Report from the Interior

I’m sitting in the tracking room, where Franklin Bruno is getting ready to record a guitar part for “Dilaudid,” a song about love & pharmaceutical-grade opiates. It’s just before eleven-thirty on a Sunday evening. The intensely personal nature of the songs we’re recording has made the whole enterprise totally exhausting for me, and it’s been so hard to get any distance from the songs that I haven’t been able to tell whether what I’m doing is working or not, but I got to hear a couple of songs in playback today and they gave me the good cold deep shock. There’s a Gang of Mad Scientists feel to the whole thing, and there are still seven days of recording left to do. We haven’t even gotten to the cello yet.
While still hesitant to talk too directly about exactly what’s going on in the songs, I will say that if it’s the Pretty God-Damned Emotional element of the Mountain Goats that puts wind in your sails, then (block that metaphor!) you’d better batton down the hatches.