Cat’s Cradle
Carrboro, NC
Words & Photos by AW Henderson

Being a Mountain Goats fan is a tricksy thing. For one thing, I have no idea how many album’s the guy has actually released, so I can’t tell if I’m a “hardcore” fan or a “newbie” fan only by the amount of his music I have listened to. In conversation about the Mountain Goats, I get just as excited as the next fan, but then they start dropping all sorts of songs, albums, even eras of John Darnielle’s career that I’ve never heard of. I feel sheepish. Am I not a real fan? Surely I am, I love them so much!

Well, I do, and no amount, or dearth, of back-catalogue knowledge can change that. This is what I discovered at the Reach for the Skye benefit concert on Thursday. Among a crowd equal parts stodgy purist and doe-eyed newcomer, I reside comfortably in the middle: a fan of three or four years, reasonably familiar with Mr. Darnielle’s lo-fi roots but initiated in the time of studio-quality recordings. So imagine my irritation when, after every song, I’m flanked on the one side by sorority sisters screaming, “This Year!!” in tandem, and on the other by bearded thirtysomethings shouting out, “Alpha Desperation March! ALPHA DESPERATION MARCH!!” I know I wasn’t the only one to notice the dichotomy; at one point in the night, in response to some inaudible (and I think drunken) song request, John Darnielle pointed out that he didn’t even remember writing the song being requested, much less how to play it.

Which cuts to the heart of the paradox of being a fan of The Mountain Goats. Inevitably you slide into an obsession that outclips even the man’s own enthusiasm for his material. You know more about rare Japanese Mountain Goats extra-tracks (which, as he explained, are necessary to sustain the recording industry in Japan because an import CD costs less than its domestic equal) than he does. There are two kinds of Mountain Goats fans: those who only want to hear “No Children” and those who never want to hear “No Children,” and the former is ever transforming into the latter. I realize I have rambled on for several paragraphs now without actually talking about the show. I’ll do that now.

It’s not right to call this solo gig a Mountain Goats show, proper, although adding a drummer or bassist would do little to augment the power of the performance. John Darnielle remains one of the most dryly charming stage personalities in indie rock, because there’s no stage personality at all. It’s just his sense of humor broadcast over the heads of the masses. One senses an ingratiating disposition when John D. plays shows around his hometown of Durham, in which his mood (and inclination to play old favorites) are lifted perceptibly. “Going to Georgia” pleased everyone, but even more endearing was Darnielle’s comparison of playing such an old song to re-igniting sexual passion with an ex-wife. The only thing that ruined the moment was the unceasing scream of the girls beside me for their favorite, and I started to believe only known, Mountain Goats song.

Of course he obliged, eventually, ending the night with “No Children” and making everyone forget how much they don’t care about Bellefea or any of the other opening bands. Hopefully those sorority girls will remember the show years from now, hopefully they it will incentivize them to try to experience some of the emotions that pushed John Darnielle to write the songs that we wanted to hear so badly. Man, I sound like a dick.

Hail Satan tonight.