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.