Can any record with baby noises really ever be any good? Okay, how about a record with baby noises, car honks, steamship blurts, banjo plucking, tape hiss, a heartbeat, crackling ocean waves, a Muppet- voiced guy whispering into a four track, and a man declaring "Beware the Ocean of Faces!" Okay, how about all of those elements in one song? I'm here to proclaim, "No."
Up to this point, indie rock had never seen its "Intolerance," "Heaven's Gate," or "Cutthroat Island"-- massive economic and artistic failures. But the Music Tapes' 1st Imaginary Symphony for Nomad is that overwrought beast nobody has been waiting for. Recorded over the course of four years, and taken over the Atlantic to Abbey Road for mixing, the Music Tapes' debut full length is a document in uncontrolled '60s pop fetishism. Think about this: My Bloody Valentine's Loveless took less than three years to craft. Airfare could have been spared, because this sounds like it was recorded inside the utility closet of Abbey Road... with tools from inside the utility closet at Abbey Road. But perhaps this album will be the sledgehammer blow to the back of the heads of Elephant 6 junkies and musicians, where upon they'll sit back, peel off their boob- sized headphones, look in the mirror, and realize, "Jesus, I think this has gone far enough."
There's a disturbed obsessive nature in someone who would fly to another continent just so they could mix on the "original EMI desk and limmiter" that the Beatles and George Martin used. The Elephant 6's worship of the Beach Boys and, primarily, the Beatles has clouded their vision to such a point that they've forgotten what those deified bands were really about-- writing amazing songs. Sure, there was a backwards guitar solo on "I'm Only Sleeping" and backwards handclaps on "It's All Too Much," but they only served to give weird experimental qualities to already great music.
1st Symphony is a fitting album to close out this selfish decade, or rather, to put the final nail in its coffin. For here we have the zenith of artistic onanism and sonic wankery. This record weaves such a dense web of inside jokes, uncontrolled indulgences, and obtuse statements that it can only be frustrating, annoying, and disturbing for any listener who wasn't involved in its creation. Even the packaging comes in an admittedly creative, yet befuddling and fragile mess of pop-ups and comics.
1st Symphony can be a fascinating listen, but not for any musical reasons. When looked at as not an "album," but as an audible comic strip or sonic collage, the Music Tapes becomes somewhat more tolerable. Yet it's never rewarding or comprehensible. One can't help but question the sanity and motives of the juvenile idiot savant behind the cacophony, Neutral Milk Hotel's Julian Koster. The analog junk throughout echoes the dawn of recording with wax-paper pops, fuzzing speakers, and sepia tones. Imagine if Thomas Edison had made an album's worth of the Olivia Tremor Control's most unbearable noodlings. Surely, Koster is fascinated with the recording process and the history of pop. But unfortunately, the hodge- podge result of his obsession doesn't inspire any sympathy in the listener.
