The Mountain Goats @ TheManning Bar, Sydney (05/12/08)

Sun 7th Dec, 2008 in Gig Reviews

Everything about the Mountain Goats suggests they shouldn’t work: whiny singer, verbose lyrics, and a general absence of hummable melody should have condemned them to the bargain bins of history long ago. John Darnielle, the man whose name is essentially interchangeable with the Mountain Goats moniker, is the source of both these traits and their unlikely success.

Even as a member of the loose association of indie rock frontmen, Darnielle is miles from the classic definition of a rock star. He looks more like that high school English teacher you had once who later turned out to be amazingly cool. His voice – an evolutionary meeting-point of early Dylan and Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum – directs the spotlight to the lyrics of each song, with the simple, often functionalist arrangements existing to complement and emphasise rather than pull focus.

It is these traits, married to Darnielle’s gift for lyrical detail and narrative, that has earned the Mountain Goats the cult success they now enjoy. Though – œcult success’ usually suggests an act that fell short of the mainstream, nothing demonstrated the cult-like adoration the Mountain Goats attract than their appearance at the Manning Bar.

Listeners familiar with The Sunset Tree or 2006’s Get Lonely might peg Darnielle as something of a miserable figure. Certainly, the semi-autobiographical narratives of these two albums – referencing drug use, domestic violence and the caustic aftermath of a break-up – suggest a bleak world view. As a result, when the Mountain Goats take the stage nearly leaping with energy, it is a delightful surprise. Darnielle in particular sports a giddy grin, indulging in a refreshing display of sheer joy that is so rare amongst his peers. The audience eats up this sincerity, and returns it in a joyous outpouring of love and laughter.

With a nod to the bassist and drummer that completed the Mountain Goats, Darnielle began to coo the words to the opening song: “I am ready for my close-up today.” Before he could reach the second line of Michael Myers Resplendent, from the 2007 album Heretic Pride, the audience cheered in recognition, as they would continue to do for almost each song on the set list. Clearly this was a show dominated by fans, and the energy of the room reflected this, with most (though, sadly, not all), hanging intently on every word.

Having finished the opening song, Darnielle again wore a delighted expression, as he apologised for not saying much, fearing the run-on sentences and go-nowhere stories that would run from his jet-lagged brain. At this early stage, this seemed a reasonable precaution. By the evening’s end, however, Darnielle proved that his wit and knack with words was not limited to his songs. Jokes about how his Catholic upbringing prevent him from repeating set-lists dovetailed into rich stories of love and loss, and classic singer-songwriter gags (“this next song is about…three and a half minutes”), garnished with self-deprecation (“most of mine are only a minute thirty!”), leavened the mood, between bleak, broken-hearted songs.

Unlikely though it seems, Darnielle even earned an impromptu sing-along. However, in typical fashion, it was more verbose than, say, a U2 song: where else could an audience give voice to a chorus like “St Joseph’s baby aspirin, bartles & jaymes, and you or your memory” except at a Mountain Goats show?

When Darnielle and co. left the stage after Lovecraft in Brooklyn, the evening felt strangely unresolved; the crowd would have none of this. Even faced with an empty stage, there was no doubt that there would be an encore. The audience cried for more with a genuine hunger, rather than the sense of entitlement that has arisen from the encore’s de rigueur status. Darnielle was quick to oblige, keeping the audience waiting only a few moments before returning to a joyous onslaught of cheers and applause.

Leading the band through a slower, quiet number, Darnielle once again thanked the audience with great gusto before introducing the final number: “Australia responded to this song more than anywhere else, so feel free to sing along, I’m not gonna stand in your way.” Without further preamble, he struck up the opening chords of the Mountain Goats’ most famous song, a song whose defiant optimism lends it an anthemic air. When recognition swept the audience, the noise reached a whole new level, as people whooped and shrieked with delight. In a resonant chorus, hundreds of people joined the Mountain Goats in singing This Year, with special emphasis on its resounding climax: “I am gonna make it through this year if it kills me!”

A sense of completeness fell over the room. Though some cried vainly for another encore, most of the audience left the building satisfied and grinning.