The Mountain Goats
April08, feature, music reviews, music April 19th, 2008
By Travis Fristoe, April 2008
Heretic Pride, 4AD Records
While a shocking number of my friends wrangle over Bob Dylan, a more relevant subject — John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats – gets overlooked. Or, like Fugazi, ignored as some sort of separate, unattainable mountaintop. Not that Darnielle seems to care. He’s been too busy touring and releasing recording after recording for the past 15 or so years.
I bring up rock mythology because the Mountain Goats could well be the contemporary Rosetta Stone. I don’t want to talk about the protest-intent of “Born in the U.S.A.” anymore. Let’s instead talk about the Mountain Goats’ 21st-century shift into a high-profile band instead of a universally-esteemed solo artist. Can we talk instead about whether or not “my heart is an autoclave” is a successful metaphor? Because in a long history of very dark albums, Heretic Pride might be the subtlest, sharpest cut yet, even as its external trappings get jauntier.
Not that a casual listen would yield any such evidence. The lyrics remain Darnielle’s flaming sword of righteousness, but now there’s a morass of polite other instruments in the way. Not unlike Will Oldham’s sphinx-like decision many years ago to choose a touring band that sounded like Hootie and the Blowfish. Maybe Darnielle’s go as far as he cared to (or could) within home-recording. Understandable, but it makes for a rough listen for those of us who used to mail-order cassettes.
So does having a full band diminish his songs by making them more traditional, more accessible and less unique? Yes. Yes they do. Somehow these extra players tip the scale from a taut sentiment into the possibly saccharine. Like being forced to look at other people’s baby pictures. The drums just make it easier for civilians to nod their heads and ignore lines like “all moments move towards their own sad end,” as though traditional rock-stylings were some inevitable course of empire.
Given that Darnielle is a fine music critic, he’s aware of all this (and more). Which is why I’m guessing he ends the album through the voice of an aging actor and a chilling chorus of “when the house goes up in flames / and the scum swirls down the drain / everybody loves a winner.” He sneaks telltale quips throughout the album: he sings
“Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name” as though absolving the full horror of bar life. Repeated listens only increase the tension.
Despite the strings, adult keyboards and tame beats, the old Mountain Goats pleasures are still there. His eye for detail remains strong — blooms of narcissus, scents of jasmine, a “kid in a Marcus Allen jersey,” the referencing of HP Lovecraft for life in Brooklyn, and especially the way his voice strains when bemoaning life “in the declining years of a long war.” As with 2003’s The Sunset Tree, I’m looking forward to the acoustic demos of the album surfacing.
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The Mountain Goats
April08, feature, music reviews, music April 19th, 2008
By Travis Fristoe, April 2008
Heretic Pride, 4AD Records
While a shocking number of my friends wrangle over Bob Dylan, a more relevant subject — John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats – gets overlooked. Or, like Fugazi, ignored as some sort of separate, unattainable mountaintop. Not that Darnielle seems to care. He’s been too busy touring and releasing recording after recording for the past 15 or so years.
I bring up rock mythology because the Mountain Goats could well be the contemporary Rosetta Stone. I don’t want to talk about the protest-intent of “Born in the U.S.A.” anymore. Let’s instead talk about the Mountain Goats’ 21st-century shift into a high-profile band instead of a universally-esteemed solo artist. Can we talk instead about whether or not “my heart is an autoclave” is a successful metaphor? Because in a long history of very dark albums, Heretic Pride might be the subtlest, sharpest cut yet, even as its external trappings get jauntier.
Not that a casual listen would yield any such evidence. The lyrics remain Darnielle’s flaming sword of righteousness, but now there’s a morass of polite other instruments in the way. Not unlike Will Oldham’s sphinx-like decision many years ago to choose a touring band that sounded like Hootie and the Blowfish. Maybe Darnielle’s go as far as he cared to (or could) within home-recording. Understandable, but it makes for a rough listen for those of us who used to mail-order cassettes.
So does having a full band diminish his songs by making them more traditional, more accessible and less unique? Yes. Yes they do. Somehow these extra players tip the scale from a taut sentiment into the possibly saccharine. Like being forced to look at other people’s baby pictures. The drums just make it easier for civilians to nod their heads and ignore lines like “all moments move towards their own sad end,” as though traditional rock-stylings were some inevitable course of empire.
Given that Darnielle is a fine music critic, he’s aware of all this (and more). Which is why I’m guessing he ends the album through the voice of an aging actor and a chilling chorus of “when the house goes up in flames / and the scum swirls down the drain / everybody loves a winner.” He sneaks telltale quips throughout the album: he sings
“Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name” as though absolving the full horror of bar life. Repeated listens only increase the tension.
Despite the strings, adult keyboards and tame beats, the old Mountain Goats pleasures are still there. His eye for detail remains strong — blooms of narcissus, scents of jasmine, a “kid in a Marcus Allen jersey,” the referencing of HP Lovecraft for life in Brooklyn, and especially the way his voice strains when bemoaning life “in the declining years of a long war.” As with 2003’s The Sunset Tree, I’m looking forward to the acoustic demos of the album surfacing.
