034. Omega Blaster

In “Omega Blaster” the problems of two people feel enormous despite the lack of their ultimate impact on the world.

Track: “Omega Blaster”
Album: Yam, the King of Crops (1994) and Protein Source of the Future…Now! (1999)

It would have been much harder to get a handle on this whole catalog in the mid 90s. The first releases date back to 1991, but aside from the first album itself, most of the early stuff has been re-released on compilations like Protein Source of the Future….Now! which has selections from eight different releases. All of Yam, the King of Crops is on Protein Source, and since John Darnielle once said Yam, the King of Crops was his favorite album of his (that may or may not have changed by now, but it was at least once true) it is worth digging up if only for that reason.

“Omega Blaster” is a quiet song, sung almost in a whisper. John sounds far away in the recording, and it imbues the narrator with a kind of distant sadness about the divorce/breakup the song foretells. In the liner notes on Protein Source, John says “the narrators of these songs seem often to give near-apocalyptic weight to their petty grievances, and I am quite sure that some of them would gladly trade the fate of the world for a few hours of relative happiness.” What better summary of the end of a relationship is there?

“And I am leaving you // and I am sorry” is a very simple refrain for a song about the end of love, but in that sense it’s very malleable. Whatever experience you want to drape “Omega Blaster” over will conform to be covered by it. If you are the hurt one or not — or if it’s not really clear which you are — you can whisper along with the character as they feel the heat of an unreturned smile and the sadness of thoughtful gifts, given too late.

033. Southwood Plantation Road

 

“Southwood Plantation Road” sees The Alpha Couple’s defiant, giggling last attempt at love when it’s already far too late.

Track: “Southwood Plantation Road”
Album: Tallahassee (2002)

Geography is extremely important to the Mountain Goats, but whether that’s literal geography or not, well, that’s another matter. “California” means the actual state of California as often as it means “something generally good.” “Florida” generally means an unpleasant end.

The most important piece of mythology in the catalog is The Alpha Couple. The Annotated Mountain Goats has done all the work for you, but at the most basic level they are two people who used to love each other and are now together through hate, inertia, alcohol, and a love of self-destruction. Most people don’t realize a relationship was destructive until they get out of it, but both the Alpha Male and Alpha Female (they are never named, and those distinctions are as lovely as they are ironic) know it’s horrible and they don’t want to stop.

Tallahassee isn’t the full story (there are dozens of other Alpha songs) but it’s the story of their end in a decaying house in Florida. The house was inspired by the name of a real street — Southwood Plantation Road, which is an uninteresting stretch of wooded backroad — and an actual house (on a different road) that John Darnielle saw on a visit to Florida. In “Southwood Plantation Road,” the Alphas move into the house that would be the tomb of their love if it hadn’t died long ago. They make claims they can’t believe. One of the only truths they actually share is “I am not going to lose you // we are gonna stay married.” Are they “in love?” It’s really impossible to define what it is at this point, and their emotions for each other mean different things to different listeners. In this house, in this song, though, they are drunk and they are giggling and they are going to stay.

032. Store

“Store” is a violent, expressive song about the only thing scarier than death in the abstract: death right in front of you.

Track: “Store” (also called “Aisle”)
Album: Jam Eater Blues (2001)

“It’s called ‘Aisle’ but I always want to call it ‘Store’ but I might have that backwards. You can call it whatever you want, because generally speaking if you’re requesting it, I won’t play it anyway.” – John Darnielle, on “Store.” (Which, obviously, you can also call “Aisle”)

There are a lot of songs from the catalog of roughly 25 years that don’t get played a lot these days. Some of them are for obvious reasons — I’ve already expressed my love for “Beach House” but it’s a lengthy diatribe about seals, so, okay, might not fit in with the divorce album and the meth album and so on — but some of them just don’t exactly represent where the band is at anymore. See: “Going to Georgia,” a longer conversation for a later time.

“Store” is one of the “songs about dead friends” in the catalog. The narrator walks in a store and has a painful experience (John sometimes calls it “a vision” but you can read it as literal or metaphorical pain and it works the same) and passes out for a moment in the middle of the aisle. They experience the memory of the sight of a dead friend with a head wound and exclaim “ah, the blood! all of that blood!” over and over and over.

When we think about a death we often think about the loss of a person moving forward more than actual, literal death. The reason the exclamations of “ah, the blood!” and the screams and the hard strums here work so well is because they force us to look at the same thing our hero is seeing. They force us to consider something even more extreme than a representation of loss, and that’s “the sight of the hole in the side of your skull.”

031. Going to Kansas

 

 

A mix of cacophony and desperation, “Going to Kansas” deals with the end of the world and the end of love at the same time.

Track: “Going to Kansas”
Album: The Hound Chronicles (1992) and Nothing for Juice (1996)

There are two versions of “Going to Kansas.” The one from The Hound Chronicles is very slow and seems almost pleading, while the one from Nothing for Juice is frenetic and insistent. The Nothing for Juice version is the one that gets played live — even in the early 90s, before Nothing for Juice— so it can be said to be the “standard” version of “Going to Kansas.”

