#the mountain goats
my fic titles playlist
okay so most (if not all) of my fic titles come from song lyrics because what am i if not an edgy tumblr writer. the song doesn’t always even necessarily relate to the fic but the line i use for the title does so anyway, here is a compiled playlist.
me listening to this playlist all the way through:
[image courtesy of @/relatablepicturesoflisasimpson]
any way you want it – journey
demolition lovers – my chemical romance
not that kinda girl – my chemical romance
home wrecker – marina and the diamonds
tongue tied – grouplove
pumped up kicks – foster the people
attention reader – pencey prep
no children – the mountain goats
teen idle – marina and the diamonds
praise you – hannah grace
be my daddy – lana del rey
transparent soul – willow
hey ya – eden
of all the gin joints in all the world – fall out boy
running up that hill – kate bush
experiment iv – kate bush
in the heat of the moment – noel gallagher’s high flying birds
babooshka – kate bush
easy – lionel richie
living on a prayer – bon jovi
highway star – deep purple
ghost of you – ella henderson
back to black – amy winehouse
the hole – beetlejuice: the musical (demos)
blinding lights – the weeknd
tragician – frank iero and the cellabration
i slept with someone in fall out boy and all I got was this song written about me – fall out boy
road to nowhere – talking heads
joyriding – frank iero and the cellabration
little talks – of monsters and men
four leaf clover – the kooks
lifeboat – heathers: the musical
roll with it – oasis
all you ever wanted – rag ‘n’ bone man
to be treated rite – terry reid
people are strange – the doors
our house – madness
dosed – red hot chili peppers
if – red hot chili peppers
And you showed me a thing or two about power in its purest form
Le Baiser (1868), Carolus-Duran / Feed This End, the Mountain Goats
I’m Heretic Pride sun / Transcendental Youth moon.
I know people think I’m a Tallahassee in All Hail West Texas, but that’s just when I’m dealing with a dark depression.
Also, if you’re reading this I agree with the OP
Go To Therapy!
THIS IS “BEAT THE CHAMP” ERASURE
YOU’RE RIGHT (I am not the same level of fan, but I definitely was thinking as I posted, “what’s that album with the wrestling songs, because probably that one”)
Update,@joelmillers and I have decided:
- You have been reeeeeeally into pro wrestling at some point, or you were an English major.
- You are gay.
- You have been through Some Shit, and/or you are Too Old For This Shit.
- You are in therapy for that shit, keep it up.
John Darnielle can’t shut up, and that’s a good thing.
I listened to one Mountain Goats album closely, which is “All Hail West Texas” - for those who haven’t had the pleasure, it’s one of his press-record-on-a-boombox albums where he wraps short stories into verse/chorus over solo acoustic guitar - the last one he recorded on his boombox, in fact, and I’d wager that it’s a piece of equipment that for LD/MGs fans has the legend and weight of Van Halen’s Frankenstrat, or Cormac McCarthy’s typewriter. “All Hail West Texas” was suggested to me by someone who gladly wasted a couple years on me, as did I her; the album has not stuck nearly as much as the others she pressed on me, but I’m always reminded of the commute into my shitty retail job, taking the bus to the subway, listening to songs where even the tape hiss sounded plaintive.
But here’s the thing about this book; clearly you don’t have to like JD’s music or even know it exists to enjoy it, or to recognize the skill in its construction, pacing, and full-on weirdness. If this was “debut novelist John Darnielle” (which some reviews claim is true, and then someone’s all “uhhh he wrote a 33 1/3 book which was basically a novella” and to that I say anyone who gets the chance to write a 33 and 1/3 book and comes back with fiction can deal with being called a debut novelist a few years later), this would be just as menacing, uneasy, and fluid of a novel. Its surface is smooth as glass but it curves in so many strange directions like an avant-garde opera hall facade - finely tuned and fussed-over prose, a character whose regular plunges down the memory hole and laps run through his own thoughts are perfectly contextualized (he’s a scarred recluse who spends his day writing letters and turning emotions over in the rock polisher of his skull) and an effectively rendered portrait of childhood unhappiness and instability that may not mirror JD’s but certainly carries the same gear. It’s hard not to read this as a young JD, lying alone in his room, sweating and uneasy, finding fixed points in sword & sorcery and in-skull adventures.
Sean, in the meanwhile, is a bit of a cypher - which is a functional device because Sean has had a life of interiors; actions playing out through barriers, distance, and remove, despite any claims that Sean makes to a life of inner vividness. And vivid it is - the analog MMORPG that Sean uses as both a source of income and a reason for continued existence, a social network with plenty of safe distance between him and others in which the goal is the journey, not the (unreachable) destination. The game, Trace Italian, is played through the mail - players are given context and options, and they then make “moves”, which they send to Sean, who responds with more context and directions, etc - and this pursuit, no matter how implausible, is so finely described and so compassionately constructed that the question becomes: does Sean run Trace Italian because he’s a recluse, or is he a recluse so he can write Trace Italian? And why is he all scarred?
To go to into detail about this book’s plot would not be hard, because in truth only a few things actually Happen to Sean, the narrator. This book concerns itself more with the why, not the how, and the jumble of memories and flashbacks and significances takes on a horrifying dream logic as we further understand why Sean’s disfigured, and why he dealt with the aftermath as he did. So my view is that as a self-contained, ornately crafted box of a book, WIWV unquestionably succeeds. It is not large, or overly ambitious, or concerned with much beyond Sean’s unique brand of solipsism - but it doesn’t need to be, as JD has never been someone to do The Expected Thing, or even The Trademark Thing. Ss an extension of JD’s refusal to sacrifice nuance for effect, the book handles itself as admirably as any of his many, many hyperliterate song lyrics. I would warn anyone looking for a satisfying narrative to not approach this book as such. It’s a literary automat of constant low-band loneliness, eerie resignation, truncated sadness and ennui that ends on a textual knife-twist. Do not expect to walk out of this book with a full and balanced heart.
Hey guys
If you use spotify, write in the tags the first artist each of your daily mixes are based on as of right now, please and thanks!
Practicing with The Mountain Goats
obsessed with calling mountain goats by anything other than john darnielle. jon wursters side project when he’s not working with superchunk.