Part Two July 18 - July 26, 2023 (Fingers Crossed)

July 18, 2023 10:20 pm San Francisco

Caroline took off for Europe last night. She’ll be gone for a week. I'm cat-sitting and taking walks around North Beach.

I'm cuddling up with Miki Berenyi's new book, Fingers Crossed, every night before sleep. One of the strongest prefaces of any book I've read. The last sentence is a KO punch I didn't see coming. Well, I sort of did, but didn't expect it to be this well executed. 

I'm only four chapters in. I relate to Miki being thrown into the water by her father when she was two. My father, like hers, also born in 1933, gave me the same swimming lesson and only swimming lesson I ever got. My dad threw me into Turkey Foot Lake and I made it back to the boat by myself in a hurry. I wouldn't trade the survivor skills taught by my depression-era born father for anything.

Miki was born the same year as me - 1967. We shared the same label, 4AD, during a period of the 1990s, and I look forward to her perspective.

I've met Miki, twice. The first time, in London, summer of 1993. I flew there from San Francisco to be on the cover of Melody Maker with both Miki and Kristen Hersh, in support of 4AD's 13 Year Itch Anniversary. I met Miki again, at The Fillmore in San Francisco.

The first time we met, I bummed a few cigarettes off of her.  More than a few, actually. After she left, she came back up the stairs of the photographer's studio and said, ‘Take the rest, Mark. I've got another pack.’ I kept those cigarettes (SILK CUT KING SIZE) as a souvenir from that trip.

Regardless of the ‘Party-Girl’ gossip I'd heard about Miki from the 4AD camp, I recall her being a serious person; sitting down, talking to me, like she was studying me. Or maybe I'm flattering myself and she was bored to death. Either way, I found her interesting. She was a veteran, while I was the new kid on the block. But there was this hovering guy by her side, hovering around, being a hoverer, so I kept my interest at bay. I didn't know what his job was, or who he was. I wanted to ask, ‘Who is this lingering hoverer? Your bodyguard?' It could have been her manager or boyfriend. I didn't know what was going on. I was standing on my own two feet, Kristen was standing on her own two feet. But Miki had a hoverer. Whoever that guy was, he was a master at the art of hovering.

I also remember her during a Lush soundcheck, the second time we met. As a front person, she looked like the most fragile part of what appeared to be a fairly well-tuned machine. She seemed to be going through the motions; a reluctant front person.

What I remember most from that night at The Fillmore, was Chris, the drummer, and his upbeat personality. We met in the staircase that leads from the stage to the backstage area. How many drummers look like Gavin Rossdale? How could anyone forget a guy that talented (great drummer), handsome, and most of all, that seraphic smile? Chris seemed to have it all, without realizing it.

When I heard he committed suicide in 1996, I was floored. I was five years into my career at that time and he was the first of a few rock 'n' roll suicide casualties I've met since then.

Reading about Miki’s early life, the history of her grandparents, and her parents, she had a much more exotic upbringing than mine. A Hungarian/UK raised father and a Japanese raised mother. Miki went to boxing matches with her father (a sports journalist) and visited her mother, an actress in Los Angeles, who bought her a 1965 Fender Jazzmaster.

When most artists can't seem to get much further than launching an Instagram page these days, Miki threw down and wrote a fucking book, and so far, I'm loving it.

July 20, 2023 6:46 pm San Francisco 

I talked to Caroline twice, today. She's enjoying France with her brother and sister-in-law. I've been enjoying cat-sitting, going on walks, and reading Miki's book. I go to Trieste twice a day for iced tea, and eat lunch at Molinari.

At only 100 pages in, I love her early memories of Hungary, going to BBQs, during the day or the night, spellbound by the Hungarian sky. I've received a lot of love from Hungary over the last few years. This past September, during breaks from an old studio in a farmland-like area called Bálint Török, my Hungarian musician friends and I smoked cigarettes and ate pizza outdoors, looking up at the moon at night, listening to cicadas chirping. During the day, we’d look up at the sky, surrounded by beautiful fields of purple flowers. The Hungarian musicians I play with over there, Amoeba, are the Hungarian version of Mahavishnu Orchestra. As a singer, they keep me on my toes. Those guys work hard.

I spent some time photo archiving today, and found this photo of myself, from my first trip to California, where we visited both Los Angeles and San Francisco. The only memory I have from the San Francisco part of the trip is of being in a car, going down swirly Lombard Street. 

This photo captures me in Marin County with Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. That bridge - there at the top right - is my view, every day in San Francisco, if the fog allows.

July 24, 12:20 a.m. San Francisco

I walked to Trieste and started my day with a slice of pizza and an iced coffee. From there, I walked along Columbus street to The Wharf, when a voice said ‘Mark!’ He was a fan from the Excelsior neighborhood, with his friend, who was visiting from Revere, Massachusetts. They mentioned their favorite songs, one of them being ‘Night Talks.’ The guy from Revere and I hit it off, on surf-fishing. He showed me a photo of a huge seabass and I showed him a photo of a nice sized spotted bay bass I caught on Sunset Beach.

