A considerate fan on the Book of Face copied and pasted the article, I shall copy and paste it here as my one act of niceness today
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Mark Lanegan has the deep growling voice and intimidating presence of a pirate. And he's a man who's been known to hide his treasure.
Despite working as a singer, songwriter and musician for 30 years, Lanegan exudes indifference toward any traditional measure of success. He sang in the popular Seattle band Screaming Trees at the height of that region's grungy cultural peak but has charted a circuitous course since, with numerous unexpected collaborations and solo recordings. His dark eyes typically hide behind a scowl, his hands covered in tattoos.
Randall Jamail's persona is more engaging than that of the reclusive Lanegan. After law school, he could have followed his father, famed Houston attorney and billionaire Joe Jamail, into the family business. But the younger Jamail instead started a record label that put out jazz, country and rock recordings. On a sunny day in Houston, his busy eyes are further illuminated by light blue sunglasses that match an expensive wristwatch on his unmarked hands.
Theirs is an unlikely friendship, the knockabout singer and the attorney. Yet both are involved in a new album that is as extraordinary in its release as it is striking in its sound: a rootsy, bluesy, folky rock 'n' roll album about life and death, sin and redemption, and stasis and change. The album sat around unheard for more than a decade until its recent release. Its name? "Houston."
The word "record" used to refer to a musician's doings at a specific time and place. Making a record was an act of documentation. Records became the products as we know them - 10 to 12 songs available for $10 to $12 - though even that definition became antiquated as collections of songs were unbundled into dollar downloads.
"Houston," recorded in 2002, is a record in the oldest sense.
"That's exactly what it is," Lanegan, 51, says. "That's why I called it 'Houston.' That's where we made it. We came there specifically to make these songs. Looking back now, it was a pretty heavy experience. But to me, these songs kind of exist in an unfettered, perfect world. There was no plan for this stuff. … It's a snapshot."
The decade leading up to "Houston" was heavy for Lanegan, too. Numerous people close to him punched out early, starting with close friend Kurt Cobain, who appeared on Lanegan's first solo record. John Baker Saunders, bassist for Mad Season, with whom Lanegan sang, overdosed and died in 1999. And in 2002, Layne Staley, singer for Alice in Chains and Mad Season, was found dead from a heroin overdose.
Lanegan has never tried to hide his own addictions and indulgences, which got him arrested for the first time as a teen growing up in Ellensburg, Wash., and multiple times in the '90s, including on a crack-possession charge. He is no stranger to rehab, though he's been sober for years now.
But in 2002, shortly after Staley's death, Lanegan wasn't in the best shape.
The songs on "Houston" are informed by weariness - "I'm on my own, and I'm tired," he sings - and by imagery out of an old Western: equal parts death and the Bible.
Every once in a while, though, a song is flecked with a bit of hope to leaven the darkness.
"These are the halcyon days," Lanegan sings. "I'll do my suffering tomorrow."
Sit down, shut up
Jamail started Justice Records initially to release jazz recordings, though in the '90s, he was putting out roots rock and country albums by legends such as Willie Nelson and Ray Price and rising artists such as Jesse Dayton.
Now 58, he attributes his widespread musical interests to his arrival in Austin in the '70s, where he fell in with club owner Clifford Antone and musician Doug Sahm.
"They told me to sit down, shut up and pay attention," Jamail says. "To pay attention to the guys who were playing, like Albert King and Bobby Bland. It was a valuable teaching experience. You learn to value authenticity watching guys like that."
When Texas music legends such as Willie Nelson and Ray Price were in creative ruts, they put out some of their best recordings on his Justice label.
Jamail met Lanegan in Seattle in an alley behind a music venue where Lanegan had the thankless task of opening for Johnny Cash. As Jamail remembers it, the crowd wasn't forgiving.
