Mark Lanegan
I'll Take Care Of You

THE REVIEW

Certain albums you listen to at the wrong moment. Or at the right moment. I don't even know what I was looking for, but this album gave it to me, and it refuses to leave my stereo. I want punches in the face but also caresses and someone's head resting on my shoulders. Mark Lanegan can do all that, Mark Lanegan is not a newcomer. I am, however, and I got lost in the haunting and beautiful music of this album. For me, he could even sing the phone book, and I would still appreciate it. Don't hold it against me; I am biased. That warm, deep, and hoarse tone that reeks of alcohol and cigarettes. An overused image but damnably effective to describe this cursed singer, this "veteran of life". Simple love songs, that's all. I let myself get carried away when the music starts, lying on the bed with red and swollen eyes from tears. I don't want to hear anything else; everyone be quiet. Here, the present and the past coexist filtered through Lanegan's uniquely personal lens. An ever-declared and never-dying passion for a certain American folk-blues tradition. An album entirely of covers is a gamble for anyone, but when you're dealing with people of this caliber, you can be sure you won't be betrayed. Mark gets help not from just anyone (faithful Mick Johnson, Ben Shepherd, Van Conner, Mark Pickerel, Barrett Martin, producer Martin Feveyear among others) but it is always he with his voice who rules the roost, grabs you by the stomach, turns you inside out, makes you cry and makes you rejoice. I want to hear what I need. The opener "Carry Home" (Jeffrey Lee Pierce) is perhaps the pinnacle of the album, a simple plucked acoustic guitar on which Lanegan's haunting vocals rest perfectly. "Shilton Town" (Timothy James Hardin) is a country song where our man brings to mind Neil Young, and the added value is Matt Feveyear's piano and a never intrusive violin, "On Jesus' Program" (Overton Vertis Wright) is a cursed blues, a blow to the heart. "I'll Take Care Of You" (Brook Benton) and "Consider Me" (Eddie Floyd) speak of me, and a mix of tears and "hollows of the stomach" hits me suddenly without me even batting an eyelid. The first with a simply wonderful text, a text that probably every lover would want to write to the person they have fallen head over heels for, the second is soul in its purest form with a prominent and decisive organ. I don't want anything else; I just want to be carried away by these beautiful, terrible notes before the final sting in the tail: "Boogie Boogie" (Tim Rose), electric, dirty, and grimy. Music that must be listened to with the ears, music that is also listened to with other parts of the body, music that touches other sensory and perceptional spheres. I'm tired of feeling good, now I want to feel a little bad for you, now I just want to close my eyes and that's it. Goodnight, my little Ros.