The slower one has its charms. There’s a partial repetition of the line “you know what I mean” where you can really hear John Darnielle getting into the song and he belts out the essential “when my head was resting on your breastbone // I could hear your beating heart” in a satisfying way, but damn does it sound strange when compared to the quicker one. In a great live performance in 2006 with original Goats bassist Rachel Ware, John describes it as a song written “by a crude guitar player, for the crude guitar.” On Nothing for Juice, it opens with a seventeen-second screech, and “crude” seems about right for the insane, end-of-the-world effect the song maintains for the entire four minutes.

Whether you can get into the dissonance of “Going to Kansas” or not, you can definitely appreciate the connection of the end of days and the tenuous way two people are often tied together. Rachel chimes in to end a few lines, and the presence of another narrator makes the song full-on heartbreaking. They’re standing on some precipice, both literal and figurative, and one can’t stop noticing basic things about another (hair, green clothes) to try to delay the inevitable. In the Goats-go-electric version, the original, or any live recording, you can always hear the stalling and the hope, and the scene never gets any easier to think about.

030. Snow Song

In “Snow Song” two people look out at the cold world of Portland’s winter and feel as cold inside their lonely apartment.

Track: “Snow Song”
Album: Bitter Melon Farm (1999)

In the liner notes of Bitter Melon Farm, John Darnielle says that snow reminds him of Portland, Oregon and his time there where he did drugs and “almost died at least twice.” Snow is a common symbol in general, but in a Mountain Goats song it is meant to remind the listener of a distant sadness and the place where that sadness lives in both your mind and your past. We don’t like snow — or those places — but the purpose and the power cannot be denied.

“Snow Song” is one of many Goats songs that deal with winter, and it’s much less discussed than “Snow Crush Killing Song” or even “Third Snow Song.” It’s just a slow, sad tale of two people sitting in a cold apartment in a cold world. The couple is isolated in their apartment by the uncaring, unrelenting snow outside, but their feelings for each other mean they’re as alone together as they would be without the other person.

It’s a familiar feeling. Everyone has experienced the line “I’d just as soon make you disappear as look at you,” but it’s the fact that the narrator chooses to express love and kindness despite not really feeling the emotions tied to the gestures that makes the song so specific. Falling out of love is one thing, but fighting the process is something else entirely. The closing “how do you feel about that?” repetition is either spoken from one lover to another or it’s internal, but either way it’s a summation of where these two are headed.

029. Quito

“Quito” is a song about a person possessed and the power they believe they have over things out of their control.

Track: “Quito”
Album: We Shall All Be Healed (2004)

We Shall All Be Healed was released in 2004, and in 2004 there existed a website that had accompanying details about the album. It’s gone now, but like all ephemera, it was fascinating. One of the great elements was the following: “You can pick your friends, that’s what people’s mothers are always telling them when they’re growing up. Listen to me: no you can’t.”

The album is about John Darnielle’s time in Portland, Oregon where he and his friends all nearly died doing meth. His dark quote from that dead website speaks of the fact that drugs force you to make friends with people you may or may not like. Nothing else matters beyond the high, and every song on the album reinforces the driving, continuous movement towards the nothingness that John sought with this band of brothers. In various interviews he’s suggested that many of his old friends didn’t deserve the fates that befell them, but it’s never about what you deserve.

Quito is the capital of Ecuador and is literally the “highest” capital city in the world, elevation-wise. The song borrows this name to talk about the process of going home after you have been changed by leaving. John’s Portland is a terrifying world, but it’s a specific one that reinforced his darkest tendencies. The third verse is especially interesting, because it’s one of the few moments on the album that John allows himself to talk about the “after” period. He sees himself getting “off the wheel” and making amends to those he’s wounded. He believes (or claims he believes) in a type of resurrection for those who died alongside him. Above all, it’s a song about the specific life John led in Portland and the power of believing you’re capable of controlling what you cannot control.

028. Counting Song For Bitter Children

 

A direct release from John Darnielle, “Counting Song For Bitter Children” is exactly what it sounds like.

Track: “Counting Song For Bitter Children”
Album: Unreleased (Uploaded to the forums by John Darnielle in 2007)

Since it’s 50% “na-na-na-na-na,” “Counting Song for Bitter Children” probably doesn’t require as much lyrical examination as most of the songs in the catalog, but the lyrics are an interesting footnote. The song itself came out of the official forums, when a person listed the opening lines as an example of unforgettable Goats lyrics. John Darnielle himself stepped in and said that he barely remembered the lyrics himself. It existed in the way a lot of songs like “Song for Roger Maris” exist, in that they are mostly talked about rather than actually listened to or performed.

