Sun Kil Moon: Part IIIV: The Performance

The setting was perfect. We had invited people to hear a Concert Under The Sun Kil Moon and we got just that: a crisp late-summer evening, the night sky brimming with stars, and a brilliant sliver of moon hovering in the west. There could have been no better time and place to listen to Mark's sacramental guitarwork and lyrical elegance.

Mark sat down and fine-tuned his instrument. We were spread out on the lawn in chairs, close to the stage, eagerly awaiting his performance. During the third song, we had a scare that resurfaced from the problems at soundcheck, as the power went out for a second or two. Fortunately, the soundguys honed in on the right mix, and Mark was able to get into a confident groove. My small prayers had been answered.

Mark set the tone with "Alesund;" with its intricate classical fingerpicking, the song immediately pulls you in with its spacious, meditative introduction. The opening track from Admiral Fell Promises is epic introspection in a manner that only Mark can deliver, reflecting on a muse that is both person and place, the Scandinavian beauty of Alesund.

Mark went even more epic and intimate with his next song, if that is even possible, playing the incomparable "Duk Koo Kim." The song is a breathtaking fourteen minutes, the number of rounds the tragic Kim lasted in his final bout. During the extended bridges, Mark's acoustic version became an exquisite display of the sublime.

Mark moved into a lovely rendition of "Moorestown," as nostalgic a remembrance of lost love as pop music can project, followed by a crystalline version of "Carry Me Ohio." In the original, the words, halfway-submerged in the music's dense soundscape, slowly reveal themselves, mimicking the fleeting, hazy nature of memory. On this night, Mark's emphasis on the penultimate plea transformed the song into private prayer: Heal her soul, and carry her my angel, Ohio.

"Third and Seneca" was followed by "Cindy," a famous American folk song that Mark managed to keep humorous and serious at the same time. It was clear everyone loved Mark's clever take on the number, even if many failed to realize the song has been around for a long time in various incarnations--long enough to even meet the approval of my a cappella teacher as we performed it in high school.

Mark's banter throughout the evening was loose and pleasant. Mark asked if everyone was doing all right. He said "we don't have backyards in San Francisco." A dog barked in the distance. Everyone laughed when he noted it was the first time that had happened during a show.

"You Are My Sun" was beautiful. I could not get the "Leona" refrain out of my head for days. Given the natural beauty of the surroundings, Mark probably felt compelled to play the new song "Church of the Pines," one of the most pastoral numbers he has ever written.

Mark again asked if everyone was doing all right. He said he was just doing what he normally did, and he hoped it was all appropriate for a family show. He paused and then joked that "we don't have families in San Francisco either."

Mark asked what other songs we wanted to hear. Rip called for "Salvador Sanchez." Mark joked that he couldn't remember the song. Rip also asked for "Glenn Tipton" for my Dad. (The old ball coach could appreciate opening lines like "Cassius Clay was hated more than Sonny Liston."). A few more possibilities were called out, at which Mark joked, "hey now don't boss me around." He was clearly feeling good. And with the next run of songs, Mark would hit a high that I have still not come down from. We later remarked that we could feel Mark wanting to make the night special, and during the next three songs he certainly accomplished that objective.

"Salvador Sanchez" gave me the chills. Mark's delivery was divine. And "Glenn Tipton" seemed to strike with great force, especially during the rising choruses. Mark then surprised everyone with "All Mixed Up," one of the best songs from his Red House Painters catalog. It was a magical three-song run only to be followed by another trifecta.

"Heron Blue" was dark and mysterious and displayed the lower range in Mark's unique register. "Rock 'N' Roll Singer," another audience request, was pure acoustic candy; AC/DC never sounded so interesting or contemplative. Mark ended his performance with "Blue Orchids," the graceful closer from April. Mark's classical guitarwork was stunning--at times it sounded as if two guitars were playing, one for rhythm, one for melody.

