The Ship Comes In Every Day
“Beneath the Veil lay right and wrong, vengeance and love, and sometimes throwing aside the veil, a soul of sweet Beauty and Truth stood revealed.” -W. E. B. Du Bois
There have been so many memories flooding through me since I heard about Mark Lanegan’s passing yesterday. Yes, Mark and I knew each other…through a mutual friend we would bump into each other over the years…dine with each other…send records to each other. The fact that we were on friendly terms, though, is not what I remember about Mark Lanegan because throughout it all, he was a mystery to me. But what was no mystery was his incredible voice, beautiful songwriting skills and the fuzzy, dark musical vehicle he always pulled up in, on every record…on every stage he performed on.
I have been thinking about the first time I heard that voice, when KUSF’s music director Tim Ziegler played me The Screaming Trees’ album Invisible Lantern, the day it was delivered to the station. It was that day that The Screaming Trees became one of my favorite bands: it was pretty much instantaneous…as soon as the first track came on…this heavy psychedelic sound that would later be called “grunge” with a lead singer who cut through the noise with this deep, husky iconic voice, the stuff of rock n roll legend. People often compared Lanegan’s voice to Jim Morrison’s…and in regards to its depth, range and power, it is not too far off.
Through his stint with ‘The Trees to his solo career to his many collaborations (the most well-known being with Queens of The Stone Age…but my favorite was when he was one half of The Gutter Twins with Greg Dulli1)…Lanegan’s voice somehow got more clear and more powerful…he further refined the ownership he had over the songs that he sang, the hard life he led a useful asset in painting the Charles Dickens darkness of the lyrics.
When Bill Bently and I put together the More Oar compilation in the late 90s—a tribute to Skip Spence—Lanegan blew our minds with his rendition of Cripple Creek: he was the devilish bard who happened upon our campfire with a story to tell…a story that could put warm, compelling fear into a starry evening. If Oscars were awarded to singers who play a part in a song, his down-on-his-luck protagonist to Dulli’s devil in Number Nine, the penultimate track on the Twilight Singers’ Blackberry Belle, would certainly garner him a statuette.
Goddman. Lanegan was such an incredible artist…one I have followed for so long that his art has become part of my story, as great art tends to do. It is so sad that he is gone so early.
I put a mix together as I was thinking about him yesterday. This is in no way a comprehensive mix (in fact, it is missing some of his most famous numbers): he was a prolific artist who wore many incredible characters during the course of his career…but these are the songs that have become part of my tapestry as the years have gone by….
My friend Noam Dromi sent me this piece as he and his Mom arrived in Palm Springs to hear Anne speak. As a Rod Sterling fan, this is a killer look at his life as only a daughter could deliver.
The man helping Mill Valley’s Sweetwater launch new era as a venue with music for all ages
Local Bay Area news: “I want to be loyal to the legacy of Sweetwater and have artists who have performed there in the past and have done well there to be a part of things,” Porter says. “But older people don’t go out as much anymore, so we have to have something for younger folks as well. We will never stop trying to get folks to come to Sweetwater for the first time as well as having shows for people who have been there 100 times.”
Texas Chainsaw Massacre review – it’s Leatherface vs gentrifiers in nasty sequel
It is pretty exciting to know that there is some new Texas Chainsaw in my future…every review, even the rotten ones, are adding to the anticipation of the bloodbath that is coming.
Alice Coltrane :: Unearthed 16mm Documentary
“Culled from a 1970 documentary created for a segment of the Black Journal television program, this unearthed 16mm color film finds Alice Coltrane between the albums Huntington Ashram Monastery, and Ptah, the El Daoud. Captured three years after the death of John Coltrane, the piece begins…outside the Long Island, NY home the artist shared with her late husband and children. In a floating voiceover, Coltrane reflects on matters of the spiritual and beyond, as we catch a glimpse of the family’s domestic life on the property.”
Savannah Book Festival Editorial at Flannery O'Connor Childhood Home
WARNING: this is a very strange piece where someone thought it a good idea to bring a bizarre take on a fashion shoot to the house that Flannery O’Conner grew up in. Really bizarre. I guess people will do just about anything to get book readership up….
'Tatooine-like' planet spotted from Earth points to future discoveries
“A ground-based telescope's detection of a known Tatooine-like planet could herald new discoveries of similar planets, researchers say. Observers spotted Kepler-16b — an exoplanet that orbits two stars, similar to a world portrayed in the original series of "Star Wars" — using a relatively modest 75-inch (193-centimeter) telescope.”
La Belle Dame Sans Merci
By: John Keats
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
Alone and palely loitering;
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lilly on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
I met a lady in the meads
Full beautiful, a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.
She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew;
And sure in language strange she said,
I love thee true.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she gazed and sighed deep,
And there I shut her wild sad eyes—
So kissed to sleep.
And there we slumbered on the moss,
And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill side.
I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried—"La belle Dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke, and found me here
On the cold hill side.
And this is why I sojourn here
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.
Greg and his band The Afghan Whigs, had a big press release go out a few hours prior to the announcement of Lanegan’s death. We will look into it on the next Signal, where we can give a proper focus.