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The best ever death metal band in Denton – The Mountain Goats

I should have a newer favourite Mountain Goats song than this, but between this and Going to Georgia, the sentimentality involved, stubborness, and shameful remissness in keeping up with one of my favourite yet too casually held bands, nothing has outstripped it. John Darnielle, whether fiction or (who was expecting it) non-fiction is such an incredible songwriter and storyteller. Duh. So perhaps it is only the story i find most affecting i declare to be my favourite.

Honestly, these lyrics… Having none of it spoiled by the vision of Cyrus and Jeff extrapolated to that of probable animal torturers and racists (although maybe not, you know? Fingers crossed), kept to the struggle of small town youth as they negotiate their lives, captured at at once the most valuable and distressing moment of their lives, it resounds in me something so poignant. Most of John Darnielle’s songs do that, but this one in particular. It is so close to home.

I thank Atom and his Package for giving me a head start on this band, when there were only about 200 Mountain Goats songs as opposed to whatever mammoth number a guy with a guitar can numerate over the years. But any benefit that head start lent me i’ve wasted by being too casual of a fan and not staying on top of that stream of releases outpacing prolificacy can offer the world. I’m actually quite ashamed. Why do i give attention to some things and not others? I get every benefit i hold dear in music from listening to the Mountain Goats and i don’t even own a physical copy of an album.

I’ve spurned the want to see them live four times now, getting as far as hopping in the car, keys in ignition. I don’t know what to expect from them live. I know John Darnielle lugs a band around now but i’m still afraid of the songs played to be drowned out by the clinking of glass and the untimely, irritating wall of noise jerk people talking while a band plays can produce. Sydney people are the worst for this. Either that, or i’m afraid of finding myself in some Dashboard Confessional sing-a-long crowd. How horrible. So to the never-shortening list of things i wish i would get over and regret not embracing and having enjoyed already goes…

Hail Satan.

late spring

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