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.