I watched Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull for the first time last night. I was super excited for it to come out, but I was out of the country when it was released and by the time I came home all the hype had kind of died and I never got around to seeing it. Even with my extremely lowered "As long as it's better than Temple of Doom i'll be fine with it" expectations, I was still disappointed. I wish someone would just fucking kill George Lucas already. Doctor Bubastis is officially calling for that man's head. I don't care that you ruined Star Wars because to be honest I never gave a fuck about Star Wars, but fuck you for fucking with Indy. How can someone with so many chins be so stupid? I swear to god he's got a whole loaf of bread lodged in his throat.
Anyway, the past couple of days i've been busy planning my ultimate escape from San Diego. Why do people call this shit heap paradise? Yeah, walking out of work at 10am into 95 degree heat in October is super fucking awesome. I had to show a good friend of mine around the city last weekend, and I realized how boring this place really is. Don't even get me started on the sorry ass state of our music venues. This bitch originally comes from Florida, America's asshole, and even she wasn't impressed. I'm open to any moving suggestion. Right now i'm thinking of Portland, Vancouver, Oakland, Baltimore or Nashville.
Well, since i'm still fucking here, there's a few shows on my radar for the next few weeks:
Mountain Goats with Kaki King at the Belly Up on the 28th. You should probably go to this if you're 21+. If you're not, you probably listen to shitty music anyway.
Ted Leo & The Pharmacists with Titus Andronicus at the Casbah on the 30th. I've seen Ted Leo a few times, but i'm iffy on this one because his new album sucks...except for the Sons of Cain, which fucking brings it. Titus Andronicus is pretty cool, so I may go. If you dig upbeat or noisy as fuck rock check it out. That is, if you're not too busy taking it up the ass at the Thrice and Alkaline Trio show that same night. FUCK, IT'S LIKE, INDIE ROCK, WITH SICK METAL LEADS.
Later shows include Subtle at the Casbah on Nov. 30th, which everyone should go to because Subtle is ridiculous and awesome and put on a great show.
And, naturally, Wu-Tang Dec. 5th at the House of Blues.
All of these shows are 21+. So...if you're not 21, you're shit out of luck. I'm sure some super shitty bands are playing at the Epicentre that night so you and your 15 year old dick pig friends can like, swipe your dads vodka and totally lose your shit.
Bring the Motha' Fuckin' Ruckus
gdb
Showing posts with label Mountain Goats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mountain Goats. Show all posts
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Maybe It Was The Right Grave...Maybe Not.
Back in 2003, most of my time on the internet was spent between watching porn (pterodactyl porn, that is) and trying desperately to find a left-handed Fender Jaguar. But in between all that excitement I somehow managed to find some unimportant, unassuming little music blog where some unimportant, unassuming dude who probably had a beard posted a big play list along with an MP3 and paragraph or so about each song. I didn't listen to all of them. Even at 18 I was a busy man. But one caught my eye: "No Children" by a band called The Mountain Goats, whom I had never heard. The song was from their newest release, 2002's underrated Tallahassee, and all it took was one listen: I was hooked. I was at the mercy of a band called the Mountain Goats.
Welcome to the world of John Darnielle, who since the early 90s has been churning out at a rather alarming rate some of the best nuggets of writing you'll ever find from a musician. Whether he's writing about a teenage death metal band from Denton, Texas, a guy who spends his life-savings on flowers and mobiles, H.P. Lovecraft's xenophobic nightmares in New York, or a truly beautiful account of what went through his mind when he find out that the man who made his childhood a living hell died of a heart attack, the most important thing to realize about John Darnielle's lyrics is that he writes like a writer, not like a musician trying to be a writer. The point of the song is always underlying, with the real power coming from the minute details he bestows upon his characters that elevate them beyond the simplistic, melodramatic stick figures you see in most songwriting. John Darnielle does not write for the girl that is looking for the one quotable phrase which really sums up how she feels about life that she can get tattooed below her left breast. John Darnielle is barely even quotable. Setting and lush characterization don't make for quotable songs. But then again, he also rules at writing ANGRY! lyrics. From the song "Baboon" off of The Coroner's Gambit:
"Daisies on the hillside like cancer on the skin,
pretty little yellow eyes that flutter in the wind,
I'd be grateful that my children weren't here to see this
if you ever saw fit to give me children.
