For 15 years, John Darnielle of the Mountain Goats has been making some of the most compelling music imaginable, using the simplest of tools: his instantly recognizable singing, acoustic guitar, and lyrics rife with odd, telling details. In recent years, his releases have gone from strength to strength: the white-knuckle, Edward Albee-esque angst of Tallahassee (2002); The Sunset Tree, which addressed the artist's ugly relationship with his stepfather; and its new follow-up, the quieter companion Get Lonely.
On Monday, August 21, the Mountain Goats visit Seattle for a live KEXP performance, and an in-store at the Queen Anne Easy Street Records. Normally, conducting e-mail "interviews" is as dull as grading test papers, but it's Darnielle's preferred medium, and knowing how entertaining his blog (www.lastplanetojakarta.com) can be, we consented—then freaked out about editing him.
Is it appropriate to categorize the Mountain Goats as "roots & Americana"?
I'm pretty deeply suspicious of the whole "roots"/Americana concept: It seems to freeze its subject in amber. That's not to say there isn't a lot of excellent music that falls under that banner, including acts with whom I feel some affinity: Souled American, Maria McKee (on her first solo disc especially), the Allman Brothers. But the connection I feel between what I do and what those folks do isn't really genre-based; the thread goes through some other path.
Were you working on the material for Get Lonely concurrent with The Sunset Tree?
These songs were all [written] much later—I generally focus on one record at a time, though sometimes they'll sort of splinter during the process. But The Sunset Tree was a strictly-this-and-nothing-else process. What was most important to me in writing new songs was that I didn't try to make Sunset Tree II, right, but at the same time, I wanted to follow the impulse of the previous album—the level of emotional honesty—further along, maybe try to go a little deeper without drawing from the same well.
Name a roots or country artist who has inspired you over the long haul.
Merle Haggard, just for the sheer quality of his singing and the ornery purity of his vision, and John Prine, for the really intense balance he strikes between naked and guarded. Both of those guys, they don't have the most grandiose vision: just a distinct one, and that's what I've tried to cultivate in my own stuff. A way of locating of the voice that sets me apart.
How has your relationship with your voice evolved?
I have the confidence that comes with practice. I also no longer have the urge, not often at least, to sound "scary" or intimidating or unhinged; I trust that quality to just emerge by itself, when it's needed, without me overplaying my hand. It's always hard to talk about this sort of thing, but rewarding for me—singing is so primal and basic, I feel like everybody's born a singer and then has to relearn how to do it right after they grow up.
