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Mr. Sparkle

Panhandlers don’t just ask you for money these days; they always have a well-rehearsed shtick, like “I need bus fare,” or “This real diamond doesn’t cost an arm and a leg,” or “I have no arms and legs.” But every once in a while an enterprising street person will take an honest approach, such as, “I need 50 cents because I really want to get drunk.” When these homeless George Washingtons solicit me, they usually end up with whatever loose change I have.

Since 1995, Mark Linkous has been that honest, humble outsider, asking folks to spend $15 or so on the fragile, twisted and strangely beautiful records he makes under the name of Sparklehorse. His latest creation, Dreamt for Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain (Capitol), possesses all the qualities that have been enchanting Sparklehorse fans for a decade and change: slow, lulling tempos, layers of vintage keyboards, bizarre, fairytale imagery and Linkous’ faint, crackling whispers. More often than not, these vocal tracks sound like a faraway radio signal, one that is partly unintelligible yet totally engrossing.

In an interview with AV, Linkous showed he’s the kind of guy who would admit he needs money for booze and drugs—for a critically acclaimed rock singer and songwriter, his utter lack of ego is as refreshing as it is depressing. Here’s how he explains his penchant to distort his voice in interesting ways: “Well, I hate the sound of my own voice,” the artist admits, with nary a hint of sarcasm. “I found early on that it fit into songs better if I sang through a guitar distortion box or an amp or through a toilet paper tube. If I manipulated the sound of my own voice, I wasn’t so embarrassed of it, and it just set better into a song.

“Voices are like any other instrument,” Linkous continues. “Some are creaky, and some are distorted, and some are shiny and new sounding. The element of my voice, pure and clear, just didn’t sit well aesthetically. I guess that’s why I started manipulating it just like any other instrument. I kind of like that my voice sounds like a documentary, somehow, when it’s recorded like that. It’s like an interrupted transmission between two satellites.”

This “voice as a satellite transmission” simile is the one and only time Linkous came close to self-promotion during the interview. Most musicians discuss their craft in a way that makes them seem interesting, cool and in control. Linkous isn’t afraid to admit that he’s not a rock star, not a renegade poet, not even a confident human being.

When asked why there was such an extended gap between Dreamt… and the last Sparklehorse record, 2001’s magnificent It’s a Wonderful Life, Linkous’ inability to bullshit comes through loud and clear.

“For three years, I’d just come to my studio and stare at my equipment. I’d really lost interest in recording altogether. I like writing songs and playing them on acoustic guitar, just playing them and singing them and letting them die. So that accounted for a good amount of time, until I couldn’t pay the rent anymore. Then it was like, ‘I gotta get a fuckin’ record out; I gotta live.’”

Let’s focus on this for a second. The inspiration behind Dreamt…—an impressive batch of aching, intriguing songs—isn’t a broken relationship, a Dostoyevsky novel or a plastic bag dancing in the wind. It’s the need to pay the bills. And thank god the landlord was breathing down Mark Linkous’ neck, because these songs deserved more than a few go-arounds on the acoustic.

The opening track, “Don’t Take My Sunshine Away,” is classic Sparklehorse, a glorious pop single sung by the shy kid in school. Linkous writes a superb melody that’s not a far cry from “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” and delivers it like he’s walking on eggshells. As a result, the track is a lushly produced gem that’s afraid to go outside. In fact, Linkous admits that he’s “always been scared to release really poppy songs. The first title for this record was Fear of Pop. It was funny for about five minutes.”

This artistic paranoia cuts to the core of what makes Linkous a true original—his all-encompassing fragility. If you take a look at the progression of Sparklehorse over the years, its records just keep getting prettier and shier. 1995’s Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionplot has a heartwarming, homemade sensibility about it, and it isn’t afraid to get in your face every once in a while. After a show in London in 1996, Linkous mixed Valium with prescription anti-depressants and passed out in the bathroom, with his legs pinned underneath his body for 14 hours. This almost crippled the artist for life, but he made a full recovery and released Good Morning Spider in 1999. Unsurprisingly, it’s a dark, ruminating record, but it’s marked by moments of punk fury, like the opening track “Pig.” It’s a Wonderful Life followed a few years later, a heartbreakingly sweet clutch of tunes that are as delicate as an autumn leaf.

Dreamt… continues this trend, full of mesmerizing tunes that yearn for spring in the dead of winter. Linkous’ lyrics are as literary and imaginative as ever, especially the radiant “Knives of Summertime”: “A flock of knives cut the sky/And buried in my black eyes/And the clouds they bled in my head/And autumn rain soaked the dry beds.”

Listening to Linkous talk about the creative process, it’s clear that the whole sad, tentative recluse thing isn’t an act.

“Sometimes lines will come into my head and I don’t know where they come from,” he says. “Sometimes they’re stolen from authors, but I don’t really read that much anymore. I think that whole three-year period where I did nothing included reading. It’s easier to be vague and poetic, because people can really apply it to their own lives if they really want to, instead of being really literal. I have a hard time with literal situations or dialogue. I’m afraid of being embarrassed by something.”

And the fear doesn’t end there. The five-year gap between records was the cherry on top for an artist who finds it tough to have faith in himself.

“I had pretty much convinced myself that people didn’t care about my music anymore, that it had been so long they had moved on. I thought it just didn’t really matter. I’m really surprised that people are excited about this record.”

Linkous isn’t aware that there’s no such thing as a bad Sparklehorse record, and it’s no coincidence that his music has attracted artists as diverse as Tom Waits (who was all over It’s a Wonderful Life and plays piano on the Dreamt… track “Morning Hollow”) and Danger Mouse (the Gnarls Barkley and DangerDoom member and Gorillaz producer who guests on Dreamt…). People appreciate a true original, especially one that apparently doesn’t have a boastful bone in his body.

Speaking of original, the title track on Dreamt… is a 10-plus-minute instrumental, which closes the album on a boldly nebulous note. When taken at face value, this doesn’t really go anywhere. It’s more of an ambience than a song, featuring three guitar chords, a handful of notes on the piano and an otherworldly heart-monitor beep. Its beauty is something that’s hard to pin down; the track manages to capture that I-can’t-get-out-of-bed-today sadness by just repeating itself, like an angelic mantra heard on a transistor radio. And after I get done praising the song with all the hyperbole I can muster, Linkous does his best to downplay it.

“That was an accident,” he responds, letting the truth rear its head once again. “I recorded a guitar loop at half speed and had it go through three different amps. I went home, came back the next day and realized it had been going all night. I liked the fact that this unconscious thing had been happening while I was asleep.”

After thanking me for taking time out of my busy day to talk to him (a first for me as an interviewer), Linkous thanked me for being a fan.

“I really appreciate it,” he said. “It really means a lot to me.”

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and it made me not just a fan of Mark Linkous the musician, but also a fan of Mark Linkous, the dude. At the time, I didn’t know how to respond to him, but I think Patrick Swayze said it best to Demi Moore in Ghost: Ditto, Mr. Linkous. Ditto.