From there I walked to a pier in Fisherman's Wharf; a pier I'd never taken notice of until today. I walked out to the end of the squeaky-clean pier, full of tourists.  The Golden Gate Bridge is too far west to get a nice photo.  The tourist-trap eyesore of Alcatraz is directly to the North, and this oblong piece of cement is to the east.  Being there made me miss Aquatic Park Pier.

I didn't stay long, turned back around, and came back home to take care of the cats.

I'm 177 pages into Fingers Crossed. For anyone hoping this is a book about the life and times of Lush, you might be right, but at page 176, Lush still isn't a band. Miki has dated a handful of lead singers by this point. Emma, according to Miki,  is dating Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine. Based on the two of them creating fanzines, going to tons of shows, getting backstage to this show or that, one thing leads to another, and they form a band, by page 177.

Reading about her father's passing caused me to close the book, turn the light off, and hold a pillow in a fetal position until I drifted off to sleep. My dad is somehow still holding on at 89. The loss of her father - especially the heart-to-heart talk they had before he passed - is so far, the saddest and most moving part of the book. Earlier in the book, Miki writes about not being able to get a full night's sleep, as a child, unless her father was around.

Before he passed, she learns of a detail about her grandmother - a curveball - something her dad kept from her. Fucking heartbreaking.

Chris Acland, the drummer of Lush, isn't mentioned until page 170. She describes Chris how I remember him at The Fillmore. Upbeat, positive, funny. She's got some great Chris quotes. I won’t quote him, but those alone, are worth the $40 I paid for the book. He was witty; a natural at deflecting passive-aggressive remarks.

Miki's strained relationship with Emma (according to Miki)  starts to make more sense, as I read the book. I'm not taking sides. The tension between them, when referencing the future of Lush, reminds me of my own life and times with Red House Painters. According to Miki, Emma complains about how everyone asks about Miki.

When a band is unsigned, they’re equal. Once they get a record deal and start touring, 99 times out of 100, the media is going to focus on the singer. It doesn't matter who wrote the music. Though I have a good relationship with all of the Red House Painters guys and don't want to get into the area of petty gripes, I'll give one example: Way back, in San Diego, a woman handed flowers to one of my band mates after the show and asked him to give them to me. He told her, ‘I'm not Mark's secretary. Give them to him, yourself.’ Sure I could give dozens of examples, but I love those guys and I've got hundreds of things I'd rather do with my time.

The press/fans centering in on me, is something I didn't have control of. I was the lead singer, wrote the words, and the music. I felt some tension from the others and never fully understood their feelings, until I got a part in the movie Almost Famous, playing the bassist in the fictionalized band Stillwater. I can't count the women who walked up to me with a folded up piece of paper, saying ‘Can you please give this to Billy?’ or the amount of times Cameron eagerly jumped up on to the stage, huge smile on his face, only to walk past me and tell Jason and Billy how great they were doing.

I didn't feel hurt by that. It was my first movie role and I'd never taken an acting lesson in my life.

I learned what it meant to be a side man. When I got back to San Francisco, I made a point of telling the guys in the band how important they were and gave them compliments, before mentioning something I felt they could improve on.

Red House Painters finally dissolved in 2001. We never 'broke up.’ I just felt like it was time for a new start, and formed Sun Kil Moon. There was no bitterness and two of them joined me for portions of Sun Kil Moon's debut Ghosts of The Great Highway. My memories of Red House Painters are somewhere between Dream-Come-True and very hard work.

But that's my story. I was the songwriter in Red House Painters and no one took issue with that. I've never had a Mick and Keith, Lennon and McCartney, Miki and Emma songwriting relationship, so I'm in no place to speculate on what it meant to be in Miki or Emma's co-songwriter shoes. I did the Page/Plant thing with Justin Broadrick in 2016. We released two full-length albums and toured Europe, USA, and Japan. Great time, but had it gone on for another few years, who knows?

July 24, 4:43 pm San Francisco

I read more of Miki's book. Great part about what a pain in the ass it is, crossing into customs as a musician. She writes about being harassed because of her pink hair. I've been harassed by more customs officers than I can count. In Ireland, if they ask who your favorite band is, say Thin Lizzy. In Wales, if they ask, Do you like Sting? Say No.

During my first trip to London, I was berated by some ugly customs man who said awful things to me that I won’t repeat. Things that were so awful, that yes, I'll go back to London, but at the same time, I don't care if I ever go back to that pukey smelling city ever again. It's a great city if you like the smell of puke. Not nearly as bad as it was in the early 1990s, but it's still pukey. Even the young look frail and one foot away from the grave. If you love London - LOOK LEFT/LOOK RIGHT - and have a great time at whatever pukey pub you land in.

