You know how we all have that one band? I hate to sound cheesy here, but I'm gonna do it because I think you know what I'm talking about. That one band for which you'd drop hundreds of dollars for tickets and drive halfway across the country to see. Not only because you like their music, but because their music is your music, an integral part of who you are, something that shaped you as much as any parent or friend or significant other. Something you hold close when life gets hard, when old wounds reopen, etc.

I had the privilege of seeing my band, The Mountain Goats, at First Avenue on November 18, 2017.

It's worth noting that I cried exactly five times during the performance--and I only knew half of the songs they played.

This was only the second concert I'd been to in my life, so granted I don't have much to compare it to, but this band was impeccable live. I've seen recordings of other musicians live that sound like completely different people when they get out of the studio--not these guys. It was like I was listening to a rawer, more meaningful version of their recordings.

They didn't try to hide behind flashy showmanship; the focus of this First Avenue concert was their sound. If you go to a Mountain Goats concert, you're not there for the glitz and glamour of showbiz, you're there for the musicianship. You're there to listen, not to watch.

Harmonies, especially in the backup-vocals, were notable throughout the performance. That night, the entire band pulled its own weight. Not one member carried the music nor faded into the background. This four-person ensemble functioned exactly as an orchestra does; each member knew he was working with his bandmates to produce a sound larger than any one of them could alone.

It was almost as if each member donated himself to the band, to the larger story being told through their music. The effect was that the audience called them back for multiple encores.

This particular concert was not flawless. As a musician myself, I can tell you that perfect performances don't exist; you'll always botch some note or another, no matter how long you've worked on the piece. But, I suppose the fact that I can't find anything to talk about regarding their mistakes is a testament to the fact that your audience hears about 0.1% of your mess-ups. Plus, if you're just having a blast jumping around barefoot like lead singer John Darnielle was, nobody really cares.

Maybe you're not there for just the musicianship as I said earlier. Maybe you're there for "the experience." I think this holds true for all performers.

On a more holistic level, what I appreciate about The Mountain Goats is their ability to connect with each listener in an individualistic way. I mentioned earlier that I cried five times during the concert; this wasn't just getting misty-eyed, this was straight-up bawling, all thanks to the strong connection I felt with the band.

A City Pages article nicely explains the band's unique talent: "Going to a Mountain Goats show is like watching a telepath hold court… Darnielle sings to each person as if he understands every trauma they’ve ever known."

I struggle to capture this 'connection' phenomenon in my own words because it is really something you have to experience for yourself. It means something different for every fan. Below, I've linked all five of the songs that had me crying--I remember them clearly. Make of them what you will.

I'm not here to do PR—nobody is paying me to write this. I'm just here to talk about music that means a hell of a lot to me; maybe it will speak to you, too.

1) You or your Memory

2) This Year

3) Up the Wolves

4) Andrew Eldritch is Moving Back to Leeds

5) No Children