The Gravedigger's Song: RIP Mark Lanegan
It was the summer of 2011, I was just coming out of nearly seven years of a nervous breakdown coupled with a drug problem that included an intentional Xanax overdose. I was a few weeks removed from all of that and was emotionally in a haze, like I was constantly on the verge of waking up from an awful dream. I had ended up in Philadelphia on one of the hottest days of the year and wandered into Repo Records where I found a copy of Mark Lanegan’s Bubblegum on CD for a few bucks. This was the moment that Lanegan saved a stranger’s life. I spent that summer looking for a new lease on life, a fresh start. Bubblegum became the first step, the soundtrack that helped me find my center and regain my grip on existence.
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This wasn’t my first exposure to Lanegan, far from it. Decades earlier, I came across the Singles soundtrack, which found me at a pivotal time in my musical foundation. I understand that a lot of musicians my age like to talk about their entryway into music was Slayer or Venom but the bricks that built my house were entirely made from grunge, with the Singles soundtrack being a gateway to many unknowns, including the Lanegan-fronted Screaming Trees. From that I picked up Sweet Oblivion, but at the time my attention span was dogshit, so it was another decade or so before I gave it the attention it deserved.
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Lanegan came back onto my radar at another transformative time in my life. In 2002 I had what I consider to be an enormous spiritual awakening. Not in the religious sense, but in the sense that I opened myself up to a multitude of music outside of the genre that I was working in. Conveniently this was the year Queens of the Stone Age released one of the most perfect records in the history of rock music, Songs for the Deaf. Lanegan had played parts in the previous record but his presence was fully known here.
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This album is the very definition of “lightning in a bottle” and would be the last time this lineup worked together in such a capacity. Lanegan would step down from being a fulltime member but would have some contributions to the next few albums. This time period did result in another, lesser spoken about collaboration of all involved: Mondo Generator’s excellent A Drug Problem That Never Existed, including “Four Corners” with Lanegan at the helm. This record didn’t cross my path until a few weeks after I picked up “Bubblegum” and has probably been overlooked for far too long.
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Lanegan’s solo records (beginning with 1990’s The Winding Sheet) have the gravity of songsmiths that came before him like Cohen, Cash, Reed, etc., but tend to convey a greater sense of loneliness and sorrow. There’s just something in his voice that feels tangible, something you can cling to while you’re drowning. Something comfortable not only to die to but to live with as well.
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The year 2011 came to a close. Lanegan had somehow helped lead me out of the darkness that my life had become. It seemed only fitting that the next year I would be able to take on a new journey accompanied by a new record, Blues Funeral. This record, to me, is his magnum opus. Melding his bluesy Americana with a stronger emphasis on electronica, there hasn’t been a day in my life where, if this record came on, I would turn it off. Years later I would describe it to friends as a “desert island record.”
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I had the chance to see him live during this tour. Not only was his set composed of everything I would have put on a mixtape but also a few of the later Screaming Trees songs that had just come out from their unreleased final sessions. It was one of the few times that I truly felt live music transcended just the idea of being a concert into a more abstract experience, a religious one if you will. After the show he held a meet and greet so I had the chance to say something quick to him which turned out to be one of the most awkward yet truthful things I’ve ever told another person: I thanked him for saving my life. He looked at me a little befuddled, probably thinking I was an asshole. I’m used to that. But it was important to tell him.
For the next decade he continued his prolific run with multiple solo and collaborative records. One of the pieces I was scheduling for my Noise Pollution column here was going to be based around records with appearances by Mark Lanegan since he would turn up unexpectedly, like his 2014 appearance on Earth’s excellent Primitive and Deadly record.
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Lanegan’s lengthy battles with his demons are well documented (especially in his memoir Sing Backwards and Weep) as was his battle with Covid-19 (Devil in a Coma) and while they’re interesting postscripts, I don’t want to think that this is what defined him, rather they’re just stories in a long line of stories about a man who lived many lives and the only interesting person who’s told them is the man himself.
Mark Lanegan was 57 years old when he died in his newly adopted home of Ireland. I didn’t know the man, though I wish I had, and it’s a weird thing to feel a stranger’s death. I was bummed out when Lemmy died, when Lou Reed died, when anyone who contributed something to my life’s experiences dies, but there is a sadness here that sits in the back of my throat, that I’ve lost something that helped guide me along the way, for a long time. I also feel gratitude that I got to experience his music and what it meant (and still means) to me and many far more interesting people than myself. 57 is too fucking young, but the body of work he’s left us with is more than most could construct in a hundred lifetimes. So rest well, Mark. And thank you.
I’ve left what might be my favorite thing he’s been a part of for last, his collaboration with Moby titled “The Lonely Night.” Opinions on Moby notwithstanding, this is a beautiful song (the accompanying video is also one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen) and it feels like a perfect eulogy for him.
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A suicide attempt was discussed in this article. If you are feeling negative, intrusive, or suicidal thoughts, please do not hesitate to contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
