Mark Lanegan is one of the best musicians to come out of the Seattle "grunge" scene of the 1990s. He is also a survivor, obviously, still working after taming the same suicidal tendencies that destroyed Kurt Cobain, Layne Staley and, most recently, Chris Cornell.
You could say something in the collective mind (or water) trapped many of the city's musicians in a kind of heroin pandemic, if that is the word of the day.
You might ask of all the Seattle survivors, what came first, the hard drugs or the depression?
The Seattle bands were friends and enemies of each other, depending on their gigs and the quantity and quality of the drugs at hand.
Lanegan first gained notice and some success with The Screaming Trees. That band did not blow up like Alice in Chains, Nirvana, or even Cornell's first serious effort, Soundgarden, but Lanegan had the vocal chops to negate that and carry on.
His solo work and stripped down sounds, heavy with plausible lyrics and meaning, transcended the youthful work of "grunge," whatever in the hell that was beyond grinding guitars and the polar forces of sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll.
Lanegan has published a memoir of those riotous Seattle and Screaming Trees years. I haven't read it yet, nor am I sure I ever will, but the reviews have been sterling.
And I'm a long-time admirer of his voice.
TS
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