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The Mountain Goats
April08, feature, music reviews, music April 19th, 2008
By Travis Fristoe, April 2008
Heretic Pride, 4AD Records
While a shocking number of my friends wrangle over Bob Dylan, a more relevant subject — John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats – gets overlooked. Or, like Fugazi, ignored as some sort of separate, unattainable mountaintop. Not that Darnielle seems to care. He’s been too busy touring and releasing recording after recording for the past 15 or so years.
I bring up rock mythology because the Mountain Goats could well be the contemporary Rosetta Stone. I don’t want to talk about the protest-intent of “Born in the U.S.A.” anymore. Let’s instead talk about the Mountain Goats’ 21st-century shift into a high-profile band instead of a universally-esteemed solo artist. Can we talk instead about whether or not “my heart is an autoclave” is a successful metaphor? Because in a long history of very dark albums, Heretic Pride might be the subtlest, sharpest cut yet, even as its external trappings get jauntier.
Not that a casual listen would yield any such evidence. The lyrics remain Darnielle’s flaming sword of righteousness, but now there’s a morass of polite other instruments in the way. Not unlike Will Oldham’s sphinx-like decision many years ago to choose a touring band that sounded like Hootie and the Blowfish. Maybe Darnielle’s go as far as he cared to (or could) within home-recording. Understandable, but it makes for a rough listen for those of us who used to mail-order cassettes.
So does having a full band diminish his songs by making them more traditional, more accessible and less unique? Yes. Yes they do. Somehow these extra players tip the scale from a taut sentiment into the possibly saccharine. Like being forced to look at other people’s baby pictures. The drums just make it easier for civilians to nod their heads and ignore lines like “all moments move towards their own sad end,” as though traditional rock-stylings were some inevitable course of empire.
Given that Darnielle is a fine music critic, he’s aware of all this (and more). Which is why I’m guessing he ends the album through the voice of an aging actor and a chilling chorus of “when the house goes up in flames / and the scum swirls down the drain / everybody loves a winner.” He sneaks telltale quips throughout the album: he sings
“Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name” as though absolving the full horror of bar life. Repeated listens only increase the tension.
Despite the strings, adult keyboards and tame beats, the old Mountain Goats pleasures are still there. His eye for detail remains strong — blooms of narcissus, scents of jasmine, a “kid in a Marcus Allen jersey,” the referencing of HP Lovecraft for life in Brooklyn, and especially the way his voice strains when bemoaning life “in the declining years of a long war.” As with 2003’s The Sunset Tree, I’m looking forward to the acoustic demos of the album surfacing.
Leave a Reply
The Mountain Goats
April08, feature, music reviews, music April 19th, 2008
By Travis Fristoe, April 2008
Heretic Pride, 4AD Records
While a shocking number of my friends wrangle over Bob Dylan, a more relevant subject — John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats – gets overlooked. Or, like Fugazi, ignored as some sort of separate, unattainable mountaintop. Not that Darnielle seems to care. He’s been too busy touring and releasing recording after recording for the past 15 or so years.
I bring up rock mythology because the Mountain Goats could well be the contemporary Rosetta Stone. I don’t want to talk about the protest-intent of “Born in the U.S.A.” anymore. Let’s instead talk about the Mountain Goats’ 21st-century shift into a high-profile band instead of a universally-esteemed solo artist. Can we talk instead about whether or not “my heart is an autoclave” is a successful metaphor? Because in a long history of very dark albums, Heretic Pride might be the subtlest, sharpest cut yet, even as its external trappings get jauntier.
Not that a casual listen would yield any such evidence. The lyrics remain Darnielle’s flaming sword of righteousness, but now there’s a morass of polite other instruments in the way. Not unlike Will Oldham’s sphinx-like decision many years ago to choose a touring band that sounded like Hootie and the Blowfish. Maybe Darnielle’s go as far as he cared to (or could) within home-recording. Understandable, but it makes for a rough listen for those of us who used to mail-order cassettes.
So does having a full band diminish his songs by making them more traditional, more accessible and less unique? Yes. Yes they do. Somehow these extra players tip the scale from a taut sentiment into the possibly saccharine. Like being forced to look at other people’s baby pictures. The drums just make it easier for civilians to nod their heads and ignore lines like “all moments move towards their own sad end,” as though traditional rock-stylings were some inevitable course of empire.
Given that Darnielle is a fine music critic, he’s aware of all this (and more). Which is why I’m guessing he ends the album through the voice of an aging actor and a chilling chorus of “when the house goes up in flames / and the scum swirls down the drain / everybody loves a winner.” He sneaks telltale quips throughout the album: he sings
“Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name” as though absolving the full horror of bar life. Repeated listens only increase the tension.
Despite the strings, adult keyboards and tame beats, the old Mountain Goats pleasures are still there. His eye for detail remains strong — blooms of narcissus, scents of jasmine, a “kid in a Marcus Allen jersey,” the referencing of HP Lovecraft for life in Brooklyn, and especially the way his voice strains when bemoaning life “in the declining years of a long war.” As with 2003’s The Sunset Tree, I’m looking forward to the acoustic demos of the album surfacing.
