The Mountain Goats – The El Ray Theater, Los Angeles 23/06/11

My history with The Mountain Goats is not a tale of fanboyism, or chronic upkeep, or quotes of “I was there” or “I remember when”. In my near-aesthetic quest to submerge myself into the ‘underground’ throughout high school, they were one of the first bands that made the endeavor against the charts seem entirely worth it. I’m older now, much more pragmatic, but John Darnielle was, and is, my hero, a miracle, a visionary that most of the world had overlooked; those of us in his camp, those of us who got it, saw the man for what he deserved to be. We are not a particularly dense demographic, nor a subtle one, but we are wise, and we shall sing his praises.

In case the constant references in his sprawling discography didn’t give it away, John Darnielle spent a fair amount of his formative years in Southern California. It was not a thriving time – marked with parental abuse, suicidal thoughts and teenage depression, later translated into the vicious poetry of The Sunset Tree, but when he took the stage at Los Angeles’ El Rey, it couldn’t help but feel like a homecoming. The coastal sunshine often inspires the same descendent escapes that he so often writes about, so the crowd that gathered was the deepest of the converted. It is moments like this, with velvet curtains and low-lit halls, where The Mountain Goats are the truest of heroes.

The Mountain Goats follow one of the best live-show templates in pop history – the band’s discography is so complex that, outside of a couple trademarks (‘No Children,’ ‘This Year,’ ‘The Best Ever Death Metal Band Out Of Denton’) Darnielle knows he’s not going to appease the obscure pet-songs that most of his fans carry around on their souls. So instead he allows himself to get as secluded as possible. Even the most top-tiered of Mountain Goats-obsessive is not going to be freshly familiar with every song in his knotty catalog, and that makes the rediscovery even better. “BLACK MOLLYS IN THE AQUARIUM /DARTED BACK AND FORTH AS IF AN EARTHQUAKE WERE CERTAIN” he bleated with utter vitriol; that’s the first couplet from the 14th track of a compilation of miscellaneous tracks that came out in 2002 – but the propulsion behind him certainly didn’t make it sound that old. I was lucky enough to hear my own private anthem, ‘The Day The Aliens Came,’ which I’m pretty sure has only existed on a tour-only collection of demos – but he played it for me. Darnielle is a very self-aware cult-leader, and he digs deep in his bag of tricks to make somebody’s day, he wants to play all of our songs.

And then of course there’s just Darnielle himself, he’s everything you’d expect when not at the mercy of rhythm or poetry. He talks quickly, almost too quickly, reference-laden, aside-driven, and completely unhinged. He quoted authors, told stories, crafted metaphors with zombies and alcoholics, adlibbed song-titles, and thanked our appreciation. He’s absolutely stuffed with words; “I know that’s not what you said, but I thought I heard someone yell ‘I’m fucking lost!’ out there. I love the idea of someone coming face to face with the void during one of our shows… this song is actually kind of about being that guy!” He performs in an image of pure excitement, steering back in squinty-eyed mouth-open joy, absolutely lost in the joy of his contractual agreement. There doesn’t seem to be a jaded bone in his body. ‘This Year,’ ostensibly the band’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit,” was microphone-trading, soft-moshing, opening-band-coming-out-to-jump-around rapture – he’s dealt an opportunity to be fed up with how much he means to his audience, but unlike the others he’s forever compared to, John Darnielle has remained vigilantly pure.

After a pair of encores he returned to the stage with ‘California Song’ for obvious reasons – like most of the ancient boombox material the band played that night, it was gussied up into a new being entirely. The concentrated, droning keyboard chimes were converted into a loose cruise-ship swing – centered on Darnielle; eyes closed, lost in the beauty of his words and the love for the state he’s singing about. ‘I know that in California the waves break on the beach’ it’s one of those simple truths Californians can find simple comfort in, the knowledge that there’s a place where the Pacific continues to lap against land. It’s a song I’m sure has been a companion to many transplants who found themselves further inland. Darnielle beckoned to us, as we beckoned to him – and for a moment we were one. The godhead a civilian, with a homeland, a love for music, two big hands and a heart pumping blood – all of us. The Mountain Goats will be remembered for many things, but what might be the most important is the sense of hierarchy that was never, ever there.