ode to the mountain goats

the music that got me through my worst days

[programming note: due to an ongoing physical/mental health crisis, i am unable to write anything good so today i am featuring an old post that i love. bear with me]

My first exposure to the Mountain Goats was on YouTube, maybe six years ago, a video of them doing “No Children” live, where the audience was doing the heavy lifting in singing. The lyrics demolished me; the unbridled catharsis with which the audience sang floored me. There was such an obvious connection with John Darnielle and the band and I knew I had to find out more. Within a week, I was a superfan.

I started with Tallahassee, the album “No Children” is on. At the insistence of tMG fans on twitter, I moved on to Sunset Tree. From there I listened to a Spotify collection of songs from all their albums. I was hooked immediately, and I could see where that fan connection with Darnielle came from. His songs are accessible, they are relatable (for the most part), they are sung with earnestness, with vulnerability, with love and pain and wistfulness. I looked at all his songs as little stories, vignettes about love and loss, about broken families and dysfunctional relationship, and I reveled in the tales being told. And then some of those tales hit close to home and my relationship with those songs changed, took on deeper meaning.

On the morning when I woke up without you for the first time
I felt free and I felt lonely and I felt scared
And I began to talk to myself almost immediately
Not being used to being the only person there

-Woke Up New

When my husband left, it upset my world greatly. It was a surprise, the leaving, and I was left reeling. I spent a lot of the days and nights after curled up on my couch listening to music and the first time I listened to “Woke Up New” after the separation, I sobbed for twenty minutes, just taking in the lyrics, listening to it again, wondering how John could pinpoint those exact feelings I was having so precisely.

“No Children” took on new meaning for me as well. Screaming along to “I hope you die, I hope we both die” in the car as I drove aimlessly around Long Island trying to find some solace on the tree lined Southern State Parkway. The song was always powerful and strong but here, in the aftermath of a suddenly broken marriage, it was an anthem.

At one point I was listening exclusively to the Mountain Goats. Song after song resonating with me; all the dysfunction, all the heartbreak, all the wistfulness were now pronounced and personal. I took it all to heart and serenaded myself, often crying while singing. I found catharsis in the songs. I found companionship in the words. I found a way to purge myself of all my emotions by singing along to someone else’s.

Like a trashcan fire in a prison cell
Like the searchlights in the parking lots of hell
I will walk down to the end with you
If you will come all the way down with me

-Old College Try

Songs that I once sang with one meaning turned into something else; I sang along with a bitterness, with a bite. I’d remember when I felt loved and cherished and I’d feel a sudden, urgent loneliness that embraced my entire body and always, always, there would be a Mountain Goats song to wallow in. I’m a firm believer that wallowing is good for the soul so I’d listen to these songs of desperate love and

We went to New York City in September
Took the train out of Manhattan to the Grand Army stop
Found that bench we'd sat together on a thousand years ago
When I felt such love for you I thought my heart was gonna pop
I wanted you
To love me like you used to do
But I cannot run
And I can't hide
From the wreck we've made of our house
From the mess inside

-The Mess Inside

I’d gasp sometimes when the lyrics hit just right. I had the wind knocked out of me more than once by lyrics that snaked around my soul, but I never stopped listening because I felt like I had companionship in these songs. I felt heard and seen and comforted. I wasn’t alone, there were people going through the same thing every day and their lives and my life were played out in words and music that at once made me feel the depths of despair, and also that I could survive.

John Darnielle and his songs gave voice to everything I was feeling. I will never be able to convey to him what his words meant to me as I traversed a road I never thought I would be on. They steered me, they led me to a safe place where I was able to cry and scream and let it all go. John is a storyteller, and his stories weave in and out of despair and elation, and I am so grateful to have these stories to back me up, to say hey, life can really suck sometimes, but also let’s affirm that it can be good.

I listen to “No Children” when I’m feeling particularly angry at him. I like to play it loud, specifically in my car, with the windows up so no one has to hear it besides me.

I am drowning
There is no sign of land
You are coming down with me
Hand in unlovable hand

And I hope you die
I hope we both die

I’ve learned that love is precarious. It is volatile and uncertain at times. That I have this music to accompany me on this journey is a blessing. Long live the Mountain Goats. And thank you, John Darnielle.