Pitchfork

As frontman for what was arguably one of the most admired psychedelic pop bands of the last decade, and as the primary creative force behind two of the most admired indie rock albums ever, Jeff Mangum's decision to put his work with Neutral Milk Hotel on the backburner (some suspect permanently) came as a surprise to music fans everywhere. Even more shocking to many was what followed: a trip to Europe and the announcement of a new project. Titled Orange Twin Field Works, Volume One, Mangum's newest work has none of the precisely layered instrumentation or eminently empathetic lyricism of Mangum's earlier work. In fact, Mangum's distinctive, shaky voice is nowhere to be found. That's right, Orange Twin Field Works is just what it claims to be: a collection of field recordings made by Mangum during his travels of Europe.

And this may be surprising to some. But it shouldn't be. While Mangum's fellow Elephant 6 chums were busy taking inspiration from the Beatles, the Beach Boys, the Zombies and their ilk, Mangum was peppering his work with bagpipes, tape loops, singing saws, and a whole slew of other instruments and sounds too bizarre too identify-- yet he always made them easy to identify with. When one takes into account both Mangum's ability to present atypical musical ideas to typical American audiences, and his seeming desire to push the limits of his form, the contents of Orange Twin Field Works make perfect sense.

The music of Bulgaria is actually the amalgamation of the native music of a handful of tribes that first settled the land in the seventh century. By traditional Western Music standards, it has an incredibly unique sound. It's performed largely with strings, wind instruments and vocals; made up of asymmetrical structures, dueling vocal parts, and time signatures some of us would call awkward even after spending the better part of the 90s marinating in math-rock. For hundreds of years, this strange music has evolved, all the while playing an almost crucial part in the lives of many Bulgarians; it accompanies everything from work to dining to relaxation. The annual festival which Mangum documents here lasts three days and nights, generally draws over 20,000 singers, dancers and players, and over 200,000 captive witnesses to the town of Koprivshtitsa.

Mangum does more here than just present the music at hand. Given the important role it played in the development of modern Western Music (Bulgaria was playing around with stuff like 5/16 time signatures centuries before most notable European Composers ever walked the earth), compilations of Bulgarian music are fairly easy to come by. So rather than rehash the same ol' same ol', Mangum makes a point of assembling these sounds in such a way that it might make sense to typical American ears. These recordings are presented as one long track, with songs blending not only into one another, but also into sounds of traffic, the conversation of onlookers, the whooshing of the wind. Clearly, Mangum wants his listeners to feel as though they're experiencing something as magical as what he experienced, and not just listening to 'another CD.'

Orange Twin Field Works couldn't sound less like Neutral Milk Hotel if it tried, but much of it is curiously on par with some of Mangum's best work, despite that the only instrument he plays here is the record button. When you listen, keep in mind that there's a reason Mangum was driven to the Balkan Peninsula by this stuff. There's something in this music that mattered to him, some quality so distinct he felt it must be captured and exposed to a culture that would otherwise have no access to it. Some of the best music produced by the Western world-- from Louis Armstrong's "St. Louis Blues" to even Neutral Milk Hotel's "Ghost"-- stems not only from the musicians letting go and having fun, but from the musicians openly communicating that joy to the listener. And the people making the music on Orange Twin Field Works are obviously having a blast.

Mangum may never make another Neutral Milk Hotel record, and instead dedicate himself to field recordings (he's considering traveling to Romania for Orange Twin, Volume 2), playing back-up in his friends' bands, and working on John Oswald-style sound collages that no one but his close friends may ever get to hear (check the Pitchfork interview and marvel at the very idea). But perhaps that's what he needs to do, for himself. And this is why Mangum is a consummate artist. He realizing that producing the material others want and expect from him isn't always what's best for him. Sometimes the most important thing an artist can do-- both for himself and for his work-- is to halt everything and take a chance, to step back, to observe, and to learn. Perhaps we would be wise as listeners to step back and learn with him.