Remembering Mark Sandman
On this day in 1999, the music world lost a unique talent when 47-year old Mark Sandman died after suffering a heart attack on stage with his band, Morphine, in Italy.
I am on a one-man crusade to rescue the word “unique,” and today’s story is one reason why. The word is overused and misused. The actual quality of being unique is quite rare, and Morphine is one of a small number of artists deserving of the title.
The Sandman persona — as expressed in so many of these songs — was something I identified with and aspired to. He often sounded down on his luck and inches from his breaking point, but never fully despairing. His voice inhabited a hip cast of cool losers. I always felt the loser part and took refuge in the idea I could still have a little swagger.
Bob Dylan took the standard conventions of folk, blues, and later rock and used them to deliver his brilliance. The Beatles were influenced by Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry and later by a rivalry with Brian Wilson, The Stones by Berry and the roster of talents from Chess Records. Each of these iconinc geniuses took something that was there before and used it as a leaping off point. Mark Sandman created a sound that didn’t exist before and ceased to exist the moment he left us. It might be hyperbole — not to mention sacrilege to some — to suggest Sandman belongs in such lofty company, but he did something special and it deserves to be remembered and celebrated.
I wrote about Morphine in the early days of the site and a number of fellow enthusiasts joined in the discussion. One of them joins me for the discussion now.
From Mark Saleski:
A heart attack?! A fuckin’ heart attack?!!! This can’t be.
Those were my first thoughts when learning of the death of Mark Sandman. At first glance, a reaction no different than any other…but it was more than that. When a musician has something special, something that feels like it changed the world (even a tiny little bit), they are (in my musically twisted mind) locked into existence forever. They can never go away. In truth, if their footprint is big enough, that sentiment is sort of true.
My favorite Morphine song is “Claire” from Good. I first heard it on an NPR segment about the band and thought, “My god, I’ve never heard anything like this before.”
As we take time to remember Mark Sandman, here’s a playlist of some of Morphine’s best work. There are other great songs, but you could do worse than to start with a few of these:
Have A Lucky Day Good
You Look Like Rain Good
Do Not Go Quietly Unto Your Grave Good
I Know You, Part II Good
Claire Good ** Saleski’s choice
Buena Cure for Pain
Cure for Pain Cure for Pain
In Spite Of Me Cure for Pain
Let’s Take A Trip Together Cure for Pain
I Had My Chance Yes
Whisper Yes
Super Sex Yes
I Know You, Part III Like Swimming
The Night The Night
Souvenir The Night
Filed under: Tags: Morphine, Musical Musings and Random Ramblings
My apologies for missing this, Josh… I didn’t see it until now. S. Rod and I have been in the thralls of moving and unpacking and all that fun stuff.
My two cents is that Morphine was truly a unique sound— one that may not have been as pop friendly as most holders of the ‘unique championship belt’, but all the same perfect for a certain mood or mindset.
While I can go through most of their catalog without skipping a tune (their playlist in iTunes is titled “Shot of Morphine”), my favorite will always be “Buena”. If that bass line could play infinitely in my head, I would be the most productive man ever. I always imagine that if “Buena” had a video, it would be like the Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” where the lead singer is unapologetically bumping people on the sidewalk, but in the “Buena” version, he’d hit them so hard, no one would get up in his wake. Kick ass.