As you’ll recall, I got pretty excited a few months ago to see an interview I did with John Fernandes referenced in another article. I even came to learn it was linked on Will Hart’s Wikipedia page as a citation.
I came to realize last night, however, that the link to that interview is now dead, and the piece cannot be found anywhere on the site. The editor I worked with when I wrote for this site is no longer there, and the guy who has taken his place has not been able to help me. So, long story short, it’s gone but for the raw .doc I have on my computer.
The more pragmatic of the people to whom I’ve explained my plans with this book have asked me why I don’t just publish a few magazine articles instead of, or at least in anticipation of, this book. I have a few different answers, but the biggest is that too much today, especially in the music world and especially in the journalism world, is ephemeral and disposable and forgotten, and in our amnesiac culture where everything new is showered with superlatives, I want to make something that has hope of lasting a little longer. This is another line on the chalkboard.
The Flicker Bar seems like the place to be.
Though I couldn’t find anyone to join me, I headed to a show there tonight because there were no fewer than three E6ers on the bill tonight, each playing solo. I figured, at worst, I’d see a pretty good show for $5. To my luck, though, there were about a half dozen others there taking in the concert.
I still find myself unable to approach someone cold and introduce myself as Adam The Aspiring Elephant 6 Biographer, but tonight I didn’t need to, as I had a prior acquaintance there to introduce me. One day soon, though, I’ll need to sac up. I suppose I will when I need to, and until then, I’ll take the less creepy route. To date, this has been much easier than I expected, though I’ll readily concede that I haven’t accomplished anything tangible yet. I’d have guessed meeting people would be the toughest aspect of this whole endeavor, but while I still have a lot of people to meet yet, it hasn’t given me much concern.
I suspected I might have some trouble because these people can be so difficult to track down. Few of them check (or at least answer) their e-mail regularly, and even fewer of them have their e-mail addresses listed anywhere. They’re not much more reliable by phone. But I can still find them. I’m in Athens. A ton of them live in Athens. If I can’t find their contact info online somewhere, I know I can just go to a bar show and find them, in person, which is a whole lot better when I can get over my shyness.
While researching this book, I pore over as many relevant articles as I can.
Every Thursday, I’ll highlight one of the good ones.
I have mixed feelings about this week’s Throwback.
On one hand, Kevin Griffis’s piece is pretty moving, and in a lot of ways, it embodies exactly what is so significant about the music of the Elephant 6: the personal bonds people create with it. The music of the Elephant 6 is not just “good music.” There’s tons of good music out there, and on a purely sonic level, there’s a lot of stuff that’s better than what any of these guys have ever done. But what makes this music special — and what makes me want to write a book about it — is the emotional resonance that, intentional or not, is undeniably there.
On the other hand, this article is a good example of a few of the things I don’t want to do with my book.
First, as emotional as all this stuff is, this book will not be a memoir. It is not about me. If I can help it, I won’t even use the first-person. This is about other people. I can write a compelling narrative — so far, it seems like it might write itself — without making myself the subject.
Second, Griffis used a much different strategy than I am using. Whereas I’m being patient and spending my time building trust and rapport, he went with a more aggressive approach, going so far as to track down Jeff Mangum’s father when Jeff himself would not speak with him. As a reporter, it’s sort of inspiring to see such digging, but as a person (and especially as a fan), it strikes me as more than a little disrespectful. Griffis rationalizes by saying, “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, like other great works of art — no matter how obscure — has grown beyond the grasp of its creator.” He thinks he has as much ownership of it as anyone else, Mangum included.
And he’s wrong, of course. That Griffis, along with so many others, feels such a strong bond with this record is as beautiful a thing as you can find in the world of art. That he feels entitled to an explanation embodies so much of the art world’s ugliness.
So I understand why some of the people I’m trying to interview are distrustful of people of my type. But that’s exactly why I moved here, why I’m taking my time, why I’m doing this the way I’m doing it. Of course they’re not going to trust me right away. I’m ready to accept that they might never trust me. But there are two ways to overcome that: circumventing it as an investigative guerrilla, and cultivating it as a respectful documentarian. Guess which one I’m choosing.
