•
Rating:
I lost months. Perhaps because, just like Mark, I didn't have enough time to write a personal and at least respectful review of this man's work.
This is a book that kept me company; the kind of comforting company that only darkness can grant you.
Having enough time, not by chance. Fortunately, you had it.
Ever heard of a homeless rockstar?
Mark Lanegan pulls back the curtains without much introduction, then introduces the reader to his stories in the most coherent way possible.
He is not a character, and he doesn't degrade into a parody in the opinion of the writer. Despite almost all of the 43 chapters discussing heroin, death, and loss, he even manages to make you smirk.
I'll get to the point; there is no trace of self-pity, only disarming sincerity. You expect from someone as raw and experienced as him
to omit embarrassing details and to emphasize the deeds of a cursed rockstar: negative, the exact opposite happens. You perceive in his descriptions a sense of inadequacy and defeat. For example, his sexual adventures are easily associated with disturbing moments.
This increases respect for the author; if you decide to publish a writing about your turbulent life, bare your soul or get the hell out.
Lanegan narrates disasters on the edge of irony, slow and sharp goodbyes, precious friends, and idols losing their sanity.
The terrible relationships with his mother and the guilt for those he screwed over and those he abandoned because he was too busy self-destructing.
A concept that has been on my mind for a while and that I curiously found within these pages made me think a lot: will escaping your oppressive reality
make you feel relieved? will you reach your balance, or will the pain find other ways?
I believe that Mark (perhaps unconsciously) highlighted in his personal account a sense of respect and gratitude towards
his own self. That self you can't change but must accept; that no one can expect you to achieve peace that doesn't exist, and be quiet.
Poverty mixes with the relationships the singer fails to maintain. The disgust for part of the Screaming Trees catalog (that is, for those songs the songwriter doesn't consider valid and genuine) and the financial disappointments like the band's only famous single, Nearly Lost You.
Sometimes you feel butterflies in your stomach for moments only to encounter bereavement. I prefer not to include spoilers and names but only the emotions you might crash into.
From his native Ellensburg to the alleys of cities visited during tours, with smashed dreams and cold in his bones.
Loading comments slowly