John went on to record himself playing what he remembered of it and put it up online, so now there’s an “official” version of “Counting Song for Bitter Children.” It’s a testament to both John’s relationship with the fanbase and with the older parts of the catalog that he was inspired to record a decade-plus old song just in an attempt to remember it and share it. The result is a very quick, old-school Mountain Goats song with the line “good children get nothing” in it.

It’s a funny song, though “funny” as a concept for a Mountain Goats song is a concept we’ll have to get into later. The early Goats songs are “funny” at times, but like “Counting Song for Bitter Children” they largely use humor to conceal some darkness in a character. This one is an angry person talking to someone that they’re finished with. The message, and even the song itself, doesn’t matter nearly as much as the delivery.

027. Korean Bird Paintings

 

 

In “Korean Bird Paintings,” one character tries to impress another, but fails to do the real work necessary for their love.

Track: “Korean Bird Paintings”
Album: New Asian Cinema (1998)

For a band as well-loved and as examined as the Mountain Goats, it’s rare to find a song like “Korean Bird Paintings.” All of the usual sources have nothing to say about it. It’s never been played live, or if it has it has never been recorded and released. It has no mentions, essentially anywhere. It’s not even a rare song (it’s one of the five on New Asian Cinema) but it’s a strong contender for the “least-spoken-about” Goats song.

I’ve always loved it; it’s frequently my choice as my favorite when I have to pick just one, though I know that may sound silly for such an old song with no live versions. With no live performances or interpretations, we are left to consider it literally. It’s a person who misses someone and feels like they have no way to express it. They max out a Visa on the grandest gesture they can think of and fill the room with cards and balloons. When the object of their affection comes home, they reason, they will have to be impressed by the spectacle, if not by the love they have to give.

A lot of New Asian Cinema is about the struggle of relating to exactly one other person. Many of the characters can’t figure out exactly how to express what they feel, and “Korean Bird Paintings” sums up how we all spend most of our effort in the wrong ways. This narrator would tell you that they’ve done a lot of work, but we recognize it as meaningless work. It’s possible that their lover will appreciate it, but it’s more likely that they will be frustrated that they’ve spent all this time on what surely wasn’t the real problem.

026. Counterfeit Florida Plates

 

“Counterfeit Florida Plates” offers the listener a look into the sad life and life’s work of the insane.

Track: “Counterfeit Florida Plates”
Album: Transcendental Youth (2012)

In a way, “Counterfeit Florida Plates” is really every song the Mountain Goats have ever made. It’s the direct story of a crazy person, and you can put whatever you’d like on top of that. The narrator walks you through their madness, from stealing sunscreen from a convenience store to their life’s work of trying to spot every single fake license plate from Florida. They truly believe they’ve been tasked with his and they wait for the day when people will come ask for the data. It’s madness, but it’s a system.

“Madness” isn’t necessarily interesting on its own, but John Darnielle offers us the specifics of this person’s life and “work” to ground the character. No one in any song on Transcendental Youth has an easy time of things, but the person in “Counterfeit Florida Plates” is totally beyond help. Their plan is to wait for “the coming disaster” and their great struggle is that they can’t quite find every car they feel like they needs to find. It’s easy to feel sorry for them, but then to feel even worse when you realize that even in “success” this character will still not achieve anything.

“This may be the night my point men finally come” is the line that makes the whole song. Many Goats characters are fighting in a war that’s already been lost, but we are led to believe that this one still thinks their life has meaning. They’re missing the one trait so many other narrators have: an acknowledgement that fighting for fighting’s sake is senseless. This one still must count the cars and still must wait, hungry and cold, for people that we know aren’t ever coming.

025. Noctifer Birmingham

Two people are connected unexpectedly in one of the Mountain Goats’ favorite of their own songs.

Track: “Noctifer Birmingham”
Album: Ghana (1999)

The layers to a song like “Noctifer Birmingham” take years to unfold. In a rare live performance of the song in 1996, John Darnielle introduced it as “pretty goddamned obscure” and then joked that it was “a song about my fucking brother” before laughing and playing it. He didn’t play it again (so far as is generally known) until 2012, and even then he introduced it as “the first tricky song” in the catalog. In the album notes on Ghana he says that it’s the “high-water mark of the years 1992-95” and it’s one of his favorite songs.

You will notice that the guitar is very delicate, it’s one of the songs where the tune plays in the background. In the liner notes, John adds: “In a rare show of restraint, I do not even once attempt here to physically destroy the guitar by playing it as hard as I can.” It’s no “Cubs in Five” then, but it certainly doesn’t need to be. Rachel Ware’s bass and vocals add to a droning, continuous sense of the events of the song. The feel is beautiful, and her absence from the band for so long explains why it doesn’t really get played anymore, even though it’s one of John’s favorites.

It’s a classic style for the Mountain Goats, wherein we get enough of a story to be curious but not enough to really understand what’s going on. One character is shocked by a phone call and comes immediately to see someone else in Alabama. There are katydids in the background and other specifics, but what actually happened isn’t as important as that feeling we all know when we have to take a trip we don’t want to make as a result of some unexpected news.