MARK SANDMAN

The date July 3rd has had a strange and awful significance in Rock History; a numerical denotation second only to age 27. It was the age of 27 that claimed the lives of Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, & Brian Jones. It was the last two who died on July 3rd. Well, for me, hugely significant though these great artists were, there is one more who is of even greater personal importance. This July 3rd, tomorrow as I write, marks the 10th anniversary of the death of Mark Sandman. Why we remember death dates and commemorate them more often than we do birthdays as a way of celebrating the memory and lives of the ones we lose is an ironic but not unfamiliar human trait. It is, after all, August 16th that draws thousands to Graceland every year, and not January 8th. So be it.

For those of you who do not know who Mark Sandman was/is, he was probably best known to music fans as the bassist, writer, singer, & visionary of the band Morphine, a most unusual band in construct in that they were a three piece that comprised Dana Colley on sax, Billy Conway on drums, and Mark on two-string slide bass. That’s it. Part of the genius of Morphine was how unaware you could be of this radical configuration when listening to them. The music itself was entirely as accessible and immediate as they were unusual. They created a harmonic melodic structure that was full and rich, while retaining a vibe unlike anything previously heard in Rock music. I predict it will remain as unique forever as it was during their existence. The songs Mark wrote and sang in his smoky noir-ish baritone were as one with the sound. They evoked a feeling and sensibility that called to mind Raymond Chandler, Jack Kerouac, James Ellroy, and adventure in strange foreign lands where street life was hard, dirty, sweaty and beautiful. It could be anywhere, or nowhere. It was a universe that has references like the ones listed above but also existed as much in its own universe as Brian Wilson’s Southern California or Lou Reed’s New York; a compelling and exotic sound that was not without humor or plenty of sex. I loved them. I loved Mark. But, that is just a branch of the fruitful tree that was Mark and his personal and musical life.

I first encountered Mark in the 80’s, on MTV no less, which was playing his then current band Treat Her Right’s video for a down and dirty blues with a sex beat and a sex tale called, “I Think She Likes Me”. Treat Her Right’s configuration was one tiny step more conventional than Morphine. They were David Champagne on guitar & vocals (the ones he wrote), Jimmy Fitting on harmonica (totally amazing) and Billy Conway (the same) on cocktail drum (look it up) and Mark on bass, which he played on a Telecaster with an octave pedal. He sang the ones he wrote, including “I Think She Likes Me”.

It was that year, maybe 87 or 8, that we met up on the same bill – I was playing with the Del-Lords – in Nashville, some joint called The Cannery, I believe. We had just finished soundcheck and they were setting up. I said hi to the band and then went to the shitty little dressing room to wait, and wait (as is the most frequent and time consuming activity a musician usually experiences on the road, sorry if this dispels some glamorous illusions of the road life of a musician for any of you). After a short while, since after all there was not that much to set up for Treat Her Right, they began running through a few songs. Now, I gotta tell you, we, the Del-Lords were pretty full of ourselves, and were used to blowing the opening acts back to the dim mists of faded memory rather quickly, but when we heard them, we got nervous. They were unbelievable. Like, wow!

It al worked out fine, and was a good show for one and all and a good time was had by said one and all. Mark and I began a friendship that day. Through the years, we grew closer and closer. I would see him whenever I was in Boston, his home, well Cambridge actually. He would call me as soon as he got to town on his many trips to NYC. We would hang out, eat, smoke pot, see movies, laugh a lot, talk music, which was especially wild because of how different our tastes could be. He would make me tapes of World Music, I would make him tapes of Garage Nuggets-type stuff, or obscure Beach Boys bootlegs. We would play each other new songs of ours, and he would always say, “Scott, you’re sooo Pop”, a word I had never previously associated with myself. We were like brothers who had just discovered the existence of the other. He was also one of the best-dressed people I’ve ever known. And, I never saw him in sneakers, my everyday footwear. Different but pals, brothers from another mother.

