or Slavonic Dances, 3 if you prefer. Sixteen new songs from your earnest friends, The Mountain Goats.
He was an old Hmong 6 craftsman who worked mainly in wood — altarpieces like small bowls for water or petals, elephant-shaped incense burners, intricate rosebuds or lotuses, and, later, in accord with the inevitable crushing forward movement of the age, crucifixes —and lived in a house his father had built in the nineteen-twenties. His father had done whatever work he'd been able to pick up in order to feed the family; selling hand-carved trinkets at religious festivals was what had done the job during the long Thai holiday season, and that was where he'd picked it up. His woodwork was neither a hobby nor a form of meditation for him, and he didn't think of himself or his job as anachronistic in any way. It was what he did for a living during the daylight hours.
He fell in love with a woman who had initially stopped by the table he set up on Friday mornings on Ratchwithi Road 7 near the children's school. She was from Taiwan: she'd met a Thai businessman there when she was nineteen, and he had brought her back home with him. Together they'd raised two daughters and a son, and then, in her forty-eighth year, just as she'd begun to enjoy adjusting to her new role as one-half of a doting grandparental couple (her first daughter, Mae Noi, having given her a grandson), her husband had been struck by a motorcycle weaving in and out of traffic during the permanent rush-hour conditions that plague the downtown Bangkok streets. The accident was not serious for the rider, who landed atop the car against which his motorcycle had pinned his victim, but the victim had suffered internal injuries too grave to be repaired. He died after two days in the hospital. She mourned him for as long as she could, and then, on days when she felt perfectly fine and the world seemed pleasant and good, she found herself mourning him some more.
Her sister-in-law came to live with her; the feeling between them was really more a matter of duty than of affection, but she was genuinely appreciative of the company. Though Mae Noi and the baby came by once a week for tea, it was hard to be alone; even with her sister-in-law there to share memories of the husband and brother they'd lost, and to make small talk when the memories became painful, she felt acutely and terribly lonely many times throughout the day. So when she stopped at his table of hand-carved bodshisattvas 8 and spirit-houses 9 by the school one Friday while walking her grandson to class, and he asked her innocently whether it wasn't a lovely Spring morning, she felt sharp pangs of excitement and gratitude. The feelings were like young sprouts pushing through cool earth in their difficult, explosive journey through the soil to the surface. Of course he had been lonely forever; his father and mother, though good people, had given him little idea of how one wound up getting married, and so he had wound up never doing so. Though a solitary person by nature, he was still a very friendly man to anyone who got to know him, and he loved company though he lacked the ability to say so. She found him charming, and after seeing her at his stall a number of times throughout the course of the school year he invited her to his small, old house for soup, where they told each other stories of their lives — small stories, without the huge dramatic flourishes with which more fortunate people feel the need to embellish their histories. His soup was mild and nutty like the food that the people in the hills had been enjoying for thousands of years. It made her feel loved, and she loved him for it. They spent many evenings giving sustenance to one another, and teaching each other songs they'd sung as children. He told her how to say "good grandson" in the Hmong language, and she transliterated his name into Mandarin so he could sign his name to his pieces in one elegant, small character.
Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half an hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at fBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet 12, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks, I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz:13 I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the though of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things,14 and I don't imagine that anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago: stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.
They have been talking about a journey into the interior. They know the dangers and yet they have already decided upon it. No one can talk them out of it. It is clear that their minds are made up. Their knapsacks are packed.
Their guides have been chosen They remain cool to suggestions. They smile enigmatic smiles. They no longer answer questions.
Shower and Tampa are outtakes from the album.
Says, "We'll be expecting highs in the low teens"
Will you save me a seat?
Would you save me a seat?
Would you leave the seat empty?
Will you light us a fire?
But I don't want to talk about it now, OK, OK?
Thanks as always to Caliclimber, whose Flickr page provided the album art and the sleeve text. Thanks also to asrath who provided a source for the label text, to Harrison Lemke, who pointed out the possibility that John meant to refer to Lila McCann in Scotch Grove, to Brendan Robertovich, who corrected an error in my labeling of the liner notes, and to Mairead Beeson, who offered a detailed analysis of several parts of Elijah.
The Coroner's Gambit, Nall, retrieved July 10, 2013.
John mentions this as being the first album he believes he started writing strong material for: "To me the songs start to get interesting around The Coroner's Gambit, that's sort of the dividing line for me..." — William Caxton Fan Club, Which albums are you playing songs from on your current tour?
SCR: The liner notes to The Coroner's Gambit reference Stage Bidet. How and when should we expect Stage Bidet to manifest itself publicly, if at all?
This verse comes from Haunted House Blues, by the American blues great Bessie Smith, written by J. C. Johnson and sung in 1924. Alexander, Scott, Red Hot Jazz, retrieved September 19, 2013.
Elijah was a Biblical prophet in the 9th century BC, advocating for the Hebrew God over Baal, the Phoenician. He is invoked in several Jewish rituals, such as seder.
The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt: ... Tell the whole community of Israel that on the tenth day of this month they must each select an animal of the flock according to their fathers' households, one animal per household... You are to keep it until the fourteenth day of this month; then the whole assembly of the community of Israel will slaughter the animals at twilight. They must take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses where they eat them... You are to eat it in a hurry; it is the Lord's Passover.
I will pass through the land of Egypt on that night and strike every firstborn male in the land of Egypt, both man and beast. I am Yahweh; I will execute judgments against all the gods of Egypt. The blood on the houses where you are staying will be a distinguishing mark for you; when I see the blood, I will pass over you. No plague will be among you to destroy you when I strike the land of Egypt.
Exodus 12, Holman Christian Standard Bible, retrieved March 22, 2018.
Nero used his gardens to execute Christians, burning them for light, torn by animals, crucified, and otherwise murdered, blaming them for the Great Fire of Rome.
"... Nero fastened the guilt and inflicted the most exquisite tortures on a class hated for their abominations, called Christians by the populace... Mockery of every sort was added to their deaths. Covered with the skins of beasts, they were torn by dogs and perished, or were nailed to crosses, or were doomed to the flames and burnt, to serve as a nightly illumination, when daylight had expired.
"Nero offered his gardens for the spectacle, and was exhibiting a show in the circus, while he mingled with the people in the dress of a charioteer or stood aloft on a car." — Tacitus, Annals, Book XV, Chapter 44. Translated by Alfred John Church and William Jackson Brodribb, The Internet Classics Archive, retrieved September 20, 2013.
I have been unable to find any LeAnn Rimes song about a blackbird — if you know what this refers to, please contact me.
John has confirmed that this is a pun on the Alphonso mango. After Johnp, a regular poster from Ireland, mentioned the similarity in name to the forums, John commented, "ten years I had to wait for somebody to make this connection and it took a guy from a country that saw its first mango in 1987 to do it / Ireland for great win yet again". Alphonso mango is a sweet variety of mango grown mainly in India.
This phrase is used extensively in English speech, particularly in gambling and athletics, but likely originates from the rules of golf. In the United States Golf Association Rules of Golf, Rule 13, Ball Played As It Lies, states, "The ball must be played as it lies, except as otherwise provided in the Rules" (retrieved September 20, 2013).