We gave Mark a standing ovation. During his performance, I had constantly looked up at the night sky and tried to soak in the entire experience. Thankfully, I am still enjoying it now. That is what makes his music so special: it lasts.

Enjoy "Have You Forgotten" from the Vanilla Sky soundtrack. (Check out the original version from 1996's Songs for a Blue Guitar).

Sun Kil Moon: Part IIV: The Morning After

Mark decided to stay in the guest room and forego spending the night at the hotel. We were pleased that he had felt so comfortable. In the morning, we relaxed some more and Mark said that he would love to return to spend more time with us. On that note, Mark asked me to check out potential venues for a future concert and send him the information. He also promised to send me his new September 2010 concert poster before leaving on the next leg of his tour. A few days after he left, two signed posters appeared in the mail with a handwritten postcard from Mark. He is a man that makes good on his word.

On the ride to the airport we discussed his apartment in San Francisco, his love interests, and his family in Ohio. Mark also made several interesting observations about our own family dynamics. We talked more about his music, as I had strategically peppered him with questions throughout his stay. I asked him if he had ever had a problem with some of the unique covers that he has recorded. He said Neil Diamond threatened to sue him for a Cameron Crowe-commissioned cover for Elizabethtown. Apparently, Neil wasn't "comfortable" with Mark's reinterpretation of "Kentucky Woman," failing to realize that he might actually have a chance to be relevant again.

We parted with Mark at the airport and exchanged hugs at the curb. Mark reiterated that he had a great time and looked forward to coming back. Over the past twenty-four hours, we had become friends. No doubt his music will never be the same.

Enjoy an alternative acoustic version of "Salvador Sanchez" from 2003's Ghosts of the Great Highway.

Sun Kil Moon: Part IV: The After-Party

We made a late-night run to In-N-Out with my favorite singer-songwriter alive. Bob Dylan or Neil Young could not have made the excursion more enjoyable. Mark was hungry after his performance so we all piled into the truck and went through the drive-up window. Mark did not mess around and ordered two hamburgers, fries, and and a large iced tea.

We hung out in the kitchen and talked music and families. Mark was happy to hear that so many enjoyed the show including people that had never heard his music before. He seemed relieved that his performance had delivered for neophytes and longtime listeners.

We convinced Mark that he needed to play Rock Band so we ventured down to the theatre room for some vicarious jamming. Mark unsurprisingly had never heard of the game before. We wanted to test our theory of whether the game was actually more difficult for a virtuoso guitar player than a couch-concert wannabe. But really we just wanted to play in the same line-up as Mark for one night, even if it meant pretending to play fake plastic guitars.

We first demonstrated our chops for Mark with a solid run of "Float On," "Wonderwall," and some other crap band that eludes me. We then gave Mark an axe and he played lead on The Cars "Just What I Needed." Mark reclined back in his chair and appeared to finger the buttons on the neck with ease. But after four straight failures, our band getting thrown off the stage, we deemed our theory correct and Mark retired from the make-believe world of gaming for the first and last time.

Enjoy Mark (in the shades) singing "Tiny Dancer" from 2000's Almost Famous.

Sun Kil Moon: Part V: The Party

Mark enjoyed the beautiful evening with the rest of the guests. He met family and chatted easily with longtime fans. He even endured a few strange comments from a distant uncle (on the in-law side), who stated with certitude that all music has been crap since Rubber Soul. I put my arm around the perpetrator and walked him in the other direction, shielding Mark from any more ridiculous statements. Our friend has obviously never listened to Ghosts of the Great Highway, an album of absolute perfection that was not recorded in the 60's.

As the night grew crisp, Mark told me he was concerned about his fingers in the cold. (After watching his fingers move across the strings, it is easy to understand why). I said we would run to the store and grab a space heater to place next to him on stage. He said he felt pretentious even bringing it up, but I quickly dismissed the notion as we wanted him to be completely comfortable during his performance. I had spent most of the night pacing back and forth among friends and family, too nervous and excited for the concert to sit still. I was not about to let Mark's fingers feel the least bit disenchanted.