After Treat Her Right ceased to be an everyday concern for him, Mark was became involved in what seemed like an endless series of musical projects. There was still the occasional THR gigs, but there was also The Hypnosonics, a big band with horns that involved him reciting beat poetry over these cool musical backdrops, a hard rock-ish trio called Candy Bar, a duo called The Pale Brothers, and the band he referred to as the one thing he was involved in that he was certain would never make a nickel. The last one was, of course, Morphine. Morphine went on to sell about one million records.

Then one day, on a visit to NY, a day he turned me on to James Ellroy, the great mystery writer, in response to my admitted ignorance about the entire mystery genre in general. He walked across the street to the mystery bookstore (I wish I could recall the store’s name) and bought me a copy of American Tabloid, one of the most amazing books I’ve ever read. He then informed that he and his girlfriend Sabine were going to be moving to NYC. This was big news, and did actually come to fruition in short order. This was the best time of all. I saw him a lot and I remember we went to see Night & Fog, the new Woody Allen movie (a big disappointment, it was). I can’t place the year. We palled around, had a great time for a few months as sorta neighbors, and this and that and the other.

Mark and Sabine did eventually moved back to his loft in Cambridge, with the fifth floor wraparound view, and the recording gear and instruments all set up to record by merely hitting the on-switch. This was where Morphine recorded most of their stuff.

Well, it was on the 4th of July 1999 that my pal, Rich Nesin called me with a sort of urgent and serious tone asking me if I had heard anything about Mark. When I asked him why I almost passed out on the floor. I froze, turned whiter than white, and made a call using a shaky hand, and finally got confirmation of the most horrific kind of news. Mark had had a massive heart attack and died on stage, in front of 25,000 people, two songs into their set in some place called Palestrina, somewhere outside of Rome in Italy, the day before. Dead before he hit the stage.

I was shaken to the core, then as I am now recalling it. The tears came long and hard and seemed to go on for weeks. He was just one year older than me, in perfect health as far as anyone knew. But, you don’t know how many ticks you got, how many times that thing will beat in your chest in your time here on Earth. I learned how important it was to not waste time while we’re here. It changed my life as profoundly as any other single event in my life. I am who I am, where I am, and how I am to a great degree because of the effect Mark Sandman had on me in our tragically brief friendship. But, love and memory, and in Mark’s case hours and hours of brilliant, life affirming and beautiful music that lives, as well. I also have a beautiful pink Agnes B. dress shirt, a t shirt, both of which given to me by Sabine because she wanted me to have them, a few photos taken just hours before he died, and a coffee stain on my rug where Mark had spilled some while dancing to mixes of the last Morphine record, which he had just finished mixing and was playing for me. So, to Sabine, Billy, Dana, David, Jimmy, Deborah and everyone else whose lives he touched, and there are scores and scores of you, I know. And to the sea of people who gathered outside the Middle East in Cambridge when they dedicated the corner to Mark Sandman, I too am thinking of him, and all of you on this sad and eventful July 3rd.

Oh, and Mark’s birthday is September 24th.

hey youse guys --

for some reason, myspace is not allowing me to put up some of the Del-Lords songs from our freshly reissued first three albums for you to check out....somehow, despite American Beat Records' & the band's approval of doing so, i seem to be guilty of copyright infringement....i guess this all falls under the heading of Go Fuckin' Figure....however, you can check them out, including the previously unreleased bonus tracks, on Amazon...below is the link...have fun, and rock, goddammit!!

