Take it from French philosopher Roland Barthes, who summarized the appeal of professional wrestling thusly in his landmark essay collection, Mythologies*.* "What wrestling is above all meant to portray is a purely moral concept: that of justice," he wrote. Elemental forces faced off in the form of nearly naked men and women hustling and tussling with each other in the squared circle. There was a good guy and a bad guy, and you cheered for one of them.

Since Barthes’ time, professional wrestling has developed in more complex—and some purists would say less satisfying—ways. But John Darnielle, leader of the Mountain Goats, grew up with the old wrestling. "These were comic-book heroes who existed in physical space," he writes of his formative fandom in the promotional copy for Beat the Champ, the band’s new album. "I was a child. I needed them, and, every week, they came through for me." Darnielle rooted for the heroes. His stepfather, who he’s memorialized as a troublesome if not frequently terrifying presence in many Mountain Goats songs, rooted for the villains.

Beat the Champ is not about Darnielle’s relationship with his stepfather. Instead, it’s about those men and women who were the wrestlers of his childhood, and what they went through while bringing him and children like him their weekly entertainment. These wrestlers don’t make appearances on "Today". Like the hero of "Southwestern Territory", they suffer long drives between sleepy towns for the promise of a few bucks and a patchy broadcast on black-and-white TV. Darnielle crawls inside their heads, his voice switching between his recognizably nasal drill and a tender lower register as he chronicles their camaraderie and willingness to hurl their bodies into each other.

The Mountain Goats have been a proper band for more than a decade, and Darnielle is once again backed by the sturdy rhythm section of Peter Hughes and Jon Wurster, who push him forward without getting in his way. The horns from 2012’s Transcendental Youth return on "Foreign Object", in which Darnielle acts out a promo—those speeches where wrestlers shout threats and taunts at each other—by vowing that he "personally will stab you in the eye" with an improvised shiv made from tape.

The rest of the record isn’t as brassy as "Foreign Object", an obvious crowd-pleaser, but it’s occasionally as bold. Darnielle’s exhortations on "Choked Out" channel the bloodlust of a wrestler ready to risk it all for fame. The down-tuned, menacing "Werewolf Gimmick" echoes "Psalms 40:2" from 2009’s The Life of the World to Come as it eulogizes those "nameless bodies in unremembered rooms," the arrangement rumbling like a car coming apart at the screws. "Stabbed to Death Outside San Juan", which loosely tells the story of real-life wrestler Bruiser Brody (who, yes, was stabbed to death outside San Juan) unfolds like a radio play, as Darnielle’s speak-song delivery is intermittently interrupted by a tremendous crash of strings and organs.

These songs describe the psychological states of the wrestlers ("I try to remember what life was like long ago/ But it’s gone, you know?", from "Southwestern Territory") but they also find ways to fit into the mythology of Darnielle’s life. That tyrannical stepfather does pop up on lead single "The Legend of Chavo Guerrero", which narrates the title character's life from Darnielle's young eyes. The case for Chavo as Darnielle’s personal hero is as earnest as it is heart-tugging, and it explains why he made this record: "You let me down, but Chavo never once did/ You called him names to try to get beneath my skin/ Now your ashes are scattered on the wind."

One of Darnielle’s premier talents as a musician is his ability to cast personal mantras as singalong anthems. At his best, his songs feel as essential as water. Mountain Goats fans will testify to the healing powers of standing arm-to-arm with hundreds of people while shouting "I am going to make it through this year if it kills me." Beat the Champ, however, eschews universality by coming from such a specific point of view. You don't necessarily need to know what a heel turn is in order to connect with "Heel Turn 2", but it doesn't hurt.

There’s a noble simplicity to these songs, though, reflecting Darnielle’s warm memories of his wrestling fandom. The respect he has for these men and women, and what they must have been through, is obvious. On "Unmasked!", a wrestler sings to his costumed opponent, whom he's about to defeat and subsequently unmask before the world. For wrestlers who choose to perform with a mask, hiding their real face is everything. To reveal it is an incredibly serious act. But the pressure of maintaining this illusion for the dwindling crowds has gotten to this anonymous masked man, who is ready to move on. "By way of honoring the things we once both held dear, I will reveal you," his opponent sings. When you’re a kid, what’s happening on TV isn’t very complicated. Then, you grow up and learn the truth.