So goes Mark Lanegan

Three decades after I first heard Mark Lanegan belt out the Screaming Trees’ Nearly Lost You, I think of him as one of rock music’s most intriguing collaborators. 

Lanegan’s death on February 22 at age 57 came as a shock. He had gone through a severe case of COVID-19 and cleaned up after years of addiction. 

Most obituaries and tributes will mention the Screaming Trees endlessly, even if Lanegan’s solo work was far more eclectic (Of course, Sweet Oblivion and Dust are among the best albums from the early 90’s Seattle scene). 

To call Lanegan prolific feels like faint praise – rarely did a few months pass after a new Lanegan project before another rose on the horizon. He could spruce up another artist’s song by tackling an unexpected verse. 

Look at Lanegan over the decades. He recorded Leadbelly songs with Kurt Cobain and Krist Novoselic years before Nirvana played MTV Unplugged. He  played a key vocal role on Songs for the Deaf, Queens of the Stone Age’s best album, and popped up on their subsequent records. He recorded three records with former Belle & Sebastian cellist/singer Isobel Campbell, an album with Afghan Whigs’ Greg Dulli as the Gutter Twins, and dropped guest vocals on any number of records, with many of those artists repaying the favor on Lanegan's records.

He could also bring attention a lesser-known but talented artists like British multi-instrumentalist Duke Garwood, with whom he recorded two memorable, atmospheric albums.

His albums with Isobel Campbell kicked off my Lanegan fandom. On the surface, they seemed to share little, but they harmonized so well. The mix of sweet and sandpapery vocals never sounded more compatible. He needed those albums to help rebuild his reputation. 

From Leadbelly to John Cale, Lanegan could make a cover song his own. I always come back to Man in the Long Black Coat, a little-known 1980s Bob Dylan tune that Lanegan tackled for the I’m Not There soundtrack. He lends the James Bond theme You Only Live Twice a world-weary tone that Nancy Sinatra could not. 

Lanegan always revisited to his dark themes but never failed to surprise. In the 2010s, you could finally dance to Lanegan's songs, as he began incorporating synths into his music, spawning some of my personal favorites, like Harborview Hospital, Ode to Sad Disco, Floor of the Ocean and Night Flight to Kabul. Old Swan from Gargoyle is a surprisingly upbeat finale, despite the usual Lanegan vocals like “though my soul is not worth saving.” 

I still have spent little time with Straight Songs of Sorrow, a companion album to his 2020 memoir, Sing Backwards and Weep. Those songs were as autobiographical as Lanegan got, so I have more to explore. 

At one time, I might have noted that Lanegan’s output felt excessive. He could turn out three albums a year. Fandom could turn exhausting. 

With the spigot of new music turned off permanently, I feel a little grateful that Lanegan turned out so many records in what time he had.