Before tonight, I had seen the Fiery Furnaces live on three occasions: once in DC, once in State College and once in Philly. I was credentialed for the latter two (although paying for two tickets to the first one cancels one out). Anyway, a lot of the Fiery Furnaces show I got into tonight for free was old hat.
What makes the show I saw at the 40 Watt tonight different is that I ran into a whole bunch of E6ers there. That doesn’t happen in other cities, and that’s why I’m in Athens right now.
I’m also glad I made some contacts before I got here. Two of the people I saw tonight were people I had met before, which made it a lot easier to approach them (and subsequently to tag along to Flicker after the fact). I don’t know if I have the chutzpah to just walk up to someone and introduce myself, though I should probably work on that.
On a related note, those that I have had the balls to approach have all proven to be quite approachable. I’ve been here a week and have seen less friction than a ball bearing.
My first E6 rendezvous since moving to Athens is in the books, so to speak. Because it was off the record, I won’t mention his name, but our informal chat over Mexican food was nonetheless helpful.
As it stands, I’d like to have some kind of informal meet-up, off the record, with everyone before I do a real interview with them. Ideally, I’d like to do several interviews with everyone.
Anyway, my meeting today went well. I got lots of good information that I’ll be sure to get on the record at some point, and I got a lot of direction for where to go from here, not to mention the promise of helping me meet more people.
Randall Roberts, LA Weekly
Buried in the middle of an LA Weekly piece about the Grammys, in a list of backstage highlights, is this:
Steven Colbert giving a shoutout to Neutral Milk Hotel, which he did first in the TV press room (as opposed to the print press room next door) when asked about what music he listens to. After he left the TV room, he arrived in print, and we followed up, asking him if he’d ever invited reclusive NMH founder Jeff Magnum Mangum onto the Colbert Show. No, he said, but when Apples in Stereo performed, Mangum came along as part of their entourage. Colbert was the only person to recognize him. (We didn’t get the exact quote, we’re embarrassed to say, because we were so shell-shocked from talking to Colbert that we forgot to write it down.)
Colbert is a noted E6 fan. As alluded in the quote, he’s had the Apples in Stereo on, as well as Apples frontman and E6 co-founder Robert Schneider performing solo (with Schneider, the admiration is reciprocal). I’ve also heard that, during commercial breaks on The Colbert Report, they often play music over the PA, and it’s not uncommon for Neutral Milk Hotel to be played. Colbert even sings along sometimes. So this is not breaking news, although it’s always good to hear.
It also gives me another impetus to track him down for an interview for the book. He doesn’t do a ton of press, which could be because he’s busy, because he doesn’t like it, or for any number of other reasons. Regardless, I’m having a lot of trouble getting to him. His publicist isn’t budging. But I’m going to keep trying.
From a commercial standpoint, it would obviously be great to have Colbert in the book somewhere, but even more, he’s obviously an incredibly smart guy, and I’m sure he’d have something interesting to say. And who knows?; maybe I could convince him to write a foreword, or better yet, bring me on his show for that sought after Colbert Bump.
A man can dream.
In the week that I’ve been here, I’ve experienced a peculiar phenomenon several times already, and one I expect to enjoy a whole lot more while I’m here.
No fewer than four times since I’ve been here, I have met in person someone I had corresponded with for a while, over e-mail, telephone or both: my roommate, someone who works at the apartment complex and helped me get my lease settled, and two editors for whom I’ve been freelancing. The circumstances of each meeting has been different as well — my apartment, the complex’s main office, Flagpole’s office and a bar — and I’d say my relationships with each of these people, though new, are different.
But with each of them I’ve had a common experience: that fleeting moment of insecure anxiety — Is that JP?/Jacqueline?/Michelle?/Alec? — followed by a fleeting moment of shared recognition and relief. Sometimes there’s a handshake. I suppose this is what people who frequent dating sites must get all the time, only without the desperation or social resignation.
It’s an ephemeral thrill, but it’s one that’s proven valuable since moving to a town where I don’t know anybody.