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_gw_0_7?url=search-alias%3Dpopular&field-keywords=del+lords&sprefix=del+lor

here's some reviews of the del-lords reissues for your reading enjoyment...the reissues are, by the way, available right now, at your local hipster record store, or through, whatchamacallit, oh yeah, Amazon. com

http://www.nwanews.com/adg/Style/261087/

http://www.journalstar.com/articles/2009/05/29/living/gz/music/doc4a1f2afc23404340643360.txt

http://www.blurt-online.com/features/view/356/

Greetings one and all --

i have a special message today that involves a very dear old friend who must find a home for two beautiful kitties. my love for all of our furry friends is immense and unending and these two are very special to me. if there is anyone in the Portland, Oregon area who feels they can give a loving home to the felines, Felix & Oscar, please let me know as soon as possible, and I will pass along the info to you. I am hoping that there is someone there with a big heart and a good home that can help out here. It would surely be a major deposit in the karma bank,  & who among us can say they don't need that. Thanx.

well, hey hey hey (that's what i say!) --

i haven't written anything in a while because basically my world has been turned upside down -- in a good way... a few weeks ago, an old (well, not THAT old) friend waltzed back into my life and nothing is the same. you might know her......her name is Syd Straw......Syd, for those of you who don't know, is a brilliant & original songwriter and one of the most amazing singers in the world......right, THAT Syd Straw....i am not a religious man or a superstitious man but something bigger than all of us was definitely in the air, or in the water, the night that Syd was born....she is a little miracle......my whole life has gotten sidetracked, to say the least.....Syd and I have been writing songs at a feverish clip, singing with each other on each other' songs, and we are now officially a band...we have been trying out some great drummers & bass players to find the perfect combination to complete what is now SECRET ANGEL....Syd was actually the first person to ever record one of my songs, "Listening to Elvis"....so, the next time you see me it will be with the lovely force of nature that is Syd Straw....we're both extremely excited  and inspired and in this for the long haul....so, if we pass through your town on The Long Haul, come on in, get a drink and well, dig!

Dear Friends, Fans, & All Good People & Republicans. too --

While modesty does prevent me from walking around in crowded public places with this review taped to my forehead, my over inflated & under nourished ego compels & commands me to share with you what is essentially the brilliant, considered & correct opinion of one impartial, obviously educated & sophisticated, if not heavily medicated, Rock Critic of high esteem, high regard, or yes, maybe just plain high. No, i do not know this fella! no, he does not owe me money! That said, it reads as follows:

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2008
Standing in the Shadows of Love with Scott Kempner

Truthfully, I've struggled with this review of Scott Kempner's Saving Grace for several months now. Didn't know how to start the review, really, much less figure out how to close it out properly. None of the standard rockcrit clichés seemed to fit when writing about Kempner's first solo album in sixteen years, much less accurately describe an album as thoughtful, personal, romantic, intelligent and, well, so damn infused with the rock & roll spirit as Saving Grace.

Then I heard news of the death of Levi Stubbs, lead singer of the Four Tops. With a voice that spoke directly to God, Stubbs sang some of my favorite Motown hits. I had a copy of the Four Tops Anthology album when I first moved out on my own back in '75 at the age of eighteen, a big blue three-record affair. It was the first disc, sides one and two, that provided a fitting soundtrack to my teenage romantic woes, Stubbs delivering timeless vocal performances on songs like "Bernadette," "Ask The Lonely," "7 Rooms Of Gloom" and the biggest and baddest of them all, "Standing In The Shadows Of Love."


Thinking of the affect that Levi Stubbs and the Four Tops had on my own life and direction as a writer, and an adult, I listened again to Kempner's wonderful Motown tribute, "Shadows Of Love." Beginning with a solitary drumbeat, a twangy, echoed guitar chimes in, leading to Kempner's sad vocals. Describing perfectly the lonesome wakefulness of the wandering lover, Kempner sings "I turn on the radio/Maybe a little rock & roll to save my soul/But push it seems has come to shove/For me and Mr. Levi Stubbs/We're waiting for the heartaches to come/Standing in the shadows, standing in the shadows, standing in the shadows of love…"


Like Stubbs, Kempner is a romantic at heart, a musician and songwriter that believes in the redeeming qualities of rock & roll and the undying power of love. As the song unravels, the singer describes the uncertainty and doubt of the freshly-heartbroken man, turning…much like I did thirty years ago…to the Four Tops for consolation from the anguish and pain of love lost. Musical trends may come and go, but some things reign eternal: the vagaries of love, and greatness of Levi Stubbs are two of them.


