff perform solo when he officially rejoined the human race back in 2011. He did not disappoint and, in spite of his reclusive nature, hinted that a full band reunion might just happen. As wonderful as hearing songs so near and dear in an such an intimate setting was, the prospect of the full-on, cacophonous, fuzz noise experience of Neutral Milk Hotel live kept me wanting for more.
Well, last night I got more.
I don’t think I could possibly convey how absolutely awesome the show was. There were accordions, uilleann pipes, a toy saxophone, magnificent beards, a pornstache, several types of horns, a questionable sweater, at least 3 hand saws, and one guy bowing a banjo. Combined it formed a joyous noise that kept us all on our feet for its entirety. It’s a shame it had to end – thankfully I’ve got a ticket for their Philly show in 2 weeks…
If you love Neutral Milk Hotel, get to one of their shows. And if you have no idea who they are, step outside of the usual and give them a listen.
If you’re a waitress, and you see me looking over a menu indecisively, and you’re about to offer me a special that includes the words “three meat” and “wrapped in bacon”, just stop. Turn around. Go back to the kitchen and get me one. Don’t waste our time pretending that I might order the scallop and shrimp combo or something as trivial as a hamburger. You put together 3 different animals and then still felt the need to wrap it in bacon – that is what I call dedication to my satisfaction.
This message has been brought to you by the brilliant staff of Nicky Fischer’s who served me a three meat meatloaf… you guessed it… wrapped in bacon. Genius.
The Woman and I were down that way Saturday night to see the Pat Metheny Trio at the Keswick Theatre. I’m not going to tell you about the show, because I already posted about it on my other blog. Remember that one? I’ve actually been posting to it (despite my lengthy, vacation-driven absence on both sites) – and that includes some cool concert info that I recently discovered. Ha ha! Now you have to check it out or you’ll never know what it is!
Last Friday night was a Post Secret event not far from me. Saturday morning was a photowalk across the Brooklyn Bridge. That afternoon we had a going away party for one of The Woman’s cousins (moving to rainier pastures out in Seattle) followed that night by a birthday party for one of her old friends. Sunday during the day was the Art & Music Festival in Hoboken. That would also give me the chance to watch the last regular season for the Phillies and then the Eagles game with a Philly crowd.
So, can you figure out what I ended up doing with all of those options?
Friday night – sat on my ass.
Saturday morning – sat on my ass.
Saturday afternoon – went to in-laws for party.
Saturday night – sat on my ass.
Sunday day – sat on my ass and watched football while following the baseball games on the Internet.
Sunday night – sat on my ass and watched the Eagles game at home.
I am such the social butterfly. At the very least, I refused to let myself talk… myself… out of heading into The City Monday night to catch The Mountain Goats with a friend. That was a good thing – because John Darnielle is just an awesome singer/songwriter and Peter Hughes is inspirational on the bass.
Tonight I have to convince myself that it is certainly worthwhile to head out for dinner with friends, no matter how tempting that sitting on my ass option looks. Fortunately, the wedding tomorrow night is not an event that can be skipped. Because, sadly, I’ve suddenly fallen into a rut where socializing must be an obligation.