And my defenses may be working with a skeleton crew
but i'll be skinned alive before I take this from you."
More than 20 albums and 250 songs later (with plenty of back-catalog that I don't have), I am still frequently amazed at the level of detail Darnielle displays around every corner. Believe it or not, up until 2005's terrific The Sunset Tree, he had never written a song about himself. In 14 years of purely fictional songwriting, Darnielle accomplished more real, honest emotion that a lesser writer (read: pretty much any musician) could ever hope to if given a lifetime heart-on-my-sleeve-and-I-cry-on-stage shit. But in recent years, Darnielle has turned his borderline anal-retentive attention to detail inwards, and produced two deeply personal albums; The Sunset Tree, which focuses on his childhood and abusive stepfather, and Get Lonely, which finds Darnielle for the very first time singing about his own heartbreak. But, true to form, Darnielle avoids the cliched pitfalls of this type of writing and instead hons in on the day to day minutia involved in getting back on track. From the song "Woke Up New"; "The first time I made coffee for just myself/I made too much of it/but i drank it all/because I know you hate/when i let things go to waste." Using the term "literary" when referring to lyrics is usually pretty trivial and a sure-fire way to make you look like a jackass, but I think the term fits here. John Darnielle embodies what it means for lyrics to be literary. A favorite of mine is his "Going to..." series of songs, which each find our narrator at some location, be it Georgia or Bolivia, dealing with issue of post-adolescent wander lust and feelings of displacement in the world.
Until 2002's Tallahassee, Darnielle stuck to pretty militant lo-fi standards, going so far as to have recorded all of his previous albums on an old Casio boom box. Yeah, he doesn't fuck around. But during the recording of All Hail West Texas the hiss of the boom box became a drawl, and it's days were numbered, destined to be left behind in some lonely West Texas desert. But to replace the old-friend, John hired a full-time bassist, went into a real studio, and even started using drums every once in a while.
One thing I like so much about John Darnielle is his ability to balance aspects of his music that seem to be in total opposition to one another. His early lo-fi, "slapped together" recording mantra seemed counter-intuitive to his highly thought out, fauned over lyrics. His nasal voice is there to counteract the mundane nature of his lyrics, forcing the listener to pay attention to him in way that stands in place of "instantly quotable" lyrics. His "dime a dozen" guitar talent stands in stark contrast to his ability as a writer. And even complete tonal discrepancies in songs; such as the jaded, angry lyrics of "No Children" set against the peppy, jaunty piano track, or the sugary-sweet guitar work in "Tianchi Lake" that masks the fact that the song is about a sea-monster with a horse head and sea lion body killing a bunch of kids at the beach ("No one's taking pictures--everybody's dead".) I love it.
So anyway, this is just sort of a haphazard, head-cold induced tribute to a guy I like a ton. Here, he even has a guest spot on Aesop Rock's new CD, and surprise surprise his lyrics are terrific:
I'd start with something from the studio-albums, like maybe The Sunset Tree. His new one, Heretic Pride, is really good as well. If you're feeling crazy and want to jump into his boom box albums, maybe start with Full Force Galesburg or All Hail West Texas or New Asian Cinema or Devil In The Shortwave or Ghana or Nine Black Poppies. Fuck it, just get anything you can find.
Just be careful, The Mountain Goats are one of those bands that you can really get absorbed by. You know, like AFI or Tool, minus the truck-load of gay.
