Nonetheless, first I listened Screaming Trees (when I watched Singles, back in 1998... or something like that...?) and, in particular, I heard for the first time this song on which Kurt Cobain sang and played guitar, when I downloaded it from Napster... almost 20 years ago.
I was a teenager, Internet was “on fire” and I was crazy about Nirvana –I still like their music– and, in Napster, the song was suspiciously labeled as “an unknown song of Kurt Cobain”.
What I've written so far, might look like an ordinary thing, but I have a different story: almost three years ago, on a pretty awesome period of my life, I saw Mark Lanegan, face to face, and we shook hands after a show.
His band came to Mexico City. They were touring Gargoyle –Lanegan's tenth solo studio album– and they played at El Plaza Condesa. It was a pretty emotive show. I was about to cry over and over again. In the most Freudian sense of the term, it was a cathartic show for me.
For more than five years, in which I went from being a postgraduate mentally ill student to being a postdoctoral physically ill researcher, I had been listening to his music.
For more than five years, in which I went from being a postgraduate mentally ill student to being a postdoctoral physically ill researcher, I had been listening to his music.
In between, I had a few miserable years.
When I started my postdoctoral research, I was diagnosed with gastroesophageal reflux and I followed various unsuccessful medical treatments. Independently of the terrible suffocating experiences inherent to the disease and independently of the endless awful nauseas provoked by antibiotics, gastroenterologists told me that reflux was eroding my esophagus in such a way that it was very likely that it progressed to a cancerous tumor.
When I started my postdoctoral research, I was diagnosed with gastroesophageal reflux and I followed various unsuccessful medical treatments. Independently of the terrible suffocating experiences inherent to the disease and independently of the endless awful nauseas provoked by antibiotics, gastroenterologists told me that reflux was eroding my esophagus in such a way that it was very likely that it progressed to a cancerous tumor.
On the previous months I got to the operating room, I listened Mark Lanegan's music more than ever. I associated his sad music with my ill mood, but, somehow, music turned my negative emotions into something positive.
From his solo career, Blues Funeral was the first album I heard –I bought it almost immediately it was released by 4AD on February 2012–, then I listened The Winding Sheet –couldn't resist to the bunch of papers I'd read over the years pointing it as a big influence on Nirvana's MTV Unplugged In New York– and then Bubblegum and Gargoyle, and then his collaborations with Queens Of The Stone Age, Duke Garwood and Isobel Campbell's Belle & Sebastian.
From his solo career, Blues Funeral was the first album I heard –I bought it almost immediately it was released by 4AD on February 2012–, then I listened The Winding Sheet –couldn't resist to the bunch of papers I'd read over the years pointing it as a big influence on Nirvana's MTV Unplugged In New York– and then Bubblegum and Gargoyle, and then his collaborations with Queens Of The Stone Age, Duke Garwood and Isobel Campbell's Belle & Sebastian.
As I write these words, I have heard all his albums.
I could try to explain why “Bleed All Over”, “My Shadow Life”, “Emperor”, “St Louis Elegy”, “Deepest Shade”, “When Your Number Isn't Up”, “One Hundred Years”, “Bombed”, “Wild Flowers”, “Juarez”... gave me the chills, but I won't.
Words aren't enough.
Words aren't enough.
I respect him as an artist. He truly seems one of the very few artists with enough guts to quit “the Seattle Sound” of the nineties. (I know: Screaming Trees were from Ellensburg, but I guess you get my point.)
At a more personal level, his lyrics were a powerful inspiration on my worst days. They made me think of my disease and they made me realize that my disease was not the worst disease in the world. It was funny, 'cause I really didn't feel OK. My life sucked.
Sometimes I was so tired of not even being able to eat regular food or drink something other than plain water. Sometimes I hated my life. I felt nauseated all day long. I was endlessly clearing my throat. I ate without hunger just a very few selected meals. Eating was so monotonous that I lost a few pounds.
Sometimes I was so tired of not even being able to eat regular food or drink something other than plain water. Sometimes I hated my life. I felt nauseated all day long. I was endlessly clearing my throat. I ate without hunger just a very few selected meals. Eating was so monotonous that I lost a few pounds.
Day after day, I woke up sick, hopeless and nauseated. I couldn't even tolerate regular smells. They made me threw up. I had to take everywhere my own bag of emergency in case I threw up. I couldn't even read a single paper for 30 consecutive minutes.
By September 2018, I was finally feeling like a normal guy. Three to four months after surgery, I'd re-started to eat regular food and I could even drink a beer or orange juice.
Obviously, I was so happy. Besides I was feeling OK and I was so excited by the show at El Plaza Condesa, one day before the show, my then most recent research paper was accepted for publication.
That paper was the result of my last three devious postdoctoral years and it meant a lot to me. Although I had written all my previous papers in which I was first author –of course they were supervised by my PhD advisor–, it was, officially, my first paper as a corresponding author.
A few minutes before the show, at the stand of Mark Lanegan's official merchandise, I would have loved to buy Phantom Radio or I Am The Wolf, but I was so broke. Instead I bought a lithography. It's strange how sometimes you don't have money when you really need it.
At the end of the show, Mark Lanegan came out of stage to sign some things.
I was the first in the line. I was the first in the audience to shake hands with him. He was so polite and he signed the lithography I'd bought and my copy of Uncle Anesthesia (one of the most popular albums of Screaming Trees, which was produced by Chris Cornell).
That paper was the result of my last three devious postdoctoral years and it meant a lot to me. Although I had written all my previous papers in which I was first author –of course they were supervised by my PhD advisor–, it was, officially, my first paper as a corresponding author.
A few minutes before the show, at the stand of Mark Lanegan's official merchandise, I would have loved to buy Phantom Radio or I Am The Wolf, but I was so broke. Instead I bought a lithography. It's strange how sometimes you don't have money when you really need it.
At the end of the show, Mark Lanegan came out of stage to sign some things.
I was the first in the line. I was the first in the audience to shake hands with him. He was so polite and he signed the lithography I'd bought and my copy of Uncle Anesthesia (one of the most popular albums of Screaming Trees, which was produced by Chris Cornell).
I would have liked to tell him a few things about the way his music had changed my perspective on life, when I was so sick, but I didn't want to bother him. Neither I wanted to act like a moron. I just told him: “It was a great show”. And I really meant it.
Under the dim lights of the forum, I saw Mark's smiling.
For a moment, I looked at his red hair and then into his eyes –he wore thick glasses– and I tried to guess how many times did he had heard the very same words from another silly fans around the world and I felt so stupid.
Then I gave him my hand and he politely gave me his. We shook hands.
I walked away feeling numb.
My copy of Sing Backwards And Weep –Mark Lanegan's memoir– arrived a couple of days ago. As I started to read it, I checked my twitter time line and the first thing I found was a tweet on which Mark Lanegan quoted a passage I had just read on his book.
He said that the Sex Pistols changed his life.
Then I stopped reading and started to write this post. Hope someday he'll read a few lines of how his music saved my (miserable) life.
For a moment, I looked at his red hair and then into his eyes –he wore thick glasses– and I tried to guess how many times did he had heard the very same words from another silly fans around the world and I felt so stupid.
Then I gave him my hand and he politely gave me his. We shook hands.
I walked away feeling numb.
My copy of Sing Backwards And Weep –Mark Lanegan's memoir– arrived a couple of days ago. As I started to read it, I checked my twitter time line and the first thing I found was a tweet on which Mark Lanegan quoted a passage I had just read on his book.
He said that the Sex Pistols changed his life.
Then I stopped reading and started to write this post. Hope someday he'll read a few lines of how his music saved my (miserable) life.
