The Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle opens up

%{[ data-embed-type=”image” data-embed-id=”57150b1789121ca96b92b3ce” data-embed-element=”aside” ]}%

John Darnielle is a storyteller. Yes, he is also a bandleader — having fronted the Mountain Goats since founding it in 1991 — and a novelist whose Wolf in White Van was nominated last year for a National Book Award. But foremost in each of these pursuits is a commitment to characters, to filing away intricate details, which makes his songs and his prose shine and stay in the memory.

The Mountain Goats’ latest, the pro-wrestling-themed Beat the Champ, is further proof of Darnielle’s mastery. A listener, even one with zero interest in wrestling, can easily get lost in his exploration of the sport’s complex emotions, battles and violence.

The Mountain Goats are touring this fall, and Darnielle is performing a handful of shows solo — including a concert date at the Lawrence Arts Center Wednesday, September 9. Ahead of the show, Darnielle chatted with us via e-mail about his latest projects.

The Pitch: Tell me about what led you to writing a series of songs inspired by wrestling. I know you didn’t begin with that theme in mind.

Darnielle: It was after a few [songs] stacked up — like, the first one seemed cool, but I wondered if it didn’t need more context — “Southwestern Territory” — like, imagine that as a stand-alone song on an album that doesn’t have an explicit thematic link or whose theme is less defined — it’s kind of a character sketch in that setting. I don’t think of myself as doing character sketches, for whatever reason; I feel like context, even when it’s just roughly traced, really places a song. Does that make sense? So I wrote another one. It was what was on my mind, and they felt cooler together — like, if you sit with the images and tropes for a while, instead of being asked to just think about wrestling for one three-minute song, then the ideas and emotions in the song might make more sense.

After about four songs, it was pretty clear, you know — like, you can’t really have an album with four songs about wrestling and eight songs about whatever else. I mean you could, if you were Van Dyke Parks, maybe. But I decided to just go all out at that point.

How did you go about making songs about wrestling feel universal?

I don’t think about an audience when I’m writing. I can’t. I feel like if I were thinking, “How can I make this more universal?” I would feel uninspired. I just assume that whatever I’m writing about, if I get down to the core of it, it’ll be understandable by anybody because they’re just human stories — about working, about dreams of success, about hitting the wall. You know? Everyone works — labor’s universal. If I’m writing about people in their work, then there’s something anybody can understand. The actual wrestling — it’s like science fiction. We can’t really relate to the crew of the USS Enterprise, but we can because the point isn’t that they’re in space. It’s that they live and work together and share triumphs and pitfalls.

How does it feel, revealing so much of yourself to an audience of strangers over and over again, night after night?

It feels really intense, to be honest — I try not to talk about it or dwell on it. I don’t want to sound like I’m saying, “How I suffer!” or anything, you know. I mean, it’s intimate, right. It’s a vulnerable thing to disclose, to share. But that’s also an electric and inspiring feeling, and it connects me to the songs, which is great because then I can hit that point of playing where even something I’ve been playing for 10 years feels brand-new. I get therapy here at home; I think if I didn’t, the toll of sort of digging up graves every night might be harder on me. I see how some performers can get pretty lost. But I take good care of myself. I keep perspective. I love what I do, and the idea that it might be useful to others somehow is a huge blessing to me.

Changing gears for a moment: Why did writing a novel appeal to you?

I just don’t really think about what I’m going to do before I do it, is the thing. It’s not architecture — I don’t first conceive of the structure and then draft a blueprint and then carry out the plans. So I didn’t sit down and say, “I think I’ll write a novel.” I just wrote a little story. It turned out to be the last chapter. Then I wrote a bunch of other stuff. Then I threw a lot of it away. Then I dragged it into a folder and didn’t think about it for a long time. But I don’t ask myself questions like, “How am I going to express this idea?” I just get a thought to do something and start doing it and see where it goes. It’s open-ended exploration. That’s the whole appeal of doing it!

Do you prefer one thing over the other, writing versus performing?

They’re not really related to each other. Performing is more exhausting. It’s like rock climbing — you get to some very high places! But it takes an actual toll on your body. Writing doesn’t tire me out. I wish I could do it all day (which I used to do, really). But it’s just so different, you know — it’s internal. Performing is sharing, making connection both onstage and from stage to audience. Writing is spelunking. If I had to give one up, I’d stay home and write; I can’t imagine not writing. But I can just barely imagine not performing, too. It’s a big part of who I am, and songs really come to life in front of an audience.