Of indie myths and legends

Remembering the great: It was as if Neutral Milk Hotel didn’t really exist. It was as if the band’s disappearance in 1999—the year after it released its critically acclaimed sophomore record In The Aeroplane Over the Sea—meant the band had actually died. Neutral Milk Hotel became a myth, a legend—the indie band to start all indie bands; the one to inspire a generation of names like Arcade Fire, Beirut and the Decemberists to break out the accordions, horns and folk.

But singer-songwriter Jeff Mangum was just hiding, as he does. Meanwhile, Mangum’s pool of fans grew into legions of worshipers. And when he announced a reunion in 2013, the world changed—for these fans, at least. The cult of Neutral Milk Hotel could finally see its idol.

That feeling of religious reverence permeated the Crest Theatre last Wednesday night. Neutral Milk Hotel announced its spring 2015 leg would be its “last tour for the foreseeable future.” The Sacramento show—the band’s second-to-last-stop, potentially for forever—sold out months in advance.

Robert Schneider and John Ferguson of the Apples in Stereo— a fellow late ’90s and Elephant Six Collective band—opened the evening with a sweet acoustic set. The Apples in Stereo has been on its own hiatus for a few years, with the death of a member and singer-songwriter Schneider going off to graduate school. “Now my fingers are soft like a little tiny baby’s fingers,” Schneider told the crowd. The pair filled the theater with banter, silliness, awkward missteps and bromance, along with minimalist versions of their psychedelic pop.

Then, the moment everyone had been waiting for: Mangum walked onstage. The J.D. Salinger comparisons are abundant and appropriate—Mangum is notoriously reclusive. He refuses interviews, doesn’t allow photos at concerts and abandoned music because of a nervous breakdown. At the Crest, Mangum hid behind a bushy beard and cap. Then, he hid behind his songs: beautiful, dark, strange, cathartic.

The rest of his band—as many as five people—joined him onstage and left throughout the show. It’s tough to say what was more powerful: watching Mangum’s solo vulnerability or the whole crew build sonic grandeur between multiple horns, banjo, violin, accordion and saw.

Ah, the singing saw. Utility player Julian Koster supplied magical, ethereal tones—eerily similar to a theremin—with his bow and saw. On other instruments, he spun around and around in circles, remarkably never tipping over.

Koster also provided some brief words for the audience. Mangum, too shy, tuned his guitar in silence and declined to acknowledge various calls and questions from fans. Not that he seemed like a jerk—he held his heart and expressed profuse gratitude at the end of the show.

And Mangum sounded nearly flawless—more than a decade has passed and yet his voice hasn’t aged. He did seem to rush through a few songs though, creating uneven moments while drummer Jeremy Barnes struggled to keep up or, expecting some rushing, actually got too far ahead. None of that was as distracting, though, as the Crest’s sound system which, sadly, over-modulated Mangum’s idiosyncratic vocals.

Then again, perfection doesn’t seem like Mangum’s style.

Sounds like summer: Cherokee made for an impressive headliner to kick off This Midtown, the monthly summer block party on 20th Street between J and K. He’s a young, promising gem of an electronic dance music producer in Luxembourg—part of the latest “French touch” wave of house music, made most famous stateside by Daft Punk.

But when Cherokee took the stage at 8 p.m. last Saturday, the crowd felt thin and lackluster. It was hot. Who really wants to go crazy when it’s still bright and sunny out?

By 8:30 p.m. though, more than 200 people were swinging their bodies around to Cherokee’s dreamy, nu-disco mixes: richly textured, upbeat house with doses of tropical and indie synthpop. Kenny the Dancing Man was into it, as was a group of hip-hop dancers who formed a lively circle to display their moves. Cherokee invited the crowd onstage, and they charged on with glee until, minutes later, they were told to descend. Still, everyone looked so happy, so carefree.

And as the sun started to set, it felt like the perfect soundtrack to the start of a sweltering summer.

—Janelle Bitker