You’d be hard pressed to find another publication as obsessed with the enigmatic head Mountain Goat (and skilled writer, and former Portlander) John Darnielle, as we are. It’s a bit unhealthy, actually. But now we can add another Darnielle accomplishment to the list, guest blogger for Powell’s.

In honor of Darnielle’s contribution to the 33 1/3 book series—a reckless teenage psych ward homage to Black Sabbath’s Master of Reality—he is blogging for everyone’s favorite bookstore, and sharing some great Portland tales as well.

I was eighteen the year I lived in Portland. It was a fertile time for heavy metal, though a lot of what was going on was strictly under the radar: the music press wasn’t reporting much on it except for the obligatory satanic-scare stories, and the cool kids — the ones people like to call “hipsters” now in order to let you know that they know who the hipsters are — could not be bothered with it. Celtic Frost played Satyricon that year, but I wasn’t twenty-one, so I couldn’t get in.

Or, this great tale of tweakers and the almighty Mercyful Fate:

I used to think a lot about Mercyful Fate because of a particularly difficult evening I once had in Portland, which involved speed freaks colonizing my apartment, commenting ominously on the possible hock value of my stereo, and writing poems — swear to God — while seated at my writing desk. The author of the now-all-but-forgotten poem had used a single piece of writing paper, and she’d pressed her ballpoint pen so hard into the paper that the text of the poem was forever impressed into the desk’s wooden surface. The poem completed, she had handed it around the room like a child showing off a drawing; I remember everyone reading it without comment. Lots of things pass without comment in the sort of environment I’m describing. The poem was a description of an imagined Mercyful Fate concert.

It makes for an entertaining read, and while you are at it, be sure to order the book as well.