Mountain Goats—Through This Fire Across from Peter Balkan

I’ve heard the name The Mountain Goats a lot over the years, though I don’t think I’d ever realised just how extensive and impressive their output was, this being their twenty-third studio album. Going in, I was expecting a folksy, vocal-driven sound, but quickly realised I’d been confusing them, for some reason, with the Fleet Foxes.

To me, this feels like a concept album, though the official description puts it this way: "A full-on musical, telling the story of a shipwrecked crew of sixteen men, only three of whom survive a catastrophic storm". There’s no denying it’s a story-driven record, but it reminds me a lot of Jeff Wayne’s War of the Worlds.

The album opens with "Overture" and a pulsing synth that soon gives way to glorious strings. It feels very much like the album setting the scene before leading into a wonderfully simple yet memorable melody, one that reappears later, before transforming into another theme entirely.

The simple melody from earlier returns as the driving force for "Fishing Boat", but this time it’s vocally driven rather than instrumental, but wonderfully memorable nonetheless. It carries the narrative of the boat setting out with sixteen souls, only for that number to be tragically reduced to three survivors. The song moves along at quite a clip, yet never feels rushed or forced, and it’s hard to believe that it runs just over five minutes.

Like the previous track, "Cold at Night" continues the story at quite a pace, and you’d think this might belie the tragedy beneath. What really helps are the vocals, clear, succinct, and perfectly suited to driving the story forward. This is storytelling at its best.

Speed is never at the expense of emotion, as "Dawn of Revelation" clearly shows. The track builds beautifully, beginning in quiet sadness before swelling into palpable angst and, ultimately, unrestrained anger. It feels like a breaking point in the narrative, where emotion overflows and the storm that’s been building finally breaks.

While the narration in "Your Bandage" helps to move the story forward, the music itself carries equal weight. About halfway through, the vocals fade and the track becomes almost entirely instrumental, allowing the music to speak on its own. It’s a powerful moment and one that feels reflective and heavy with the emotional aftermath of what’s come before.

There’s a softer, slower feel to "Peru", a reflection on life, memory, and the quiet persistence of resilience, perhaps even hope. It was during this track that I found myself trying to place John Darnielle’s vocals, and then it struck me, he reminds me of Al Stewart, best known for his hit “Year of the Cat.” There’s a gentle warmth to his voice, something soft yet deeply comforting, perfectly suited to the reflective tone of the song.

This reflective mood continues with "Though This Fire", but here you can sense the optimism beginning to fade, like a flame flickering against the wind, moments before it’s extinguished. There’s a tenderness in the delivery that makes it feel both intimate and inevitable, as though the light is dimming not in defeat, but in quiet acceptance.

Maybe I’m misinterpreting "Rocks in My Pockets", but it feels as though the narrator is contemplating an end on their own terms, swimming out to sea, the weight of the rocks ensuring their fate. It’s a deeply sad sentiment, yet the music remains hauntingly beautiful, creating a poignant contrast between despair and grace.

There’s no hiding the sheer sorrow in "Armies of the Lord", yet this remains storytelling above all, rather than sentiment piled on. That doesn’t mean the listener can’t empathize and feel the pain of the characters, in fact, it makes it all the more affecting, allowing the story to unfold with clarity and emotional weight.

Even more tragedy arrives in "Your Glow", yet it is conveyed with stunning beauty. The music and lyrics are in perfect harmony, each note and word underscoring the emotional weight of the story. And then, just like that, he is left completely alone.

That comparison to Al Stewart comes even more to the fore in "The Lady from Shanghai 2". There’s even a hint of what I think is an oboe, adding a curious, almost whimsical layer. It’s an unusual tune, but it brings a welcome texture to the album without ever distracting from the overarching story and sound.

The album closes with "Broken to Begin With", and it’s clear that there are no happy endings, a sobering reflection on what future listeners might make of it all. That said, my pedantic side can’t help but wonder: if he didn’t make it, how can he narrate the album? Still, that quibble can easily be set aside in the face of the story’s power and emotional resonance.

It’s not often that words fail me, but they did for several days after listening. I think I needed time to let it sink in and to truly cogitate on what I’d heard. In the end, the best way I can sum up this album is: absolutely stunning. Whether you approach it as a pure listening experience or as a deeply personal story, it simply works, and works exceptionally well.