The GDB
Welcome to the world of John Darnielle, who since the early 90s has been churning out at a rather alarming rate some of the best nuggets of writing you'll ever find from a musician. Whether he's writing about a teenage death metal band from Denton, Texas, a guy who spends his life-savings on flowers and mobiles, H.P. Lovecraft's xenophobic nightmares in New York, or a truly beautiful account of what went through his mind when he find out that the man who made his childhood a living hell died of a heart attack, the most important thing to realize about John Darnielle's lyrics is that he writes like a writer, not like a musician trying to be a writer. The point of the song is always underlying, with the real power coming from the minute details he bestows upon his characters that elevate them beyond the simplistic, melodramatic stick figures you see in most songwriting. John Darnielle does not write for the girl that is looking for the one quotable phrase which really sums up how she feels about life that she can get tattooed below her left breast. John Darnielle is barely even quotable. Setting and lush characterization don't make for quotable songs. But then again, he also rules at writing ANGRY! lyrics. From the song "Baboon" off of The Coroner's Gambit:
"Daisies on the hillside like cancer on the skin,
pretty little yellow eyes that flutter in the wind,
I'd be grateful that my children weren't here to see this
if you ever saw fit to give me children.
And my defenses may be working with a skeleton crew
but i'll be skinned alive before I take this from you."
More than 20 albums and 250 songs later (with plenty of back-catalog that I don't have), I am still frequently amazed at the level of detail Darnielle displays around every corner. Believe it or not, up until 2005's terrific The Sunset Tree, he had never written a song about himself. In 14 years of purely fictional songwriting, Darnielle accomplished more real, honest emotion that a lesser writer (read: pretty much any musician) could ever hope to if given a lifetime heart-on-my-sleeve-and-I-cry-on-stage shit. But in recent years, Darnielle has turned his borderline anal-retentive attention to detail inwards, and produced two deeply personal albums; The Sunset Tree, which focuses on his childhood and abusive stepfather, and Get Lonely, which finds Darnielle for the very first time singing about his own heartbreak. But, true to form, Darnielle avoids the cliched pitfalls of this type of writing and instead hons in on the day to day minutia involved in getting back on track. From the song "Woke Up New"; "The first time I made coffee for just myself/I made too much of it/but i drank it all/because I know you hate/when i let things go to waste." Using the term "literary" when referring to lyrics is usually pretty trivial and a sure-fire way to make you look like a jackass, but I think the term fits here. John Darnielle embodies what it means for lyrics to be literary. A favorite of mine is his "Going to..." series of songs, which each find our narrator at some location, be it Georgia or Bolivia, dealing with issue of post-adolescent wander lust and feelings of displacement in the world.
Until 2002's Tallahassee, Darnielle stuck to pretty militant lo-fi standards, going so far as to have recorded all of his previous albums on an old Casio boom box. Yeah, he doesn't fuck around. But during the recording of All Hail West Texas the hiss of the boom box became a drawl, and it's days were numbered, destined to be left behind in some lonely West Texas desert. But to replace the old-friend, John hired a full-time bassist, went into a real studio, and even started using drums every once in a while.
One thing I like so much about John Darnielle is his ability to balance aspects of his music that seem to be in total opposition to one another. His early lo-fi, "slapped together" recording mantra seemed counter-intuitive to his highly thought out, fauned over lyrics. His nasal voice is there to counteract the mundane nature of his lyrics, forcing the listener to pay attention to him in way that stands in place of "instantly quotable" lyrics. His "dime a dozen" guitar talent stands in stark contrast to his ability as a writer. And even complete tonal discrepancies in songs; such as the jaded, angry lyrics of "No Children" set against the peppy, jaunty piano track, or the sugary-sweet guitar work in "Tianchi Lake" that masks the fact that the song is about a sea-monster with a horse head and sea lion body killing a bunch of kids at the beach ("No one's taking pictures--everybody's dead".) I love it.
So anyway, this is just sort of a haphazard, head-cold induced tribute to a guy I like a ton. Here, he even has a guest spot on Aesop Rock's new CD, and surprise surprise his lyrics are terrific:
I'd start with something from the studio-albums, like maybe The Sunset Tree. His new one, Heretic Pride, is really good as well. If you're feeling crazy and want to jump into his boom box albums, maybe start with Full Force Galesburg or All Hail West Texas or New Asian Cinema or Devil In The Shortwave or Ghana or Nine Black Poppies. Fuck it, just get anything you can find.
Just be careful, The Mountain Goats are one of those bands that you can really get absorbed by. You know, like AFI or Tool, minus the truck-load of gay.
The GDB
Labels:
Dr. Bubastis,
Lyrics That Don't Suck,
Mountain Goats
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