Who but John Darnielle could link Michael Jackson’s latest tantrum to Willie D’s pre-Geto Boys album?
Tag Archives: John Darnielle
Frogponding with Audiogalaxy.
Frogponding with Audiogalaxy.
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
THE MOUNTAIN GOATS
3/8/02, The Empty Bottle, Chicago
Johnny Loftus
“Hey everybody, We’re the Mountain Goats!”
And with that, John Darnielle and his acoustic guitar launched into his headlining set at Chicago’s Empty Bottle. That’s the joke – Over the course of numerous albums as the Mountain Goats, Darnielle has never recorded with much more than his own earnest vocal chords and guitar, straight into the no-fi mic on his archaic boom box. His driving, wordy songs sketch out tales of wac relationships, true love, and booze. Often, they turn into a history or geography lesson, as if Darnielle’s conducting a refresher course for his legion of indie rock followers, who were too busy writing Sebadoh lyrics on their notebooks to listen in class.
In the late 1970s, Jonathan Richman’s short hair and old-world romantic sensibilities were opposite to, yet somehow an intrisic part of, the punk/new wave movement that was thriving all around he and The Modern Lovers. Spiked-belted East Village fancy boys pumping their tatooed fists to “Dignified and Old?” It happened. Similarly, Darnielle’s clean-cut looks and complete lack of pretense set him apart from the groups/artists surrounding Mountain Goats albums in the record collections of his constituency. And yet, the vintage clothing set is rabid for his acoustic troubadour witticisms. On Friday night at the Bottle, Darnielle’s self-effacing nature, chuckling anecdotes, and folksy delivery made for a sort of Prairie Home Companion for indie kids.
Darnielle is a talented songwriter. But his formula of a straightforward guitar line, clever turn of phrase, and emotional, barely restrained vocal delivery inevitably wears thin. After half an hour of jangling chords and heartfelt singing, the line between the Mountain Goats and the average stool-rocker at your local open mic night is in great danger of being crossed, or destroyed altogether. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Guys who serenade crowded lounges each weekend with acoustic renditions of “Allison,” “Ain’t No Sunshine,” and “Secondhand News” serve their purpose.
But what’s really separating John Darnielle from those guys, besides a gamut of releases on pedigreed labels like Emperor Jones or 4AD? The meat of his songs, the lyrics, definitely contain more emotion than the average busker. To be sure, Darnielle on Friday had at least 20 professional hipsters passionately singing along with their impossibly normal hero. But if Garrison Keillor books a club tour, will he get the same reaction?
JTL
An unbelievably awful-sounding tape
Last Plane to Jakarta has an unbelievably great new article about an unbelievably awful-sounding tape. Yes, a cassette tape. By a band called therefore. Yes, with a period at the end.
Be sure to read his pop-up annotations. They’re wonderful. An example (on the subject of throwing away tapes we don’t even like):
Well, of course you don’t. Neither do I. It’s what makes us such very sick people. We find a place to put it, reasoning that there may well come a day when we want to hear it, and then when we’re forced to clean the house or move from one house to another, we find some new place to put it. When, fifteen years later, we find our three-song promotional advance copy of Ice Cream Tee’s “Can’t Hold Back,” we will feel wonder and awe at the depths of our illness, but will we do anything about it? Hell no, my friends, hell no.
I have never purchased any of the albums John Darnielle raves about on Last Plane to Jakarta, and I probably never will. But that’s what makes his writing so great. It’s not a sales pitch. It’s great on its own. You don’t feel manipulated after reading it. This article, on the other hand, is a recommendation. A strong one. And I hope you take my recommendation and follow the link. Because it’s good.
Obsession, Insanity and Fanaticism
There’s a new article about Syd Barrett on Last Plane to Jakarta. As with the vast majority of John Darnielle’s writing, this piece is at times hilarious and insightful and celebratory and sad. He hits pretty close to home for me in one of his famous “footnotes” discussing the track, “Opel” which remained unreleased until 1988:
It was a great moment for music, but a terrible moment for obsessive people around the world. For years we’d wondered what might lay gathering dust on some London studio shelf or in a Cambridge bedroom — what hidden treasures, what lost masterpieces? When sub-par material is unearthed, there’s hope for us: perhaps someday we’ll learn to enjoy what we have and stop losing sleep wondering whether there are unreleased full-band recordings from the Birthday Party’s final, turbulent, incredible year together. Perhaps we will stop digging through the endless morass of the internet trying to find Joy Division bootlegs we haven’t heard yet. (There are none.) Then something like “Opel” turns up — a lost recording that confirms the possibility that the very best stuff is still unheard. There is no hope for us, my friends. We are doomed to our sad record-collector existences.
I’ve done my share of obsessing. And I can tell you that it’s not healthy. I’ve driven myself pretty close to the edge of some fairly Syd-like insanity over some bands in my day. And it’s bad. You end up burning yourself out after while. That’s why you’ve got to learn to take it slow. Take it easy. You gotta just get it under control. Can stop any time. I’m still a record collecting addict, but I’ve learned to manage my addiction.
I went through a phase in high school when I bought every Smiths twelve-inch. That was a difficult thing to do on a part-time dishwasher’s wages in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Thank God for Vinyl Solution and Zak’s Diner, I guess. Herm at Vinyl kept that Smiths bin well-stocked and my Zak’s let me work just enough to buy my records. After I owned everything ever released (the elusive “This Charming Man” single was the final Holy Grail), I stopped listening to them. Almost completely. Only recently have I let them back into my life again. Slowly. And with an objectively critical ear. Johnny Marr’s production doesn’t sound nearly as perfect to me as it used to. It sounds muddy and overproduced a lot of times. You don’t really need twenty-five layers of guitar parts on one song, do you? And Morrissey’s lyrics which I once swallowed hook, line and stinker now mostly sound overdramatic and silly. But there are moments that cut through the nostalgia and still stand up on their own. “I Know It’s Over” is still a beautiful song. My man Phil is working on an extended feature about people’s continuing obsession with the Smiths. I look forward to seeing what he uncovers in the souls of all those people who are still feeling what I once felt.
The Next Plane to Good Writing
If you haven’t checked out Last Plane to Jakarta yet, it’s time do so now. It features some of the best music writing I’ve read since I was first cc’d on a note by Johnny Loftus. There’s a particularly great explication of a song by Chuck Berry on there right now. I love it when people go off the deep end over something they love. To me, that’s what it’s all about.
At the end of the article, the author dismisses his revelation like this:
…this isn’t exactly news. It’s nothing you’d want to admit to not knowing if you didn’t already. But every so often some song from the distant pass puts the fire of God on you and you gotta preach. I thank you for indulging me.
Preach on brother, preach on. We’ll stay tuned and continue to indulge you.