Armed with that hope, and with the near-certainty that said hope was entirely groundless, the Mountain Goats and a few friends locked themselves in a studio and broke the lock on the cabinet where they kept all the neat equipment. People thought they could hide the drums from us, but our man McGuire can smell drums through two meters of solid concrete. They tried to conceal the piano, but really, what were they thinking? Engineer Scott Solter rigged several Schoeps CMC microphones just above the strings and everybody got properly drunk.What you get after all this is thirteen new songs celebrating such small victories as real squalor has to afford, and championing either the merits of true friendship or of parasitism, depending on who you talk to about it. Anger, meet regret! It’s nice to know you. There are no love songs. The world has waited long enough for a record it can feel good about giving to its speed-freak relatives for Valentine’s Day. Cupid! Draw back your boooow! And let your arrow gooooo! And so forth.