Jeff Mangum's voice embodies the very murk and mystery of the bayou. He's a backwoods talespinner and the star attraction of the shady Neutral Milk Hotel carnival. The tricks on display in the Elephant 6 tent make onlookers holler and applaud. Mangum's act lies behind a tattered "No Children Admitted" sign on a midway trailer. His is a spectacle for the attendees not impressed by smoke and mirrors. In a voice wise beyond its years, with naked words that would be the eny of Faulkner, Mangum pushes aside the leafy green of childhood innocence and brushes the heart of darkness. Sing-song poetry turns trailer-park trauma into sinister wonderment. Aeroplane's canvas is a world out of time and out of place, a mandala of births and passings viewed through the dizzying telescope of youth. Life and death are a self-engulfing snake. What's a frightened boy to do but grab the serpent and use it as a hula hoop? Aeroplane exhales the bittersweet smoke of folkways and of Buddy Holly's sputtering airplane. Something dark drives Mangum's extraordinary music, evoking memories so painful and confusing that the only possible recourse is to dance numbly as the Mardi Gras funeral of "The Fool" parades through the streets.