I consider myself a low maintenance guy, and I came to Athens willing to make sacrifices. So it is by good fortune alone that I ended up with such sweet digs. And now we find MTV Cribs reaching its low point:
Now this is what I call an uncommon common area! We’ve got a couch and a coffee table. We’ve got a TV and a stand. We’ve got a dinner table and chairs (not pictured). We’ve also got a door in the top right of the image, which leads to a balcony.
Next, we have a modest kitchen, which I’m itchin’ to get back to. Is that pizza on the counter? Save me a slice, guys!
This here is my bed, in its rare “made” condition. 300 thread count, bitches.
Behind this bangin’ mirror is a giant closet, where all my threads live.
We in the industry call this a “workspace.”
We finish up in the bathroom, in the most pristine anyone will see it until I move out.
Thus concludes our tour. As you leave, please make your way through our gift shop and take advantage of some of the specials we have this week, and remember the Alamo!
Tonight was my fourth night in Athens, and the first one I really spent out. Though I haven’t been here very long yet, I’m already thankful for a bunch of things I didn’t really expect:
A roommate
I certainly wouldn’t say I’ve gotten to know my roommate especially well beyond some superficial details, but he’s a nice enough guy. His presence has been a relief, though, from letting me know where to take my trash to telling me how to get to the Kroger to alerting me to the fact that walking to downtown from here might be through a sketchy neighborhood. I figured having a roommate might be better than not, but I didn’t realize it would pay such tangible dividends so early.
Enthusiasm
I’ve met more people than I thought I would so early, and I’ve told many of them that I’m writing a book about the Elephant 6. I expected a lot if not all of them to find this a tedious project; as Athenians, this could be a tired subject. But even though they mostly seem jaded to the fact that they couldn’t walk into a record store or bar without seeing someone related somehow to the E6, they were all pretty excited to hear about my project.
Connections
I knew there were plenty of E6ers in Athens. That’s why I moved here. But it seems like everyone here has a story. “Julian Koster came in when I was working at Kinko’s” or “Scott Spillane showed up at an art show and ate some chocolate coins that were part of an installation.” And already I’m running into people that have legitimate ties to the artists, like the girl I met tonight who does publicity for some of them. While I think some of them could make for good interviews down the road, everyone seems to have a little tidbit of useful information. For example, the publicist mentioned to me that a lot of the guys may still feel jilted by the way Kim Cooper distorted their story (she mentioned that Cooper printed a bunch of stuff that was supposed to be off the record), and that if anyone was reticent to talk to me, this was probably the reason.
Vigor
Maybe it’s the weather (I’m not yet used to 60 and sunny in January, but I think I can get there). Maybe it’s Athens’s charm. Maybe it’s the vibrant arts scene I’ve heard (and spoken) so much about. At any rate, I feel invigorated here. I feel inspired. I feel not only that I want to write this book, but that I will.
While researching this book, I pore over as many relevant articles as I can.
Every Thursday, I’ll highlight one of the good ones.
This week’s throwback comes all the way from last year, January of 2009. So it’s not an especially huge throwback.
But it is relevant insofar as it highlights one of the most salient points I want to make about the Elephant 6 Recording Company: its influence.
The piece focuses on Neutral Milk Hotel, the E6’s flagship band to be sure, but to some extent it applies to the entire collective. What it suggests is that, even though none of the bands ever really had much mainstream success, they left a profound legacy that lives on in the bands they influenced.
It offers a comprehensive list of bands who draw from different Neutral Milk Hotel’s sound: conceptual album format, invigorating live performances, unconventional instrumentation, punk-tinged folk, and unapologetically personal lyrics. Of course, the band didn’t invent any of this, but, Williams argues, it was “the point from which all matter (or for that matter, all THAT mattered) collapsed into itself into one super dense, super brilliant point and then, exploded out in all directions, forming all that exists in our universe today. Neutral Milk Hotel, more than any other band, has been the defining influence on the past decade of music.” Williams counts indie superstars like the Decemberists, Arcade Fire, Animal Collective and Sufjan Stevens as well as pseudo-hip-hop icons Danger Mouse and Girl Talk among the NMH disciples.
The piece isn’t supported especially well and it reads a bit like a high school essay, but Williams’s point is still a good one. At the very least, it’s a handy reference for bands I’d like to interview for the “lasting influence” portion of my book.