Scott Kempner holds a special place in the hearts of those of us that genuflect before the altar of the one true rock & roll. As both the swinging rhythm guitarslinger with cult faves the Dictators and as the primary songwriter and guitarist with roots-rock phenoms the Del-Lords, as well as across a pair of solo albums, Kempner has continued to pursue a creative vision of honest, hard-rocking music combined with smart, populist, working class blues-styled lyrics. Kempner's solo debut, 1992's Tenement Angels, was not a totally unexpected treat, but it doesn't hold a candle to the brightly-burning heartache the artist displays with Saving Grace.


In fact, I'll go out on a limb here and claim, without qualification, that the songs making up the first half of Saving Grace represent the most effective opening one-two-three-four-five punch that has been waxed since Springsteen's Born To Run. Obsessed with love, but damaged by romance, the album is somewhat of an autobiographical diary of Kempner's own recent ups-and-downs in life and love. There are, literally, no bad songs to be found anywhere on Saving Grace, Kempner imbuing his songs with a tragic dignity, mixing up a roots-rock, rockabilly, soul, blues, and folk music soundtrack in the creation of what is, without a doubt, the year's best rock album.


Opening the album, "Beyond The Pale" starts with a Western-styled guitar strum, shimmering like an Arizona desert sunset while Kempner's gentle vocals rise above the crimson hues. As the song's instrumentation swells towards a crescendo, shades of a second, trembling guitar rise above the chimes, with a whimsical accordion adding its voice. The song's message of hope in the face of widespread indifference sets the stage for the rest of Saving Grace, an album populated by starcrossed lovers and dreamers with their eye on the heavens.


"Baby's Room" sounds like it could be a long-lost Del Lords track circa Lovers Who Wander, with a similar musical structure that is part Dion and part Gram Parsons. A dark-hued song with twangy, Duane Eddy-styled guitars and low-register vocal harmonies, Kempner jumps across the surprising bridge with a flashpoint guitar solo and a bit of vocal gymnastics.


The '60s-styled "Love Out Of Time" is a wonderful tale of unrequited love, Kempner's vocals simply gorgeous above a forcefully strummed rhythm guitar and swelling instrumentation. A rich, surf-happy lead guitar kicks in as Kempner's voice grows louder and more passionate, the song finally spent in a wave of pent-up frustration.


The haunting guitarwork that intros "Saving Grace" sets the foundation for the song's brilliantly poetic imagery, Kempner's mournful, pleading vocals asking for just one more chance. It's another mesmerizing moment in an album seemingly punctuated with such, Kempner's passionate vocals-n-guitar weaving a soulful tapestry of emotion.


Kempner quickly changes pace with the raucous "Stolen Kisses," the song's blistering six-string attack and shouted vocals hitting your ears like a cross between the Del-Lords and Jason & the Scorchers, two bands that were kissing cousins chasing the ghosts of Hank Williams in the first place. Behind a choogling rhythm, Kempner lays down his tale of love and betrayal atop a loud-and-proud sandpaper riff, launching into an incendiary solo


The rich instrumental backing of "Between A Memory And A Dream" swamps Kempner's vocals somewhat in the mix, but does little to dampen the fire of his guitar. With solid riffing, '50s-styled doo-wop vocal harmonies, and even a few ringing Christmas bells, the song's wall-of-sound production adds to the intrigue, as you have to listen closely to decipher Kempner's clever and considerate lyrics.


Kempner does an admirable job on the difficult Tommy Womack song "I'll Give You Needles," matching Womack's original with an inspired reading that provides a different perspective on the song's intelligent, dismissive, heart-on-sleeve emotional lyrics.


The tragic, foreboding "Blame Me" opens with a delicate guitar intro and Kempner's deceptively soft vocals before tumbling into a tale of desperation and heartache so damn blue that your soul aches just listening to it all. By mid-song, the guitarist's instrument has become possessed, wailing and crying and screaming like a caged beast, channeling the pain and anger and lovelorn with a slowly-escalating solo that strikes at the heart of the song like a dagger. Kempner's lyrics are sheer dark beauty, but when accompanied by his masterful guitarplay, the result is pure magic.


