All Hail the Mountain Goats

June 17, 2011
The Biltmore Cabaret
Vancouver, British Columbia

I saw the Mountain Goats at the Biltmore Cabaret two nights ago, a bar conveniently located just a twelve-minute walk from my apartment. I didn't make it to the venue in time to get front-and-centre (I try not to rush so much anymore because more often then not, it's so damned easy to get front-and-centre), but I did get there early enough to sit on this ... I don't know what you'd call it: big, black square thing at the extreme left of the stage but that wasn't part of the stage. Above the big, black square hung the bar's main left speaker. Because the speaker was also a bit behind me, the show wasn't blaringly loud for me. In fact, the volume was probably the most reasonable of any show I'd ever been to: I could make out every note and lyric, and it was never so loud that I could feel my clothes shake or felt like I was getting punched in the chest with every beat. Anyway, I had the luxury of deciding whether I wanted to sit or stand, and I chose to sit for once (not that that didn't become uncomfortable after three hours). And that was how I experienced one of my favourite bands of all time (my favourite band lyrically): seated a mere two feet in front of them.

The opening band was Midtown Dickens, an almost entirely forgettable folk trio from North Carolina whose name I wouldn't have known if I didn't Google "mountain goats biltmore" after the show. I say almost entirely forgettable because Midtown Dickens did play one good song with a mandolin-with-slide and clarinet, as well as another song with a steel saw and bow. I never knew one could get such a cool sound out of a saw with or without a bow.

Shortly after Midtown Dickens' set, the Mountain Goats took the stage and proceeded to deliver the fourth best show I'd ever seen. Almost every song they played was one of their hits: "Broom People," "Damn These Vampires," "Birth of Serpents," "Pale Green Things," "Southwood Plantation Road," "Woke Up New," "Palmcorder Yajna," "Liza Forever Minnelli," "No Children," "Age of Kings," the live-only "You Were Cool" - and that’s just what I can remember.

When the Mountain Goats reached their final pre-encore song "This Year" (possibly my favourite and most personal song of all time), Midtown Dickens returned to the stage and danced and played a bunch of shakers and other percussion instruments. Or did only one of them play a shaker while the other two just danced? Anyway, a couple of handfuls of audience members rushed the stage almost on Midtown Dickens' cue and danced their asses off too (there's no barrier between the crowd up front and the performers at the Biltmore). At the time, I wished I'd joined them, but what happened during the encore more than made up for my decision to refrain. Most of the people who jumped on stage were from the same group of douchebags in the front row who annoyed everyone else in the crowd by yelling out dumbassed comments all night anyway.

My highlight of the night came during the Mountain Goats' final song (their third encore), after the stage-jumpers returned to the floor. Lead-singer and core-songwriter John Darnielle unravelled his mic from his stand so he could move around the stage. He pressed himself up against the metal mesh barrier on the left side of the stage (that is, the audiences' left, around where I was sitting) and gripped the mesh barrier with his hands like a caged animal. He sang as close to the audience members' faces on the other side of the barrier as possible and made his way closer to the left corner of the stage, away from the meshed area. There, he cupped audience members' cheeks with his hand, and they reciprocated before he gave their hair/heads a rub and moved on. Finally, John made his way over to me. By this time, he'd taken off his glasses, and when he got to me, he looked me in the eyes while he was still carrying the tune. Without thought (besides “This is fucking awesome!”), I took off my glasses and put them on him. With the mic away from his mouth, mid-song, he laughed and said, "That's good!" and put his glasses on me! I watched through the blurry lenses of his sweaty spectacles as he immediately peeled away to the other side of the stage and continued performing the song while wearing my glasses.

We switched back a couple of minutes later during the same song. My lenses were smudged, but what the fuck - I didn't bother wiping them until I started walking home. Right after we switched back, I noticed that one of the girls with whom he had a tender hands-to-cheeks moment was reaching over to me. Still caught up in the "what the fuck" spirit of the moment, I handed her my glasses and kept watching the show. I glanced at her a few times to see exactly what possibly stupid/reckless thing I'd done, but I didn't see her or any of her friends wearing or even holding my glasses. I became a little concerned but turned my attention back to the show. When I finally asked her for my glasses, she reached into the front of her dress and fished them out for me. Splendid.

Personal encounters of the Darnielle kind aside, the Mountain Goats COMPLETELY obliterated my expectations. They were far more energetic than I'd ever expected them to have been, especially John Darnielle. Casually dressed in a tie-less suit, he danced, pranced, skipped and hopped barefoot all over the stage, laughing and beaming with miles of smiles all night long, even before they actually started playing; I'd never seen a performer look like he or she was having as much fun as John Darnielle seemed to have been having. I don't think I'd ever seen a band more appreciative of its audience (they thanked us profusely) or banter so much or so genuinely with its audience either (between most of their songs); John even humoured the previously mentioned idiots as best as he could rather than ignored them.

It'd been a long time since I'd been able to sing along with most of a band's songs - probably not since the Dandy Warhols last December. I don't think I could have had more fun singing along to a band (that I haven't already sang along to) other than the Mountain Goats. There truly is no feeling like seeing a guy you've only seen in countless photos, whose voice and lyrical genius you've listened to in your highest and lowest moments of the past five years and whose lyrics you've analyzed like you've discovered the Rosetta Stone performing with more passion in one hour than most people can express in their lifetimes just a couple of feet in front of you. Sure, the Mountain Goats didn't play every song I wanted them to (although they did play a lot of them), and they played many songs I didn't know, but I didn't expect any less from a band with such an overwhelming discography; besides, they played a significant enough chunk of the Sunset Tree, my favourite and first Mountain Goats album, to have satisfied me without having played all of my favourite Mountain Goats songs. And again, every other aspect of the Mountain Goats' show completely exceeded my expectations.

If you ever get a chance, see the Mountain Goats live. Even if you're not familiar with the their music, they could very well change your life.