John Parish and PJ Harvey Sing “Sorry for Your Loss,” and I am, too.
A Tribute to Mark Linkous by Phil
I am no music critic, but I couldn’t hold back and have tears in my eyes, so please, excuse me this indulgence. Some artists just touch you in such a way that this recent release has filled me with chills. John Parish, accompanied by PJ Harvey, has just released his first single from the upcoming album Bird Dog Dante. The song, entitled “Sorry for Your Loss,” is a tribute to Sparklehorse’s frontman Mark Linkous, who took his life back in March of 2010. I am writing this with the album Vivadixiesubmarinetransmissionpilot playing on repeat in the background, summoning wounds healed but never forgotten. Suicide is one of the hardest and most sensitive of topics. Even for the most open-minded of individuals, and no matter how far away we are from the act, it can feel personal. This is particularly the case for artists who have affected so many lives so deeply. It is common to hear that a musician understands someone and that they have touched us – but it is far less common to say that we understand them.
At the time of Linkous’ death I was working at Barnes & Noble as a bookseller with a friend who worked in the music department. He and I bonded over our mutual interest in Surrealism and would pass the workday debating competing aesthetic ideologies and sharing our attempts to resolve our personal lives with our youthful idealism. I had not heard of Sparklehorse before then, but my friend came into work noticeably upset over Linkous’ passing. He saw it as a great loss to music and was angry about Linkous having taken his own life. This led to a moderately heated but very much extremely inappropriate (considering the work setting) debate (verging on argument) about the viability of suicide.
For my friend, he felt that we have an obligation to go on and, in the case of Linkous, to keep our talents and art alive. In other words, he saw suicide as selfish. I, on the other hand, strongly felt it was far more selfish to lay the burden on someone to endure living who for whatever reason had found it to be too much (or in some cases, too little) just for the sake of what they can do for others. Life may well be a gift, but what if one doesn’t like said gift? Where was the receiver’s say in accepting a responsibility that they never agreed upon in the first place or of maintaining another’s sense of wellbeing? The argument was never settled, but something tells me it’s somewhere in between.
In a song from the aforementioned album entitled “Spirit Ditch,” there plays what sounds like a phone recording of someone, presumably Linkous’ mother, seemingly discussing his mental health. He took his life at the age of 47. I myself have attempted suicide three times, and my substance abuse has not been far away from a death wish, so I am more than aware of the pain caused to others not only for having done so but also of the hurt associated with knowing that someone you love is hurting. But the way I see it is that the very capacity that one carries within them, which in Linkous’ case brought such incredible albums as It’s a Wonderful Life and Good Morning Spider, is the seed of self-destruction, which was the eventual outcome. I’ve written before of my thoughts on how the future can determine the past. Some may say that this requires determinism. But is that so far off? Does that necessarily negate free will? If one considers our anxiety in the face of the phenomenon of free will as resulting from our limited subjective positions, then that itself can be the very force that motivates us to accomplish what needs be done in order to become who we always already were. As Jean-Paul Sartre would say, “We are condemned to be free,” or, in David Foster Wallace’s words, “Although of course you end up becoming yourself.”
It is a commonplace platitude to say “leave the past behind.” But if that were the case, we’d never feel the passion of the artist. Creation always takes memory into account and the wounds we’ve nursed along the way. Yes, grow from the vicissitudes you’ve endured, but never let go of the lesson’s you’ve learned and the vitality still alive in the hurt you’ve lived to tell. The tragedy in Parish and Harvey’s tribute to Linkous is in their saying: “I’m sorry for your loss of will to keep the fire burning still.” The “your” they are speaking of I do not feel is ours, but rather his. Whether our deaths are determined or a consequence of our chosen actions, it is nonetheless a loss for the one gone, and at best it is a loss to the many whom we all hope to have had a positive impact. Do not let go of that hurt, but make something of it, which John Parish and PJ Harvey have done for me with this song.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Lsr6Xwgwxg