Mark jumped in with the soundguy to pick something up--he said he wanted to see some more of the place. Nothing like a Saturday night run to Lowes to capture the essence of our community. Indeed, I laughed thinking about the scene: Mark searching the aisles of a big box hardware store right before playing a show. A man the Sunday Times recently said had "assembled one of the most impressive and indivdiualistic song canons American music has thrown up in the last 20 years." To be sure, his humility was a godsend on this unpredictable night.

Enjoy "Moorestown" from 2008's April.

Sun Kil Moon: Part IV: The Sound Check

Mark needed reverb. And he was not getting it. Not delay. But perfect reverb. Three seconds for vocals, two seconds for guitars. In the most tense part of the day, at least from our perspective, the sound system was not cooperating. We all looked at each other with over-worried glances.

Eventually, the reverb box crashed and the power went down. We sent one of the soundguys for reinforcements and had to wait for an hour for Mark to finish the soundcheck even as guests began arriving. Mark had to calm our nerves, and I reminded everyone that this is precisely why you do a soundcheck--and that this was not Mark's first rodeo. Thousands of concerts flashed before my eyes from Stockholm to San Francisco. We would get the sound right and his performance would be fine.

When Mark played the opening passages of "Alesund," sitting alone in the backyard, it was surreal. And not in the overused sense of that word; it was dreamlike, a moment that this longtime listener cannot fully explain. Having spent countless personal moments with Mark's music, the simple fact that he was playing here was pure fantasy.

Ohio. Long drives to southern Utah. Early morning hours and late nights. Listening to Tiny Cities for the first time in a Civil War-era cemetary, the burning leaves of autumn swept across the graves. Listening to April on the way home in the car and "Blue Orchids" making my wife cry. There were too many intimate experiences through the years for me to contextualize actually having Mark play before us in this setting. It was like a character from your favorite novel appearing to discuss their very real lives with you. It was, in every sense, surreal.

Enjoy "Alesund" from 2010's Admiral Fell Promises.

Sun Kil Moon: Part III: The Arrival

When we arrived at the house Mark pulled from his bag a limited edition vinyl for the birthday boy--only twenty-five of them ever pressed. This kind of forethought was the perfect example of his desire to provide a memorable experience. He later told us this was the first time he had performed in these circumstances, and one could sense that he was concerned about doing things right.

Mark met my parents and was gracious with his time. He seemed especially intrigued with my father and asked questions about him throughout his stay. Men like my father do not run in the same circles as Mark. An enthusiastic old ball coach, weathered by wins and losses, Dad has the presence of a personal mentor in just about every situation. Dad pointed out to Mark that many people have talents, but few make the sacrifice to develop them fully. This sentiment seemed to strike Mark as truth and he wholeheartedly agreed.

Mark settled into his guest room after taking a walk around the premises. He had noted how the view of the lake reminded him of the Bay Area and the surrounding mountains suggested Norway. We could sense he was pleased with the set-up and location. He emerged to check his email on the office computer, something he likely couldn't do from his dated-looking flip phone. In response to a comment about his prowess as a classical guitarist, Mark had told a recent audience you can get good at shit if you don't mess around on Facebook all day. Needless to say, he has little need for new technology. Gets in the way of writing beautiful songs.

The weather was brilliant. Mark asked me if it was all right if he went for a walk in the neighborhood. He walks five or six miles every day through the streets of San Francisco, and one cannot help but think it has some connection to his artistic process. So I helped him on his way to make sure he was firing on all cylinders. Least I could do.

Enjoy "Space Travel is Boring" from 2005's Tiny Cities.