Jamail was in town to record Cash and some other musicians for an album that would become "Twisted Willie," a rough-edged tribute album to Nelson. Lanegan's recording of "She's Not for You" was rough but also showed a tenderness that hadn't come out often in his work with Screaming Trees.
Jamail remembered that.
In the studio
Lanegan's recorded work during the past three decades is so varied it requires a map to navigate. It includes nine solo recordings; seven albums with the Screaming Trees; three collaborative albums of Americana with singer-songwriter-cellist Isobel Campbell; two recordings with British electro-pop duo SoulSavers; an album and EP with Greg Dulli as the Gutter Twins; some guest vocal spots with various bands; collaborations with Moby, Warpaint; and dozens of other odds and ends.
So when Lanegan told Jamail he wanted to record, Jamail sought to create an artist-friendly environment.
"Even in a demo situation, I like to experiment," Jamail says.
He brought in players he knew from Austin and Houston: keyboardist and accordionist Bukka Allen, guitarist Ian Moore among them, as well as Mickey Raphael, who plays harmonica with Nelson.
"I wanted the songs to be more than skeletons," Jamail says.
Session producers come in all varieties, some hands on, others hands off. Moore - a successful recording artist in his own right, who has worked with Jamail multiple times during the years - said, "for someone who has a reputation among some for meddling, Randall messed with me the least of anybody I've worked with. My methodology has always been really to not think and just be. Anybody who lets that happen is typically better than the alternative."
Moore says the original sketches for the songs on "Houston" didn't make much of an impression.
"I remember thinking they weren't that compelling compared to his voice," he says. "Lanegan has such a strong delivery, such an evocative voice. He's like Nick Cave that way. But the earliest demos didn't have any gravity. So we wanted to come up with an interesting sound. Some sonic backgrounds that were at least as evocative as his voice."
The players delivered. The finished product sounds fully realized. Allen's accordion and Moore's sitar and guitar lend "Houston" a sound that feels both psychedelic and Western. The music is moody and very much suitable for driving a winding road between dusk and dawn. But Lanegan was moving in a different direction at the time, making music with more electronic elements. "Houston" was filed away, though not forgotten. Twelve years passed.
Then, last summer, Jamail was in Argentina with his wife when he got a text from Lanegan. Finally, he was interested in putting out the record.
Leaning in
"Houston" doesn't represent any grand plan of Jamail's to re-enter the music business. Justice Records went quiet in the late '90s and resurfaced in 2007 to put out albums by Moore and Bobbie Nelson, Willie's older sister. Jamail remains interested in local music happenings from afar, admitting "I miss the part of it where you're chasing the next thing, but I don't have that in me anymore."
While he sees how the music industry's revenue is almost completely driven by live performance, he still places value on the recording.
"This is something different - that thing where you lean in to listen to a record," he says. "You don't get that experience from a live show."
For 12 years, Jamail sat on Lanegan's work, a recording that prompts intense leaning in to listen. "I knew I loved it, but it's not mine," he says.
A few of the songs from "Houston" appeared in the small film "Cook County." Some of them were reworked for other albums. Lanegan points out one guitar riff that he's used "on at least three songs."
But the songs on "Houston," Lanegan says, "have their own thing together. This was something special outside all the other stuff I've done. It has its own place. I'm really proud of it, and glad it's out."
His audience - small but ravenous - should be thrilled with the recording. Lanegan didn't make it for those listeners, but he released it for them.
"Honestly, I'm just making music for myself," he says. "The fact that other people can connect to it is really icing on the cake for me."
He lets loose a cigarette laugh.
"I consider myself lucky because I get to do something I enjoy for my job. … So it's great to me when people can connect to any of this music."
Though "Houston" is new, Lanegan is already looking to the next thing.
"As long as Mark is alive he'll have the opportunity to make art and have some sort of audience," Jamail says. "That's what every artist wants."
Taken as a whole, Lanegan's body of work has weight - a treasure that some have begun to uncover now. More may find it after he's dead. Lanegan seems fine with that.