The Mountain Goats – Heretic Pride

I think it's the emotional immediacy of John Darnielle's writing. It explains the electric presence of the "we're-all-in-this-together-and-right-now" feelings that careen through an audience at one of his shows. It also explains why his songs are so exciting to hear, especially for the first time. When he writes a scene of anger, love, or addiction–and they're all precisely scenes, all songs about things that happened in a place at a particular time–the microscopic precision of the writing is what provokes that reaction that never gets old: yeah, that is exactly what that feels like. I know exactly what that feels like but I never said it to myself. Think of the cool or hot air rushing through so many of his songs, or the running water that's just a little too hot to stand. Or all of the fruits and plants. Cranberries in someone's mouth, or jasmine on his tongue. All means of provoking that internal rush of sensory recognition. His songs are tastes of things, moving air, emotional life as something present and not yet remembered. Even on Get Lonely, in which memory plays a significant role, it's more about what it feels like to be remembering and less about the content of any memory in particular.

Starting with Tallahassee (divorce), then running through We Shall All Be Healed (meth addiction), The Sunset Tree (abusive stepfather), and Get Lonely (aftermath of romantic catastrophe), Darnielle took his lo-fi guitar strumming to a studio, and suddenly his brilliant but fairly schizophrenic collections of songs became album length narratives with exquisitely crafted sonic projects to go along with them. Tallahassee is suffused with a muted, swampy grind–remember that horrible organ buzzing away on "Southwood Plantation Road"?–that reflects the inevitable sad futility of the Alpha Couple's emotional thrashing. There is a glassy, suburban sheen to Get Lonely. We Shall All Be Healed has that spiteful electric buzzing. It's not that albums are a more dignified or worthwhile kind of project than singles. But some people just cannot cope with the disappearance of Darnielle's bedroom recordings, and that baffles me. All of his studio albums are rich with narrative invention and filled with subtle instrumental or sonic choices. They're also, after everything else, incredibly affecting. Tallahassee beginning to end is about the limit of what I can cope with.

So the first thing to know about Heretic Pride is that there's no story. Darnielle sings as a new father, a raving paranoid, a rapist. The second thing to know is that the larger musical preoccupations are still there. There are many lyrical references to the sea, as well as to supernatural creatures or places. There are gorgeously arranged strings (sometimes Darnielle's ear for the sound he wants is almost too good). The album cover's threatening clouds vaguely suggest a seaside locale. Just as a shimmering, friendly body of water can darken and roll at a moment's notice, just as a monster can grin and wave or bear its teeth, so does the sonic profile of Heretic Pride tread a line between nimble, secure instrumentation and clattering, noisy recklessness.

What's also very much in evidence on Heretic Pride is the wonderfully understated versatility of Darnielle's voice. Like Bob Dylan, Darnielle is easy to dismiss as a punky, nasal yeller, and there's no doubt that Darnielle's declamatory shout is at the core of many of his best songs. But let's not ignore the fact that he can sing in a pained whisper, or with full-throated melodicism, or through his teeth. There are at least five distinct vocal personalities operating on Heretic Pride. Ultimately, this shouldn't be a very surprising observation. What on earth do you think was holding your attention on the boom-box records? The guitar playing?

So, here are a few things I like:
"San Bernardino" – This is the one where Darnielle sings as a new father. His gift for melody is on full display, and the strings, both plucked and played in a warm drone, are beautifully arranged. There's a moment where everything drops out to make way for a soft, quickly ascending, high-pitched string harmonic. It'll provoke shivers.

"Lovecraft in Brooklyn" – This is the kind of thing that nobody else can do: "Woke up afraid of my own shadow / Like, genuinely afraid." That is exactly what I mean by the sensory immediacy of Darnielle's writing. It's a cliche, but not if you're actually afraid.

"Tianchi Lake" – The piano is so graceful here. There's a terrific combination of everyday animals and supernatural creatures (namely, the Lake Tianchi Monster). And, even though it's a monster, its appearance here is magically serene: "Backstroking on the surface, moonlight on its face / Floats the Tianchi Monster, staring into space." Darnielle moves on quickly, without fanfare, to sing about a temple on shore. Things that can exist share space with things that can't or shouldn't, which sounds about right I think.

Give this record a few listens! Go to his concert if he plays nearby! I know that he's been doing this stuff for years, but he isn't bored, or tired, or running out of ideas. I think I'm done with the Mountain Goats from time to time, but really, who has been a better songwriter this decade? Has anybody even come close?