My First 33 1/3

One of the great things about living in a larger city is having access to record stores. In Myrtle Beach, there was one old dusty record store. It wasn't an all bad record store, but I couldn't go in there to find anything I was currently wanting to buy- it was more one of those places that you search through the old albums and would happen upon a great old jazz or rock album. I've spent more money on music since I've moved to Nashville, essentially because I have access now. Not only do record stores put you in contact with a great selection, but often you can also find books or magazines you'd forgotten about.

I heard about the 33 1/3 series a year or so ago, but because I didn't have access to looking at these awesome books I never bought one. I was joyfully surprised to find the entire collection (thus far) for sale at Grimey's. Given the fact that I am working on a book about music and the impact of songs and albums, I was ecstatic to look through all the titles, select one, take it home ,and immediately read it cover to cover. I knew when I read title from title that there was only one that would be perfect for my first read- it would be the one on Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea.

And I did just that.

From what I understand, each book is written by a different author with varying methods. Kim Cooper, who wrote the one on NMH, chose to focus on the history of this enigmatic band, by supplementing the story with interviews and stories. She also spent some time going through each track on the album, as well as discussing the artwork on the album. There are some bands that I fell in love without knowing their mythology. Neutral Milk Hotel was one of those bands. I have listened to this album hundreds of times, but I really knew very little about the band- or the story and mystery that follows them even today.

When I finished the book, I thought it was only appropriate to sit down on my new living room floor, put on my headphones, put the record on, and listen.

And I did just that.

When I started working on my book about memories, I thought about the songs that would figure prominently in my own "musical motif" and undoubtedly, this album, and in particular, the song "King of Carrot Flowers, Part 1," was at the top of the list. I have countless memories attached to this song and all the songs. I can remember hearing it for the first time on a road trip to Austin, Texas for SXSW with my brand new friends, Parker and Greg. I remember during that trip sitting in the back of a car listening to the album from start to finish, unable to stop halfway through, even though it was 3:00 in the morning. I remember a sing-a-long that took place multiple times at a bar in Charlotte during an open-mic night. We all tried to remember the exact order of the lyrics. We failed. Started over. Failed. Started over. We must have started the song over at least 5 times that night. I also remember listening to this album when my best friend left for Finland. I remember listening to it when a close friend of mine died. I remember, well, I specifically remember listening to the song "Two-Headed Boy" as loudly as possible- when blue lights appeared in my rear-view mirror. My mother remembers listening to it the next morning when she picked up my truck from where I was forced to leave it.

In Cooper's book, she speaks to what felt (and continues to feel) so magical to people about this album. Was it the fuzz and instrumentation? Was it the collaboration of individuals and bands that were Elephant 6? Was it the imagery of tomatoes and radio wires? Was it the pushing of his voice until it broke?

For me, it is quite possibly all these things. Reading the book made me think about how we as fans analyze music. Often when we admire a musician, we read through their lyrics as if they are a cryptic message about their own lives (and at times, our own lives). We decode and analyze, hoping to understand the individual or band better. One of the things that I did know about Mangum was that much of the album was influenced by Anne Frank's diary. Apparently, Mangum was interested in Frank and it seemed from my reading that this may have been the only book he read. I commiserate, not in that I've only read one book, but instead that I remember reading this diary and feeling my life was ultimately changed. It resonates. It doesn't feel surprising to me that Mangum would write an album that takes these facts and stories, then distorts and twists them. This is what feels so magical to me.

I am also reminded of when a friend of mine decided to compile a top 100 albums list. He encouraged everyone to participate and submit their lists. He even encouraged us to collect lists from other folks. Everyone was to submit their top 10 albums of all time. I still have the paper in an old journal, but I know situated this album at number one of all time for me. And though some of the memories have faded, I'm pretty sure that this album found a way in the top 10 out of all the people who contributed to the list.

My absolute favorite line from the entire album is in the song "Two-Headed Boy," where Mangum screams out, "with the needle that sings in your heart, catching signals that sound in the dark, catching signals that sound in the dark." Yes. Every time I play any album on my record player, I think of this lyric. The needle that sings in my heart.