After dumping on the past several things I've reviewed (although I was highly complimentary of that Ukranian joint at which I feasted), I began to feel like I should change the name of my site to "Stuff Josh Is Going To Complain About, Because He Feels Like Having A Blog Is Just Like Having A Soapbox." While SJIGTCABHFLHABIJLHAS would undoubtedly achieve great commercial success, it would also keep me from the pure joy of reviewing The Mountain Goats' latest release, Transcendental Youth. And it is a joy.
In several interviews that John Darnielle has given to the press, he has stated that, thematically, Transcendental Youth is about wresting moments of triumph from despair. It's never more clearly broadcast than in the first track ("Amy aka Spent Gladiator I"), which starts out with the lines "do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive / do every stupid thing to try to drive the dark away" and whose recurring lines in the chorus are "...and stay alive / just stay alive". It feels much more like a rambunctious and carefree melody than we've gotten from The Mountain Goats in a while, and it's a good indicator of what's to come on the album.
From there, we're taken through a down-but-not-out character studies, masterfully written through Darnielle's lyrics, which evoke images of people seeing their lives slip away from them (the minor-key, propulsive "Lakeside View Apartments Suite"), lifetime hospital patients (the gorgeously haunting "White Cedar"), or Frankie Lymon, in what may be the standout track on the entire album, "Harlem Roulette". After watching Darnielle's explanation of the basis for the song, the line "the loneliest people in the whole wide world / are the ones you're never going to see again" is heartbreaking.
It's not all roses. Like most Mountain Goats albums, the end sags a little bit. The title track, "Transcendental Youth," (which also closes out the album) while not a bad song, has repeatedly failed to leave an impression on me, despite the fact that I've listened to the album about twenty times by now. There's also no really aggressive songs on this album, like a "No Children," "Lovecraft in Brooklyn," or "Estate Sale Sign," and while it's not a requirement for a great album, I get really excited when John gets angry.
Another thing I wish (and have wished, since the band achieved some stability), is that John would feel a little more comfortable being selfish in some of the arrangements. The version of "White Cedar" that made the album is stunning. But I heard a version that John played by himself at a show, and he just knocked it out of the park. It was quiet, spare, and alone, which suited the subject matter perfectly. But, for what it's worth, this album represents the smoothest integration yet between John and the band, in my mind. The drums and bass feel like they belong in most of these songs.
In general, Transcendental Youth has a lot of uptempo (though not usually upbeat) songs, and typically strong melodies. "The Diaz Brothers" and "Cry For Judas," in particular, are musically joyous pieces that I had not expected to hear in a Mountain Goats album. It's super-listenable, and in fact I'm currently playing it again through iTunes, now that I have been able to purchase it on Amazon. Is it as good as The Sunset Tree? No. But it is the best thing that The Mountain Goats have produced since. It may even overtake Tallahassee as the second-best Mountain Goats album recorded. In short, Transcendental Youth is worth buying and listening to twenty times at the very least.
The entire album is streaming for free at rollingstone.com. Give it a shot.
Darnielle says that the way to transcend despair is to embrace your darkness. Learn to enjoy the darkness. If Transcendental Youth represents situations of despair, Darnielle makes it easy to assimilate and enjoy.
Album cover image is the property of The Mountain Goats, Merge Records, the artist, and whomever else they can dig up out of the woodwork. Video courtesy of Pitchfork Media. All rights reserved.