Released almost four months ago, Saving Grace has all but disappeared from the musical landscape, remaining only in the minds and on the stereos of the diehard fans. Don't let this wonderful album fall into the indignity of obscurity. Buy it. BUY IT NOW! Buy or die, Bunkie, lest the angry gods of rock & roll strike you down with a punishment straight out of your most frightening nightmares…or worse yet, make you listen to another Britney Spears album…it's entirely your choice. (00:02:59 Records)


THAT DEVIL MUSIC
http://www.thatdevilmusic.com/TMQ/2008/10/standing-in-shadows-of-love-with-scott.html


--

as an adendum to my previous rant, I am informed that there are around twenty or so clips from the shows currently making the rounds on YouTube. So, check it out.

Amigos, Amigas, Friends, & Children of all Ages ---

We, The Dictators, have just returned from a four day commando raid of Spain. In four days we played four cities: Barcelona, Alicante, Madrid & Bilbao, which is up in the Basque Country, in that order. The shows were great, we The Dictators had a great time, rocked like King Hell, & dug each other's company the way friends of multiple (in some cases, multiple, multiple & more multiple) decades can.

We (The Dictators) have developed many differences as we've traveled along the Great Highway: in our personal lives, our political beliefs, and the kind of music we have gone on to play in the years since The Dictators stopped being THE front burner priority in our collective lives. But, an intense, unmistakable, unshakable, & impossible to replicate brotherhood has remained, and, as this trip testifies to, grows deeper as the years go by, as friends & family are lost to & reclaimed by the ancient breezes that carry us from this shore to the one yonder, the band has become ever more precious to us. Certainly, to me. I have been fortunate enough to have a second career in the 30 years since the band "officially" broke up, a break up that lasted about a day or two. As involved as i am with my new record, my family, Barack Obama being elected, getting my country back, The New York Yankees; when the bat signal lights the midnight sky, and it is that time once again, i strap on my Strat, & am fully prepared to be Top 10 one more time, do my duty, serve the people, play as intensely and as well as i can, join HD, Ross, Adny & JP, my bruddas from anudda mudda, and do what the hell needs to be done.

I am eternally grateful for this position i find myself in, and to paraphrase the great Joe D. (uh, Joe DiMaggio!!), I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Dictator. I am one lucky fuck.

So,in closing, I want to raise a glass to all of our friends en Espana who made the trip such a highly concentrated & most rockin' one. And, as always, to everyone who's still with us all these years later, to our newest fans & friends: to quote. myself, Blessed are the Faithful.

Keep on Rockin' in the Free World,
Scott

Hear ye Hear ye --

As most of you know, i play rhythm guitar for The Dictators, a rock outfit outta NYC. As a matter of fact, i've been doing so for about oh, 35 years now. It's a really cool gig as it's a fuckin' great band, like no other band ever (that's a guarantee!) unless they stole it from us (and, many have) But, as Dobie Gray sang. "The original is still the greatest!"("THE IN CROWD circa '65).

If you've picked up on the outside chance that i am trying to sell you something, well, i applaud you're perceptive & deductive abilities. But, that ain't gonna stop me. We, the few, the proud, The Dictators are reconvening for just a little bit more Rock'n'Roll mayhem. This news will certainly be of more direct interest to our European fans, and more specifically, our Spanish fans because we are coming to Espana one more time. Yes, Spain, our home away from home. The dates, as they stand (and, stand they shall!), are: October the 1st at APOLO 2 in Barcelona, Octubre the 2nd at NAVE 8 in Alicante, October the 3rd at HEINEKEN in Madrid & finally, Octubre the 4th at KAFE ANTOKIA in Bilbao. So, come one, come all, and, if you come all yhe way from the U.S.A., I will buy you a beer. Or, Ross will buy you a beer. Yes, that's right, Ross the Boss will buy you a beer!!