Sun Kil Moon: Part II: The Pick-Up

We had some discussion about how many guitars he would bring. I maintained he would only bring one. So when we saw him walking toward us near the baggage claim, my intuition felt justified when he approached with a single black guitar case and a small light-blue bag. Like any true artist, Mark traveled light.

He was wearing a stylish white-collared shirt, sleeves pulled up to the elbows, and jeans and black shoes. He was handsome like his pictures and performances suggested, sleight but well-built. We have long judged men and their proportions, and I was happy to report that Mark was tall enough, and there was something magnetic in his physical persona. My wife would later comment about his deep-set eyes and this sort-of beautiful sadness that seemed to reside there. She was right. His eyes belied a resovoir of introspection, a place of deep-rooted observation and feeling.

After we made some introductions, I carried Mark's guitar through the airport and slid next to it in the backseat of the truck. I carried his guitar on several ocassions, my self-awareness getting the better of me. I felt like I was guarding the medium of his wonderments, protecting Van Gogh's brushes and colors. So I was always surprised at Mark's absolute ease in letting it go.

During our drive we talked about his concert in San Francisco the night before. We talked about his upcoming tour dates, Ben Gibbard and his new life with Zooey, and Alan Sparhawk from Low. I pointed out that Mark name-dropped just about every western state but Utah in his new song "Third and Seneca," an oversight he would have to remedy in the future. There could have been little doubt after the first fifteen minutes that we loved his music and were thrilled to have him as our special guest.

But Mark seemed even more interested in us, our lives, our families. His questions were genuine, and throughout the rest of the weekend, we felt like he wanted to learn as much from us as he could. Our inquiries about his life and music were returned with equal interest in our experiences and viewpoints. Every conversation that we had together seemed to be filled with a searching import. And it was exhilarating for this devout follower.

Enjoy "All Mixed Up" from 1996's Songs for a Blue Guitar.

Sun Kil Moon: Part I: The Set List

The set list was perfect. Four new songs. An American folk song. An AC/DC cover. A Red House Painters favorite. Three songs from April. Four songs from Ghosts of the Great Highway. "Salvador Sanchez" played on demand, and "Glenn Tipton" played for my Dad. No words.

• Alesund
• Duk Koo Kim
• Moorestown
• Carry Me Ohio
• Third and Seneca
• Cindy
• You Are My Sun
• Church of the Pines
• Salvador Sanchez (open tuned) or (acoustic)
• Glenn Tipton
• All Mixed Up
• Heron Blue
• Rock N Roll Singer
• Blue Orchids

Five Things

The next few months are some of The D Man's favorite listening moments

• Vampire Weekend were fantastic in concert (again) and reminded The D Man that they are cooler, smarter, and better than just about any band you used to like. The pop-masters delivered too many great moments to count, but "M79" was a number worth remembering.
• Beach House opened the show with splendid atmospherics. The D Man loves Victoria LeGrand's voice (and her savage hair that needed a weapons permit). She sounded downright epic on the closer "10 Mile Stereo."
• Cannot help it--still love this song on a late-summer day.
• No, this is not my guitar / I'm bringing it to a friend. Best opening lines of any album this year. Exquisite song, too.
• Yes, he has a new EP. Yes, he has a new album coming out. Yes, you can have a sneak peek here.

Song of the Week

That is the coolest, spookiest, most haunting, transcendant thing I have seen in some time. So said the Rizzo after watching the ingenious, interactive multi-media experience that is the video for Arcade Fire's "We Used To Wait," from the band's third album The Suburbs. The short film from Chris Milk is called "The Wilderness Downtown," and it takes viewers on a nostalgic-winged journey to (and maybe away from) their childhood homes. Backed by an absolutely epic song from the Montreal collective, the video is deeply moving. After typing in 1386 East 600 South, The D Man cannot put into words how the song made him feel--too personal, too foreboding, too beautiful, all at once. Homesick and grateful to be gone. But I can share with you what I wrote to my former self: hang in there . . . it gets better.