I meant to write a little bit about Jeff Mangum’s show over at BAM last weekend in my music post this morning, but to do so would’ve been unfair to the experience a lovely young lady and I had.

And was it ever an experience.

If you’re not a fan of Jeff or Neutral Milk Hotel, you might as well stop reading because this lovefest will completely nauseate you.

Jeff Mangum is a guy that I’ve previously written about as being an ethereal presence. The unicorn of indie. I’ve said that you couldn’t look at him directly, because to do so would be dangerous for your sanity, but in a good way, you know? I’ve even said “screw you” to him on this very blog, for performing as part of exorbitantly high-priced festivals one time, after a decade-ish long disappearance. I couldn’t get tickets to see him last year. And I thought that was it. I assumed he was going back to his home planet, and I’d never get to see him. But I did.

The setup was simple: a chair and 4 acoustic guitars, set up around said chair. Jeff sat in the chair, and played his music. Oh, he spoke to the crowd, joked even. So wait… you’re telling me that Jeff is a normal, human adult male? I honestly had no idea, but apparently he is. He was comfortable up there, grateful for the outpouring of love from the Brooklyn crowd. At this point, we know all the songs from all the angles. Neutral Milk Hotel had only put out 2 full-length albums, not counting the new box set of unreleased songs which, if you really use your imagination, can constitute a 3rd.

He sounded as strong as ever, belting out classic after classic. Holland, 1945, Ghost, Two-Headed Boy, Part 2, Song Against Sex, and on and on and on. But, from what I heard about his previous live shows, there was a significant difference with these new shows.

So Jeff’s opener was The Music Tapes, members of the Elephant 6 collective bringing their own brand of eccentric indie music. They didn’t have a proper drummer, but they did have a drum. They also had a hacksaw. Horns. And guess what? Theirs wasn’t the only set during which we’d see those guys perform.

Oh, Comely, The Fool, and the closer, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. These songs had horns and bendy hacksaws on the record, yes. But this time, they were also present during the live show, the songs being performed the way they were meant to be heard in all their glory. I damn near lost it during Oh, Comely, one of my personal favorite songs of all time. The performance was, and I’ll hate myself for using this word, exquisite.

2011 also had us taking in a performance by The Antlers in a tiny room underneath the Ace Hotel in Manhattan. I won a Turntable.fm contest to get on the guest list for that show, and it was spectacular. We were ridiculously close to the stage:

It was an intimate, amazing show. The most intimate show I’d ever been to. It’s a great thing to think back on and remember.

But, in a packed opera house in Brooklyn, where hundreds upon hundreds of people came to watch a single person who hasn’t put out new music since the 90s, and where I sat in the balcony, far away but with a clear, unobstructed view, I now know the most intimate show I’ve ever been to.

Your move, the rest of the world’s musicians.