Director: Max Reuben
Salty Brine’s Living Record Collection is a notable series by the eponymous Brine that seeks to take classic albums and build whole cabaret shows around them, complete with live bands and a truly virtuoso central performance from Brine occupying the spotlight throughout (somewhat to the show’s detriment). This iteration of the series is built around the most famous of obscure indie classics, Neutral Milk Hotel’s In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. If you haven’t heard it before, you’re likely in for some surprises, whereas if you have, be ready for Brine’s unique interpretation.
This interpretation comes both in how Brine performs the actual material of the album as well as the meaning drawn from it all. The lyrical allusions to everything from Anne Frank to reincarnation to the nitty-gritty of procreation that typify most readings of the album are present, but we don’t get much deeper than this. Musically, the band supporting Brine are excellent and plays to perfection while oozing energy and enthusiasm, yet the direction of their playing can often be an inversion of the originals.
Holland 1945 is robbed of its manic energy in order to be played quite downbeat, while the contemplative Communist Daughter takes its place as a raucous crowd-pleaser. The inversion is clear, but the purpose seems to be just morphing the music so that it fits a personal narrative Brine squeezes in, with mixed results. The ambition of combining the album’s themes, its music and Brine’s personal narrative is certainly a potent recipe for a great show and, at times, its work; at its best there’s a synergy not just between Brine, NMH and Frank, but with all of us.
At its worst though, it feels like Brine has simply succeeded in making all these narratives subservient to a Brine-focused one. In trying to relate the album to their own life, Brine often glosses over the other elements present, which wouldn’t be quite so bad if Brine’s story had a bit more going on beyond the brief ecstasy and disappointment of a failed first love.
Finally, the ending goes for a profound note that ends up trivial at best and parasocial at worst; Brine stops to gush at us in a non-sequitur to inform us that the Big Bang happened billions of years ago so we could all be here tonight, right now, together, all seeing this show, and there will never be another night like this one.
Considering that there’s literally nothing you could not say this about, it just comes off as unearned sentimentality and feels like a missed opportunity considering how much actually profound material from the brilliantly performed music is left on the table. There’s incredibly high-quality bombast and bravado here, but it’s masking more than a few deeper cracks.
Runs until 19 September 2026
