People like to make fun of mayonnaise in 2022. I don't know why, myself. I love a little mayo. A little bit of mayo can turn a dry sandwich into an explosion of wet, white goodness all in my mouth. My tongue salivates just thinking about it. Reverse racism has led to many-a-zoomer adopting terms like "mayosapien" as a slur. Well, I've about had it. We aren't freaking mayosapiens, we're people as well. And we make great music, get over it. One of the bands I've found that embody the spirit of mayonnaise is none other than the Neutral Milk Hotel. Ignoring the classic
Aeroplane album which we all know and love, I want to focus on their humble beginnings. This is the Milk Hotel stripped down to its raw core, blistering poems about love, loss, heartache, and more.
Musically, Jeff Mangum acts as a highly skilled fast food employee. He has a bottle full of mayo. Sometimes this bottle gives other people a hard time. If they aren't as skilled as Jeff Mangum, they might squirt too much or too little mayo depending on what kind of day they're having, what their bottle grip is like, et cetera. Well, Mangum gets the right amount. Many talk trash about mayonnaise, but you'd notice it if it wasn't there. That's like Jeff Mangum. He is the rug that ties the room together, although don't expect the raw workingman's hymns of Creedence here, if you catch my meaning. Mangum is soft and delicate. He represents the purity of trust fund midwesterners, hitting the road and reclaiming what's theirs with the help of their mom's credit card. I say this with no malice. This is an important part of the American lexicon, and the spoiled brat has entered the eternal songbook. Damaged, stunted people often make the finest art.
Much like mayo, Mangum has an air of cool detached energy. He doesn't really care if he's here or not, and that's why
On Avery Island works. This music is neither here nor there. It simply is.