I woke up this morning after an Eric Roberts dream. I saw him in a Los Angeles hotel lobby. Caroline was taking photos of us. I was crying, hugging him, telling he's the best actor who ever lived (I meant it), and how great he was in Pope of Greenwich Village. He got upset when I told him he was also great in Spun. He went, ‘Ughghgh. Ughghghghghgh. Why did you have to bring up that movie? I have a fucking cameo in it.’

Oh Fuck. I met my favorite actor, and I'm blowing it.

Caroline disappears to find some film or something, and some woman snaps a photo of Eric and I, and runs off. He says to me, ‘Who the fuck was that?’ in his squeaky Pope of Greenwich Village voice.  I woke up from the dream.

I went to Molinari for lunch. Mild coppa/mozzarella. No carbs today, so far.

July 26, 2023 3:53 p.m. San Francisco

Caroline got back from Europe yesterday. It was great to see her, and to see how deep the love is between her and the cats. The cats wouldn't jump up in the bed with me the entire time she was gone.

I played with them for a week, over-fed them, did everything I could to win their attention. Caroline took a nap when she got home, and when I walked into the room to join her, the cats were snuggled up to next her.

I finished Miki's book last night. I absolutely loved the first 170 pages about her early life. I even looked up her model/actress mom's IMDB. Her mom played a small role in one of my favorite James Caan movies: Rollerball. I'll be re-watching that soon.

As I lived my own version of ‘90s Band On 4AD’ I didn't have quite the appetite for the 200 pages of Lush that I thought I'd have. All I could think was, Damn, Ivo (4AD owner) was dealing with all of this, in addition to my OCD recording dilemmas, that went on for months? Lush and RHP were just two of the bands he had to deal with.

Lush's management and a handful of other guys, seemed to be shooting for the Big Time with Lush, putting them through things that would have given me an ulcer plus hemorrhoids.  I just wanted to play music. No big goals beyond being a great band. All of that Melody Maker 'build 'em up, knock 'em' down toilet reading was nauseating.

According to Melody Maker, I was going to be the next ‘Van Morrison.’ Colleen, the sweetheart of a publicist she was, used to cut those articles out and send them to my mom in Ohio (at my mom's request). My mom framed the articles and put them on her walls, bless her heart. I'd see all of these Melody Maker articles framed at my mom's place and tell her, ‘You know all of this stuff is bullshit, right?’ She'd reply, ‘Well, you're my son and I'm proud of you.’ (The kid who grew up across the street from us ended up in prison three times, so I see where she's coming from).

I related to the Miki/Lush studio struggles and how things worked back in the analog days. Comping vocals, and spending tons of time and money getting the drums perfect. Where Lush seemed to be driven by a coke-fueled manager, RHP dabbled with a few managers, only for me to decide they were unnecessary and full of nonsensical, gratuitous ideas. 

I had no interest in major label, shooting for the stars, Hollywood bullshit. Reading pages and pages regarding photos shoots, video shoots, hair designers and opening for The Gin Blossoms and The Goo Goo Dolls made me want to put a gun in my mouth. 

I remember Ivo asking me if I wanted to be part of the 'Warner system' which would be more demanding, requiring lots of in-store performances and a bunch of other exhaustion. If I’d went that route, I would have ended up part on the lower ranks of The 27-Club.

RHP wasn't trying to conquer the world, climb the charts or headline huge festivals. All we wanted to do was please ourselves, be the best band we could be. We grew up in places like Ohio, Florida and Modesto, California and were just happy to cross the pond, at all. 

I'm glad RHP lasted as long as we did. Considering my upbringing, I still have to pinch myself: this isn't a dream. I actually have a career in music. I got out of there, worked hard, traveled the world, and here I am, with the love of my life, a tour date in Santa Ana on August 9. I wouldn't trade my life, for anything.

Reading about the passing of Chris - the drummer of Lush - had me in tears for a half hour. I was sobbing next to Caroline and had to retreat to the living room to not wake her. There was one sentence, regarding Miki consoling Chris, that broke the dam.

Miki being there for Chris during an extremely dark period is the definition of having a friend's back. I've found that when some people see a friend depressed, out of work, inconsolable, they scatter like wild animals from a forest fire.

I was in the thick of my own 1990s ‘rabbit in the headlights’ that Miki describes - too deep in my own neurosis to get to know the other 4AD bands on any deep level, but I'm glad I got to pass through this life and meet Miki and Chris.

I was glad to see Miki give so much love to Ivo Watts-Russel. Without him, I'd likely still be working at a hotel in The Marina District.

Now that I've read the book and looked through the photo section, my guess is that the guy I met at the Melody Maker photo shoot, who was hovering around Miki, was their manager, Howard, doing what managers do best: lurking around, doing nothing.

Today Caroline and I walked through North Beach for a bit. I walked into City Lights Bookstore and gazed around, looking for something definitely not Russian, definitely not autobiographical, not too thick, not too thin. I settled on a Raymond Carver’s Cathedral.