Isolation can do wonders for an individual, and Phil Elvrum of the Microphones is no exception. However, his isolation is not self-imposed after long years of dissonant city life, but rather natural.
Phil grew up in Anacortes, Wash., a small town just outside Seattle, which is dramatically reflected in his music.
When The Badger Herald interviewed Phil last fall, we was asked if he had heard of the then-new Wilco album Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, to which he replied a polite “no,” which was somewhat unheard of within the indie community.
Everyone and their mother had heard YHF. But Phil instead stated that his biggest influence is Karl Blau and that he listens primarily to his friend’s music.
Karl Blau’s name is probably only recognizable with those also familiar with indie staple K Records, or those already well versed in the Microphones.
For those who are (probably quite a few), you’ve probably already received your copy of the phenomenal Microphones release Mount Eerie in the mail or bought it from B-Side, just about the only record store that would carry a copy of it.
And that doesn’t necessarily speak volumes of the record industry like the prolonged release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot did. Rather, Mount Eerie is a quite heady album, and listeners may have trouble finding the proper listening environment for it. Perhaps a meditative excursion. Or under the influence of lots of drugs.
Whenever I have played Mount Eerie in a group setting, the most common reaction was that those unexposed to the album sat in silence, perhaps laughing from the sheer splendor and majesty of this breathtaking album. Much like the mountain that towers over Anacortes that the album is named after, I’m sure.
The thing about Mount Eerie is that it has a premise, and it’s even more succinct than OK Computer. OK Computer spoke of isolation through the medium of songs, each tackling a different topic. Mount Eerie functions more as a modern-day psychedelic opera, replete with characters such as death and vultures played by Elvrum’s friends and affiliates of the K Records label (including Kyle from Little Wings, Calvin Johnson and Mirah, among others).
The story is summed up as follows: you are born in the sun, where the story begins, and run up the mountain in order to escape death, and you are watched by a ball of fire.
You find yourself in a valley, reminiscing about a girl juggling you like a soccer ball, as a planet. Then, coming out of the canyon at dusk, you realize the ball of fire has set, and doubt creeps in. A big, beautiful, dark backdrop above asks you intimate questions and sings.
Then, on a precipice, you watch your killer roll up and kill you. Vultures eat your body and fly off, leaving the peak empty and windy again, on which, invisible, you realize there’s a mountain above the one you just walked up.
Also, the “Universe” painting you’d gazed at before turns out to be a lot bigger than you thought, and three-dimensional.
Yeah. It’s a lot to fit your head around, but it’s well worth trying, whether you understand the story and its motives or not.
Mount Eerie picks up where The Glow Pt. 2 left off, continuing with the bass loop (no, it’s not a tugboat, as some sources reported), followed by what can best be described as organic noise.
Yes, Elvrum still works within the confines of purely analog equipment, and the results are warm and inviting, though perhaps off-putting to the impatient listener. Patience really is a virtue to consider before embarking on Mount Eerie, for the first track alone is about 16 minutes long and primarily composed of drums and noise.
The album continues with semi-pop songs and jarring transitions between feelings, ideas and movements of songs.
I advise anyone any bit intrigued by this half-assed description to purchase Mount Eerie and partake in its splendor. It can best be described as a movie without pictures, or the sounds of a Greek tragedy unfolding. Words cannot adequately describe this album; it creates its own category and genre and really cannot be classified into anything besides strange.
